I, Saul (26 page)

“Do not fight the truth, son. We're all sinners. Isaiah said we had turned, every one, to his own way.”

“Isaiah? You think I care what a Jew writes?”

“What is your own way, Gaius? Do you believe in the gods?”

“Of course!”

“Worship them? Follow their commands? Oh, wait, they have no commands, no claims upon you. Do they care for you, forgive you, live for you? Would they die for you?”

“Stop! You said you had a request of me, so get on with it.”

“I want to prove to you that God loves you.”

“Save your breath.”

“Nothing can silence this message.”

“Your execution will.”

“Oh, no, there you're wrong. This message will long outlive me. It is the story of forgiveness, redemption, salvation. I am merely a mouthpiece.
The movement has begun and will never die, because it is all about One who conquered death.”

“No one can conquer death.”

“One already has. Surely you want to hear more about Him.”

“I do not! I'm leaving.”

“But my request ….”

“Last chance. What is it?”

“Promise to attend my execution.”

“By the gods, I wouldn't miss it!”

“I don't put any stock in their word, but if you tell me you will be there, that is good enough for me.”

“I'll be the one cheering the loudest.”

“As long as you also listen.”

“Sofia and I are going to look for Roger,” Augie said.

“Suit yourself,” Dimos Fokinos said. “I'll get my equipment from the car and start examining the parchments.”

“I will have nothing for you until we find the manuscripts.”

“But what about the one—? Listen, we—you've got to find this thing before the Art Squad does. Once they have it, you lose access. No looking at it. No studying it. No credit for uncovering it. No money.”

“There's no money in this, regardless,” Augie said. “Whoever finds it has to turn it over to the Art Squad.”

Fokinos slowly closed and opened his eyes. “Are you seriously that naïve? We've—you've got to milk this thing for all it's worth. Parcel it out, make them pay for the privilege of seeing it a little bit at a time.”

“Put a ransom on it? We'd wind up in prison for the rest of our lives.”

“They're setting your friend up for that already! So use the parchments as bargaining chips. Trade information for immunity. This is the perfect antiquity to engender one huge reward. The last thing you want to do is to just give it up.”

“Provided it is what we hope it is.”

“I can determine that for you.”

“Why would I show it to someone who encourages me to commit a crime? What would your employer think?”

Fokinos seemed to fight a smile, then sat and rested his elbows on his knees. His tone grew earnest. “Listen, Dr. Knox. I don't need to tell you the value of this find.”

“That's right, so spare me.”

Fokinos held up a hand. “No, hear me. We're not talking millions of euros.”

“I know.”

“Not even tens of millions.”

“I'm aware. This is my field.”

“Hundreds of millions, Augie—may I call you Augie? Maybe even a billion. I don't mean to insult your intelligence, but you don't seem to grasp the magnitude of the discovery.”

“If you'd take a breath, I'll tell you what I grasp.”

“Please do, I beg of you.”

“You're implying that the dollar value supersedes ethics, even laws.”

“I'm not implying it, Augie. I'm saying it outright. You're not going to hurt anyone or even defraud anyone. At worst you're going to break a rule—an unfair rule that says antiquities found in this country belong to the government. Well, I prefer finders keepers.”

“One word of this to my father,” Sofia said, “and you'll be back to your old job.”

Dimos spread his arms on the back of the couch. “So shortsighted.”

“I know my father.”

Fokinos snorted. “Actually you don't. Do you really think he and I have not already had this conversation? Are you not aware that he and I have friends in the Art Squad and every other such agency around the world? That we protect ourselves by also knowing everyone on the black market, from the diggers to the middlemen to the financiers?”

“My dad is the most ethical purveyor of antiq—.”

“How do you think he maintains that reputation, Sofia? By keeping his friends close and his enemies—.”

“Closer, yes,” she said, “I know the adage. But you have him all wrong.”

“Would you bet Roger Michaels's life on it? I'm here on a mission. While you and Augie—.”

“He may be all right with you calling him Augie,” Sofia said, “but I prefer you address him correctly.”

