Robin Cook - Seizure

When the Americans disappeared around a corner, Michael broke into a run until they were back in sight. He was intent on not losing them. Taking a direct clue from his mentor and boss, James Cardinal O’Rourke, Michael was treating his current commission with great seriousness. He strongly aspired to rising in the church hierarchy, and to date, things had been going as planned. First, there had been the opportunity to study in Rome. Next had come the recognition of his talents by the then Bishop O’Rourke, the invitation to join his staff, and the elevation of the bishop to archbishop. At this point in his career, Michael knew his success depended solely on pleasing his powerful superior, and he intuitively knew this assignment concerning the shroud was a golden opportunity. Thanks to its importance to the cardinal, it was affording him a unique circumstance to demonstrate his unswerving loyalty, dedication, and even his ability to improvise, given the lack of specific guidelines.

Emerging into the Piazza Carlo Alberto, Michael surmised the couple was headed toward the Grand Belvedere. He quickened his pace to almost a jog in order to be right behind the Americans as they entered. Inside, he held back as they boarded an elevator, and then watched the indicator as it rose to the fourth floor. Satisfied, Michael retreated to the sitting area within the hotel’s lobby. He sat down on a velvet couch, picked up a copy of the Corriere della Sera, and began to read while keeping one eye on the bank of elevators. So far, so good, he thought.

He didn’t have to wait long. The couple reemerged and then went into the dining room. Michael responded by moving from one couch to another, which afforded a better view of the dining room entrance. He was confident that no one had paid him the slightest heed. He knew that in Italy, wearing Roman Catholic priestly garb gave one both access and anonymity.

A half hour later, when the couple came out of the dining room, Michael had to smile. A half hour for lunch was so American. He knew that the Italians in the room were all settled in for at least two hours. The Americans went back to the elevator and once more rose up to the fourth floor.

Michael had considerably longer to wait on this occasion. Finishing the newspaper, he looked around for something else to read. Not finding anything and reluctant to risk going to the sundries shop, he began thinking about what he would do if the information he hoped to get from Luigi was not appropriate. He wasn’t even sure what wasn’t going to be appropriate. What he expected to learn was that at least one of the pair worked in some capacity for Senator Butler or possibly an organization that had ties to the senator. He remembered the senator specifically saying he would dispatch an agent to get the sample. Exactly what he meant by “agent” remained to be seen.

Michael stretched and looked at his watch. It was now going on three in the afternoon, and his stomach began to growl. He’d not eaten, save for the bit of pastry at the Caffè Torino. While his mind teased him with images of his favorite pastas, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d deliberately turned off its ringer. In a bit of a panic lest he miss the call, he got the phone out and answered. It was Luigi.

“The report just came in from my contacts with the immigration people,” Luigi said. “I don’t believe you are going to like what I have learned.”

“Oh!” Michael commented. He tried to remain calm. Unfortunately, at that moment the Americans stepped from the elevator with coats on and guidebooks in hand, obviously ready to go on an outing. Fearing they might take a taxi, which would add an element of difficulty, Michael struggled to get into his own coat while keeping the phone pressed to his ear. The Americans moved quickly, as they had done earlier. “Hang on, Luigi!” Michael said, interrupting the monsignor. “I’m on the move here.” With one arm in his coat, Michael had gotten the free sleeve caught in the revolving door. He had to back up to free himself.

“Prego!” the doorman said, as he lent a hand.

“Mi scusi,” Michael responded. Freed from the door, he rushed outside and was rewarded to see the Americans passing the taxi stand and heading toward the northwest corner of the square. He slowed to a fast walk.

“Sorry, Luigi,” Michael said into the phone. “The couple just decided to leave the hotel the moment you called. What were you saying?”

“I said they are both scientists,” Luigi responded.

Michael felt his pulse quicken. “That’s not good news!”

“I didn’t think so either. Apparently, their names came right up when the Italian authorities contacted their American counterparts asking for information. They are both Ph.D.s in the biomolecular arena, with Daniel Lowell more of a chemist and Stephanie D’Agostino more of a biologist. They are apparently well known in their fields, he more than she. Since they both have the same home address, they are apparently cohabitating.”

“Good grief!” Michael commented.

“They certainly don’t sound like normal couriers.”

“This is a worst-case scenario.”

“I agree. With their backgrounds, they must be planning on some sort of testing. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Michael said. “I’ve got to think.”

“Let me know if I can help!”

“I’ll be in touch,” Michael said before terminating the call.

Although Michael had just told Luigi he didn’t know what he was going to do, that wasn’t quite true. He had already decided he was going to retrieve the shroud sample; he just didn’t know how. What he did know is that he wanted to do it himself so that when he reported back to Cardinal O’Rourke, he could take full credit for saving his Savior’s blood from further scientific indignity.

The Americans reached the expansive Piazza Castello but did not slow down. Michael’s first thought was that they planned to visit the Palazzo Reale, the former residence of the House of Savoy, but he changed his mind when the Americans skirted the Piazzeta Reale to reach the Piazza Giovanni.

“Of course!” Michael said out loud. He knew the Duomo di San Giovanni stood on the square, and the church was the current home of the shroud following the 1997 fire in its chapel. Michael followed a little farther behind, to be certain of the Americans’ destination. As soon as he saw them mount the front steps of the cathedral, he turned around and began retracing his steps. Assuming his charges would be suitably engaged away from their hotel for the time being, Michael thought he’d better take advantage of the opportunity. If he were to retrieve the shroud sample, this might be the best time, if not the only time, assuming they would be leaving in the morning.

Although Michael was already slightly out of breath, he pushed himself to quicken his pace. He wanted to get back to the Grand Belvedere as quickly as possible. Despite his obvious inexperience with intrigue in general and with burglary in particular, he had to find out which room in the hotel Daniel and Stephanie occupied, manage to get into it, and find the silver case, all within a couple hours.

“Is this the actual shroud we’re looking at?” Daniel asked in a whisper. There were a number of other people in the cathedral, but they were either kneeling in prayer in the pews or lighting candles in front of religious statuary. The only sounds were the occasional echoes of heels against the marble floor as people moved about.

“No, it’s not the shroud,” Stephanie whispered back. “It’s a full-sized photographic replica.” She was holding the guidebook open to the proper page. She and Daniel were facing a glass-front alcove that encompassed the first floor of the north transept of the church. One story above the enclosure was the curtained box from which the former Dukes and Duchesses of Savoy witnessed the celebration of the Mass.