Dial stroked his massive chin, wondering if Erik Jansen was a criminal. Or had dealt with one in the confessional. ‘Speaking of crosses, what can you tell me about the crucifixion? I mean, I’m familiar with the biblical version, but do we know what really happened?’
‘I guess that depends on your perspective. If you’re Christian, the biblical version is the way it really happened, right down to the last detail. I mean, the Bible is the word of God.’
‘And if you’re not a Christian?’
Toulon realized the subject was a powder keg. Groaning, he put an unlit cigarette in his mouth, just so he had something to suck on. ‘The truth is we don’t know what happened. Christian historians say one thing while Roman historians say another. Then there are the Jews and the Buddhists and the atheists. Everyone has a different opinion on what happened, and no one knows for sure because it happened two thousand years ago. We can’t check the videotape and come up with something definitive. All we can do is sort through the evidence, read what our ancestors wrote, and try to reach our own conclusions, which are invariably tainted by our upbringing.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Simply put, if your parents taught you to believe in Christ, you’re probably going to keep believing in Christ. I mean, that’s what faith is all about, isn’t it?’
‘And if you’re a nonbeliever?’
‘Well, I guess that depends on the person. Some people keep their doubts to themselves in order to fit into this Christian world of ours. Others join the local synagogue or temple or shrine and start practicing non-Christian faiths. Then, of course, you have the third group. The wild cards. They’re the ones who don’t care what society thinks about them, the type of people who enjoy rocking the boat. And if I were a betting man, guess which category I’d put the killer in?’
Dial smiled, wishing that all of his questions were that easy. ‘Thanks, Henri, I appreciate your candor. Let me know if you come up with anything else.’
‘You got it, Nick.’
Dial hung up his cell phone and turned his attention to Agent Nielson, who was standing off to the side, smiling. ‘You look happy,’ he said. ‘Good news?’
‘I just got off the phone with Rome. Father Jansen had a small apartment near the Vatican. When he didn’t show up for a meeting at nine p.m., they tried to call him but couldn’t get through. In their mind it wasn’t a big deal until he failed to show up for work this morning. That’s when they decided to call the police.’
‘And what about the Vatican? Do we know what Jansen did for them?’
‘I’m still working on that. I’m expecting a call from his supervisor any minute. Hopefully, he can shed some light on it.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it. I’ve dealt with the Vatican before, and they tend to be very tight-lipped about their business. Of course, who could blame them? I’d be secretive, too, if I had a billion-dollar art collection locked in my basement… What are the locals doing in Rome?’
‘A forensics team is searching his apartment. They said they’ll give me a call if they find anything of value. Otherwise, we’ll get their report tomorrow.’
‘Nice work, Annette. I’m impressed. Do me a favor, though, and stay on top of the Vatican. Just because they promised you a report doesn’t mean you’ll get one.’
In fact, Dial laughed to himself, it would probably take a miracle.
10
Maria strolled around the chamber, carefully filming the dozens of stone chests that filled the room. The gray containers, sitting in a series of straight rows, varied in size and shape – some had the dimensions of a VCR while others approached the mass of a coffin – but each of them had one thing in common: artistic brilliance.
Pictures of colossal battle scenes, marking the significant Roman victories of the early Empire, had been chiseled into the hard rock of several chests. Proud generals, standing in their horse-drawn chariots as legionnaires fought valiantly in the distant battlefield. Weary warriors, their faces streaked with blood from their fallen victims, continued to march forward, extending the boundaries of their homeland while bludgeoning anything that got in their way. And Roman heroes, their profiles etched into stone with such precision that –
‘Oh my God,’ Maria muttered. She quickly hit the pause button on her video camera. ‘Remember the face on the archway that appeared to be laughing at Christ’s death?’
He walked toward her. ‘Of course, I do. That blasphemous image is burned into my mind.’
Maria pointed to the two-foot-high stone cube that sat at her feet. ‘He’s back.’