“Because the Alogi knew the gospel of John wasn’t like the other gospels. It’s more theological. Less historical.”
“What do you mean, less historical?”
“It’s complicated, but Ugo—”
“John says cloths, but the other three gospels all say cloth. Are you telling me John can’t be trusted?”
“Ugo, we have to tell the Cardinal Librarian about this book. It can’t stay hidden down here.”
“Answer me! If John is unreliable, then the whole gospel testimony about the Shroud would change. Correct?”
I hesitated. “It might, but it’s not as simple as that. There are rules. Reading the gospels takes training.”
“Fine. Then teach me the rules.”
I raised a hand, trying to slow him down. “Tell me this manuscript is going to be safe.”
He sighed. “Father, of course it’s going to be safe. But I found this book. I need it. And I can’t lose it to neurotic, overprotective librarians. You know they’ll just—”
Suddenly he stopped. He cocked his head toward the steel door and stared at it in alarm.
“What is it?” I whispered.
But he was too rigid to speak. Only his eyes moved. They glanced at his watch, then peered down the far end of the aisle.
Finally I made out a faint mechanical whirr. A motor turning at a lower note than the drone of the distant ventilator.
The elevator.
“Did I set off the alarm?” I asked.
But he only stared at his watch as if it must be deceiving him.
“How do we get out?” I asked. “Is there another exit?”
“Don’t move.”
I peered through the open spaces between shelves. A moment later, my eyes caught it. Movement near the door.
Ugo stepped backward.
Where are you going? I mouthed.
Silently he refilled the duffel bag and lifted it onto his shoulder, eyes never leaving the main door.
An instant later, a voice rose in the vault.
“Doctor Nogara, please come out.”
Ugo’s hand gripped the duffel bag. He knelt and pointed at the scanner on the wall, reminding me not to move. Then he himself began to slink away.
“I mean you no harm,” the voice said. “I was sent here by the Secretariat of State. I need to know what you’re doing here.”
The sound of it was drawing closer. Ugo raised three fingers in the air, but I couldn’t understand the signal. Closing the manuscript, I prepared to slide it back on the shelf.
“We know you’ve been working in Turkey,” the voice went on, only a few stacks away. “We know you’ve been helped by Father Andreou. I’ve followed him to Esenboğa Airport several times. He’s supposed to work for us, so we have a right to know where he goes.”
Ugo’s eyes were wide with fear. He gestured wildly for me not to replace the book on the shelf. He lifted his hand in the air again but this time raised only two fingers.
Now I could see the man’s silhouette. It passed across the mouth of the aisle with the shadowy sweep of a cassock.
I stepped toward the steel door, but Ugo waved me off. He glanced at his watch and extended a single finger in the air.