The Sixth Station(112)

Do what you do. You’re a reporter. Do what you do. Don’t stay here.

I paid the bill and asked the waiter if they had a computer terminal available, and he directed me to the business office. For ten euros I got an hour of Internet service.

In Google, I entered the key words “Cathar treasure” (904,000 results), “Baphomet” (5,230,000 results), and “Veil of Veronica” (1,750,000 results).

Overwhelming when on a short leash, for sure.

I refined the search and added the keyword “Vatican” to each of the above. “Baphomet & Vatican” (12,200,000), “Cathar treasure & Vatican” (989,000), and “Veil & Vatican” (3,650,000).

The top hits in the first two categories seemed like too many amateur sleuths, wackos, and conspiracy theorists with equally nutty videos—mostly overweight men sitting in Barcalounger chairs in their dens spouting hidden wisdom. But none of any of the top hits connected the Veil with the Cathar treasure.

The third category, “Veil & Vatican,” however, seemed to be filled with researchers and fewer kooks.

I scanned the results, and the second one on the hit list was for a book called The Face of God by a journalist named Paul Badde, whose credits included Vatican correspondent for the German newspaper Die Welt.

I looked up his book, and he was apparently the foremost researcher of the Veil of Veronica. One review particularly caught my attention when it stated that his book unmasked the popular and accepted account that a woman called Veronica wiped the face of Jesus as he carried the cloth. The actual cloth that came to bear the image of Jesus was kept in a monastery in a town called Manoppello. It was known there as the Holy Face.

It also said that there was a so-called Holy Face or Veil of Veronica in the Vatican—but that it wasn’t the authentic one. I was getting more confused by the minute. Whether it was a woman named Veronica or Maryanne, for all I cared, and whether the Vatican had the fake or the genuine article—I needed to see it for myself.

I Googled up Badde’s Italian book publicist and placed a call. I introduced myself as Alazais Roussel, a producer for the History Channel. I explained that I was doing the preliminary research for a two-part special we’d be doing and would very much like to speak with Paul Badde about his research on the Veil.

You would have thought it was the pope himself calling. Of course I knew why: A hit on History would translate into a big bump in book sales. She put me on hold while she made a conference call to Badde himself.

“Mr. Badde, thank you for taking my call,” I said when he was connected.

“Yes, it is my pleasure. History Channel is one of my favorites,” he said in a very refined German accent.

“The feature I’m working on is about the great treasures of the Vatican,” I lied, praying he wouldn’t look up my bio.

“Oh, wonderful,” he said, but I could tell he was disappointed that it wasn’t a whole show about the particular Veil in Manoppello that he’d written about.

“I understand that you are an expert on the greatest relic in the Vatican, the Veil of Veronica, and I was wondering if we could meet.”

“Yes, of course.” Now he sounded downright disappointed. “When would you like to meet, Ms. Roussel? I have some time tomorrow afternoon.”

Not good.

“I’m, ah, leaving for, ah, Perugia, tonight,” I said, paranoia rising.

Don’t overdo it. You’ll sound like a liar.

Instead of listening to myself, the pushy reporter took over.

“Are you free today?”

“Well, not really. I have an appointment.”

“What about right now?”

“Ms. Roussel, I am at work on a book now. It’s not a good time.”

His publicist cut in. “Is there another time you could meet, Ms. Roussel?”

“Not really. Like I said, flying to Perugia later.”

“May we call you back, Ms. Roussel, with a more convenient time for Mr. Badde?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m on a time constraint. There’s a relic in Perugia that takes precedent, I’m afraid.”

You sound like a nasty American bitch.

It worked.

He told me to meet him at one of the private gates of the Vatican—which he explained was around on the side of Saint Peter’s on one of the myriad streets that encircle the complex. “Ask any guard and he will direct you to the proper gate.”

I met him on a side street after asking directions. He was standing alone. Middle-aged, handsome in tweed jacket and brown slacks—very old-world gentlemanly and elegant. Not like my crowd. If you’re a print or online reporter in NYC, and you wear clean jeans to work, everyone thinks you hit the lotto the night before.