Julia Navarro - The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

"Yes, but still, I think there are two worlds: the one we see, in which the vast majority of us live, and then another, underground world that we know nothing about. That's the place from which these various organizations-financial, Masonic, whatever-pull the strings. And that's where this new Temple can be found, in that underground world."

"Granting that you're right, which I'm not so sure of, it doesn't explain what relationship the Templars of today have to the shroud."

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I've told you all this because your Padre Yves could be…"

"Say it."

"He could be one of them."

"A Templar in this secret society that you think- think, mind you-exists?"

"You think I'm seeing things, that this accident, this wheelchair, has made me paranoid, but I'm a reporter just like you are, Ana, and I can still tell reality from fiction. I've told you what I think. Now you can act as you see fit. If the shroud belonged to the Templars, and Padre Yves comes from the family of Geoffroy de Charney-"

"Even then," Ana interrupted her. "Even given all that, the shroud is not the cloth that Christ was buried in. We know it dates from de Charney's time, basically, and I think the Templars would have had to know it was a recent creation, or at least that its provenance was dubious-and I just don't see them staking everything on another half-baked relic, as they seem to have done…"

Listening to Elisabeth, Ana realized how ridiculous she herself must have looked, taking the time of serious scholars to expound on her own theories.

At that moment she didn't like herself much. She felt like a fool that she'd lost her head over a far-fetched story, trying to out-investigate the pros in the Art Crimes Department. It was over, she told herself; she was going back to Barcelona on the next plane. She'd call Santiago. She knew he'd be delighted when she told him she was moving on, that she'd had enough of the shroud to last a lifetime.

Elisabeth and Paul left her to her thoughts. They could see the skepticism-incredulity, really-reflected on her face. They had spoken to only a handful of people about their investigations into the new Temple, because they feared for their lives and the life of anyone who helped them. But this reporter had gotten herself in pretty deep, and they thought she had a right to know what she was up against.

"Elisabeth, are you going to give it to her?"

Paul's words brought Ana out of her reverie.

"Give me what?" asked Ana.

"This file, Ana. It's a summary of my work over the last five years. Michael's and my work, rather. It lists the names and biographies of the men we think are the new masters of the Temple. In my opinion, Lord McCall is the Grand Master. But read it and see what you think. And however ridiculous we seem to you, be careful, for your sake and ours. Only a few people know about this. We're trusting you because we think you're on the verge of an important discovery-we aren't sure exactly what it is, or what direction it'll take you, but you seem to be zeroing in on something, something big, that we've been missing. There are notes and historical details in the file you may want to think about, too, which may be relevant to your shroud, things we've discovered about the fall of the order, where they fled, speculations about what happened to their records and their riches, how they reconstituted themselves……

"If these papers fall into the wrong hands, we'll all die-don't doubt that. So I ask that you confide in no one, absolutely no one. They have ears everywhere-in the judiciary, in the police, in parliaments, in the stock markets-everywhere. I'm sure you're already on their radar. They know you've been with us; what they don't know is what we've told you. We've invested a great deal in security, and we have electronic scanners to find bugs. Even so, it's possible that we haven't found them all."

"Elisabeth, I'm sorry. This is too far into John le Carre territory, even for me."

"Think whatever you want, Ana, but you've put yourself into this. Will you do what we ask?"

"Look-you've taken me into your confidence, and I'm grateful. Your secrets are safe with me. Not a word to anyone, I promise. Shall I return this file when I've finished reading it?"

"Destroy it. It's just a summary, but I promise- you'll find it useful, very useful, especially if you decide to go on."

"What makes you think I'm turning back?"

Elisabeth took a deep breath before replying, then smiled ever so slightly.

"That's what you should do, Ana, believe me. Stop now. But somehow I don't think you will."

IT WAS SEVEN A.M., AND THE CORE MEMBERS of the Art Crimes Department looked like they'd just gotten out of bed after a sleepless night. Now they were waiting for their breakfast orders to be brought in. The hotel dining room had just opened and they'd been the first guests to enter.

At nine the mute was to be released from the Turin jail.

Marco had planned for the operation to tail him meticulously. They would be backed up by a group of carabinieri and by Interpol.

Sofia was nervous, and she thought Minerva looked uneasy too. Even Antonino showed the tension in the way he tightened his lips. Marco, Pietro, and Giuseppe, however, seemed fine-loose and easy. All three were cops, and for them a tail was routine. They had reviewed their respective roles and responsibilities until they could practically recite them in their sleep. There was nothing to do now but wait.

To fill the time, Sofia began to update Marco and the team about some of the more intriguing leads-or hints, really-that she'd come across on her most recent forays into the shadowy history of the shroud, paging through biblical Apocrypha and books on Edessa and its role as an ancient center of trade. The more she delved into the connection they'd unearthed to Urfa, Edessa's modern incarnation, the more convinced she became that there was indeed a thread stretching from there through the centuries-cryptic allusions to inquiries emanating from powerful forces within the city seeking the whereabouts of a mysterious lost treasure. The probes seemed to reach into every kingdom on the continent and beyond, even as far as England, Scotland, and Ireland. She was certain that the treasure was Edessa's stolen shroud-and that perhaps the effort to recover it hadn't stopped when the historical accounts broke off.

"Jesus, I never heard anything so stupid!" Pietro interrupted her. "It's too early in the morning for this bullshit, Sofia."

"This is not bullshit! I mean, it's speculation, I know that, and it's a little 'out there,' and I'm not saying that it's true, but you can't call everything that doesn't agree with what you think 'bullshit.' "

"Cool it!" Marco barked. "Sofia, I don't know… it seems a bit fantastic that this could have been going on all these years. But with a little luck, and close attention to the job at hand," he looked pointedly around the table at them all, "we'll have some hard answers soon. Now let's run through everything one more time."

Far from Turin, the animated atmosphere within the opulent penthouse of one of the world's most powerful shipping magnates was in stark contrast to the storm outside now lashing New York City. Guests milled about, chatting happily, laughing, and although it was after midnight, the party seemed to be just beginning. The group of men ensconced comfortably in a discreet corner with champagne and Havana cigars seemed to perfectly reflect the festive mood of the night.

Their conversation, however, belied their relaxed postures.

"Mendib will be leaving the prison about now," the oldest murmured discreetly to the others. "Everything is ready."

"I'm concerned about this situation. Bakkalbasi has seven men in all, Addaio has hired a professional killer, and Marco Valoni has put a whole team of men and equipment in place. Won't we be terribly exposed? Wouldn't it be better to let them resolve this themselves?" the Frenchman asked.