“Fair enough. While you and Dr. Knox pretend you are trying to keep your friend alive long enough to find out where he stashed the manuscripts—as if you don't have them in hand already—I will be cultivating every contact I can find so we can maximize our profits once the goods are in hand.”

Augie narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn't even know where to start.”

Fokinos smiled. “You have no idea. I start with the Art Squad, placing my services at their disposal on behalf of my employer, who, with his compliments and best wishes, lends me and my expertise to help evaluate and protect the single most valuable artifact ever to surface.”

Augie shook his head. “And with his gratitude and blessing, you gain access to anyone you need in Italy.”

“You're catching on.”

Augie's phone buzzed. He peeked at the readout and stood. “Roger!” he said. He went cold when there was no response, but couldn't let on to Fokinos. “Yeah! We were worried about ya. Be right there.”

“That's a relief,” Sofia said. “Where is he?”

“About twenty minutes north,” Augie said, inventing a location the opposite direction from Dimos's and her hotel. He was desperate to keep Fokinos from mucking everything up. “And he's hungry. Let's all go and have a meal with him.”

“Not smart,” Fokinos said. “Just get him back here and order room service.”

“Come on. You need to meet him anyway.”

“I'm staying as far away from him as I can. You want to risk it, feel free. I've got places to go.”

“It's Sunday,” Sofia said. “Come with us.”

“The people I need to see don't keep regular hours,” Fokinos said. “I'll catch up with you later.”

As soon as he was gone, Augie told Sofia his side of the conversation with Roger had been a sham, that the call and the silence meant trouble. “It was reckless of him to leave the hotel, but he's a grown man. I can't tell him what to do.”

“Somebody needs to,” she said. “Augie, you need to know I said nothing to Dimos about our conversation about Roger's soul.”

“Or the first page of the manuscript, I hope.”

“Of course not.”

“You know what that means,” he said.

“He must have seen our texts or overheard our calls. But your phone is secure, right?”

“Guaranteed.”

“Who would have even given him my number?”

“I don't want to think about it,” Augie said.

“Oh, no. Dad wouldn't.”

“Who else?”

“I'm calling him right now,” Sofia said.

“He's not here,” Primus' wife whispered desperately when Luke arrived late that night. “He doesn't want his mother or the children to know what has happened. He said he would meet you at midnight, and it's almost that time.” She told him to wait in the back room of an inn not far away. “I hope you don't mind meeting him there. They stay open late for men who enjoy their ale and mead. I know you are not one of those.”

“No, but I know the place.”

“Don't let him stay out too late. Or drink too much.”

Luke smiled. “Try not to worry. Your husband will survive this. Bless you.”

Luke hurried through the streets, reminded that for the first time in weeks he felt he was actually making progress. His daily workload
was becoming more manageable. The rebuilding of the city progressed slowly, but people were being gradually relocated. While they seemed grateful to have shelter again, many grumbled that the emperor himself had been behind the disaster. “It's only fair he provide for me and my family,” one woman told him. “His fire put us on the streets.”

As Luke made his way toward the inn, he wondered what the magnanimous Onesiphorus would think of how he was using the treasure the man had provided for Paul's care. Luke assumed he would be in favor of whatever made Paul's life better—even bribery.

Luke slipped into the alley behind the inn and found the back door. The place was crowded with revelers, many already past their thresholds of strong drink. The proprietor handed a tray of decanters to a chubby woman and headed for Luke. “I didn't expect to see you here after hours, Doctor,” he said, leading him to a small table near the bar. “I don't imagine you'd care for mead or ale?”

“No, thank you. Just meeting a friend. He might like something when he arrives.”

The man leaned close. “I have some aged wine that few here can afford. I'd be honored to offer you a sample, with my compliments.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Luke said.

“When your friend gets here, I'll bring you each a cup.”

Luke sat facing the door and waved tentatively when Primus entered. Someone broke into song, accompanied harshly by flute and lute and drums. People rose to dance with the servant girls. Primus appeared annoyed by the merriment. With his job in jeopardy and a family to support, Luke couldn't blame him. The guard weaved through the revelers to Luke's table.

“Have you eaten?” Luke said.