John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

Leo looked around the station at the wet commuters milling about. “We can buy our train tickets using cash at that machine over there.” He nudged John and pointed to an orange self-service ticket machine next to the entrance. “This metro line connects with the Ostiense railway station. From there, we can take a train directly to the airport.”

After obtaining their tickets, John paced about the platform, suspicious of everyone, while Leo grabbed a train schedule from a rack on the tiled wall. The crowd along the platform grew until a roar filled the station announcing the arrival of their train. With a loud hiss of air, the doors slid open and the subway cars emptied and filled. Taking their seats, the two rode in silence as they rumbled under the city toward Rome’s Stazione Roma Ostiense .

After a short fifteen minute ride, the train came to a stop in the station. Leo paused before leaving his seat to peer through the window at the people on the platform. “They might be watching this station, John. This is the main terminal for trains heading south. According to this schedule, the train to the airport leaves in thirty-five minutes, seven thirty exactly.”

“Where should we wait?”

“I doubt they’re looking very closely at the airport trains,” Leo said. He looked around and thought for a moment. “Maybe we should head over to the terminal bar and just wait it out.”

“Don’t you think they’ll be watching the bar?”

“At this point, anything’s possible, but with the flooded streets we’ll never make it to the airport in time if we try to take a cab, so the train is still our best option.”

The two proceeded through the terminal to a wood-paneled Victorian-looking establishment that seemed out of place in a modern railway station. They entered and headed straight for the seats at the end of the bar where they could watch the door.

“Vino?” the burly man behind the bar asked.

“Water, please,” Leo said. He knew they had to remain sharp for this last dash out of Rome.

The man grunted and handed them two bottles of water that cost more than wine. Everyone who entered drew their attention, even the women. It was rumored that the fabled Swiss Guard were assigning female security agents to the Vatican after finally starting to admit women into their ranks.

At seven twenty-five, the train to the airport was announced overhead. John began to rise from his stool when Leo grabbed him by the arm and nodded toward two stern-looking men in dark suits who were walking through the entrance. The men looked up and down the length of the bar and began scanning the faces at every table. Two women at the farthest booth from the door shouted out a greeting and began waving. The men smiled and returned the waves before hurrying over to join them

“Let’s go,” Leo said.

Pulling their caps down low over their eyes, they slung their backpacks over their shoulders and walked out of the bar toward their train. There were twelve railway platforms in the station, and at this hour, all the platforms were full as people hurried back and forth while trains arrived and departed from all directions.

Weaving their way through the rush hour crowd to their train, Leo and John passed two striking young women who turned and giggled at the men’s gaudy shirts.

John pulled his hat farther down over his face. “I feel ridiculous.”

Leo grinned. “That’s the point. Dressed like this, I doubt any security people will recognize us.”

It seemed like most of the passengers were well dressed. Dressing well in Italy, especially in Milan and Rome, was a national pastime. There was a sense of pride in the way one dressed in this country. An Italian’s clothing was a statement to friends and strangers alike that they were to be respected and that they respected others enough to dress well for them also.

The main offenders in this daily fashion drama were the tourists. You could spot them instantly. This was the look Leo and John had adopted in an effort to throw off anyone who was looking for them. Stepping into the train, the two were ignored by the locals. They were seen only as ingredients of a pervasive vacationer milieu. It was exactly what Leo wanted.

They watched through the windows while the train began to creep away from the station, gathering momentum until it was speeding toward their final stop over the glistening wet tracks that ran parallel to the highway.

John was becoming more nervous by the minute. “I hope the red-eye flight to Israel hasn’t sold out yet.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the floor while the streetlights flashed by outside their windows.

“Stay calm, John. It is what it is. If they’re sold out, we’ll find a place in the terminal to lay low until the next flight.”

At last, the train entered the island of light that surrounded the airport before diving beneath the terminal. The platform at the airport station seemed almost deserted as the two men exited the train and walked up the wide marble stairs to the main departure terminal. They scanned the area for security men but saw only a few sleepy-looking passengers pulling wheeled luggage. Leo inhaled a deep breath before he motioned to John and headed directly to the El Al ticket counter.

The Israeli ticket agent looked up as Leo approached. “Good evening, sir.”

Leo gave the woman his biggest smile. “We’d like to buy two tickets to Jerusalem please.”

“Tonight, sir?” Her tone was formal, and she didn’t smile.

Leo’s hopes began to fade. “Yes. We need to go tonight.”

“We have one flight leaving this evening, but the only seats we have left are in first class, sir. Would you like those?”

Leo breathed a little easier. “Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”

“How will you be paying for those tonight, sir?”

“Cash.” He avoided her eyes and tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

Leo was aware that, since they were paying in cash, plus heading for a country high on the terror hit list, they would be scrutinized by Israeli security and Interpol even more closely.

The ticket agent locked eyes with Leo and picked up the phone on the counter. She spoke in hushed tones to an unseen person on the other end. Within seconds, a man in a dark blue suit appeared behind the agent. He studied the two men briefly before speaking in a flat bureaucratic voice. “May I have your passports please?”

John and Leo exchanged glances before surrendering their only means of leaving the country to the obvious airport security man. Taking their passports, he compared them to their pictures, then turned and disappeared into an office area behind the counter. After enduring a long wait watching the joyless agent typing on her keyboard in front of them, the man finally returned with their passports and handed them over to the ticket agent.

With her endless typing finally at an end, the agent stuffed two tickets into paper folders and placed them on the counter with their passports. “Concourse B, to your left. Your plane is on time tonight, gentlemen. Have a nice flight.”

Leo and John exhaled slowly. Almost to the finish line .

The two men grabbed their tickets and headed across the immense lobby toward the security checkpoint. They were within feet of the metal detector when John suddenly stopped and looked at Leo. “What about the brick with the painting on it in my backpack?”

The look on Leo’s face told John that he had completely forgotten about the stone brick from the chapel. “Damn. It’s an archaeological artifact, which means it belongs to the Italian government. Actually, it belongs to the Vatican, but we can’t say that. They’ll never let us leave the country with it. It’s a crime to take an archaeological relic out of Italy.”