Robin Cook - Seizure

The photograph was displayed landscape-wise. The heads of the front and back image of the crucified man almost touched in the center, which was explained by the man having been placed supine on the cloth and then the cloth having been folded over on top of him. The frontal image was to the left. The photograph was positioned on what appeared to be a table fourteen feet long and four feet wide, draped to the floor with pleated blue fabric.

“The photograph is sitting on the new conservation case that houses the shroud,” Stephanie explained. “It has a hydraulic system, so that when the shroud is to be displayed, the top can be rotated upward, and the relic can be viewed through bulletproof glass.”

“I remember reading about it,” Daniel commented. “It sounds like an impressive setup. For the first time in the shroud’s long life, it rests completely horizontal in a controlled atmosphere.”

“It’s truly amazing that the image has lasted as long as it has, considering what it has been through.”

“Looking at this full-size photo, I find the image more difficult to discern than I imagined. In fact, if this is what the shroud itself looks like, it’s somewhat anticlimactic. It can be seen and appreciated better in the book you got.”

“And better still in the negative,” Stephanie added.

“Apparently, the image hasn’t faded. What’s happened is the background has yellowed, so the contrast is diminished.”

“I hope the new conservation case keeps that from happening any more,” Stephanie remarked. “Well, so much for where the shroud rests.” She turned and glanced around the cathedral’s interior. “I thought we might want to stroll around in here, but for an Italian Renaissance Church, this is rather plain.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Daniel said. “Let’s move on. How about taking a peek at the royal palace? The interior is supposed to be quintessentially rococo.”

Stephanie looked at Daniel askance. “When have you become such an expert on architecture and interior design?”

Daniel laughed. “I just read it in the guidebook before we left.”

“Well, I’d love to see the palace, except I have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

Stephanie looked down at her feet. “I forgot to put on some decent walking shoes instead of these that I wore to lunch. I’m afraid my feet are going to be killing me if we traipse around all afternoon. I’m sorry, but would you mind terribly if we went back to the hotel briefly?”

“As far as I’m concerned, now that we got the shroud sample, we’re just killing time. I don’t care what we do.”

“Thanks,” Stephanie said, relieved. Daniel could be impatient with such lapses. “I really am sorry. I should have known better. And while we’re there, I’m going to put on another sweater. It’s colder out than I thought.”

Except in conjunction with some harmless pranks as a college student, Father Michael Maloney had never knowingly broken a civil law, and the fact that he was now about to do so caused more anxiety than he had anticipated. Not only was he shaky and perspiring, but he also had enough epigastric distress to wish he had an antacid. Adding to his burden was the concern about time. He certainly did not want to be caught flagrante delicto by the Americans. Although he was confident they would be away for two or more hours on their sightseeing foray, he decided to limit himself to one hour just to be sure. The mere thought of being surprised made his knees feel weak.

As he had approached the Grand Belvedere, he had no idea how he was going to accomplish his goal, at least not until he had passed a flower shop in the same square with the hotel. Ducking into the shop, he had inquired if one of their prepared flower arrangements could be delivered immediately to the hotel. When he’d gotten a positive reply, he picked out an arrangement, addressed an envelope with the Americans’ names, and signed the card: Welcome to the Grand Belvedere, the management.

And now, five minutes later, while Michael was sitting on the same sofa in the hotel lobby he’d occupied earlier, the flower arrangement came through the revolving door. Lifting his newspaper to cover his face, Michael watched surreptitiously as the same woman he’d dealt with in the flower shop delivered the flowers to the bell desk. One of the bellmen signed for them, and the woman left.

Unfortunately, for the next ten minutes nothing happened. The flowers stood on the bell desk as the bellmen engaged in animated conversation with each other.

“Come on!” Michael voiced silently while gritting his teeth. He wanted to go over to the bell desk and complain, but he dared not. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. His plan was to take full advantage of his priestly garb to appear harmless, if not relatively invisible.

Finally, one of the bellmen checked the envelope on the flowers and then went behind the bell desk. Michael could tell he was checking a computer screen by the reflection of light on the man’s face. A moment later, he came from behind the desk, picked up the flowers, and headed for the elevator. Michael put his newspaper aside and stayed right behind him.

The bellman nodded a greeting to Michael as the doors closed. Michael smiled back. At the fourth floor, the bellman exited and Michael did the same. Keeping a little distance between himself and the bellman, Michael followed. When the bellman stopped outside room 408 and knocked, Michael passed by. The bellman nodded and smiled. Michael did the same.

Michael rounded a corner and stopped. Carefully, he looked back. He saw the bellman knock again before getting out a ring of keys on a chain. He opened the door and disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared sans flowers, he was whistling softly. He closed the door and walked back to the elevators.

When the bellman was gone, Michael walked back to room 408. He didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, and it wasn’t. Looking down the length of the corridor, he saw a cleaning cart. Taking a deep breath and blowing up his cheeks momentarily to bolster his courage, Michael headed toward the cart. It was positioned next to a door held open by a doorstop.

Michael knocked tentatively on the open door. “Scusi!” he called out. He heard a television playing in the background. Entering the room, he saw two middle-aged women in brown dress uniforms making the bed. “Scusi!” Michael called, considerably more loudly.

The women responded as if shocked. Both perceptively blanched. One recovered enough to run over and turn off the television.

Marshaling his best Italian, Michael asked the women if they could help him. He explained he’d left his key in room 408, and he needed to make an immediate telephone call. He wanted to know if they would be so kind as to open his door to keep him from having to go down to the front desk.

The women exchanged a confused glance. It took Michael a moment to realize that they spoke very little Italian. He explained his supposed predicament again, speaking slowly and distinctly. On this occasion, one of the women got the message, and to Michael’s relief held up her passkeys. Michael nodded.

As if to make up for the communication difficulties, the woman pushed past Michael and practically ran down the hall. It was all Michael could do to keep up with her. She unlocked room 408 and held the door open. Michael thanked her as he stepped over the threshold. The door closed.

Michael exhaled. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. He backed up to lean against the door as he surveyed the room. The drapes were open, and there was plenty of light. There was more luggage than he expected, although all but two of the bags were still zippered or latched as if they had yet to be opened. Unfortunately, there was no silver box visible on the bureau, the desk, or the nightstands.