Seizure (23 page)

“We had visitors!”

“Oh! How can you tell?”

Stephanie pointed toward the bureau. “The silver case is gone.”

“Gone it is,” Daniel said. “I guess you were right all along.”

“Of course I was right,” Stephanie responded. She walked over and put her hand on the bureau where the silver case had been, as if she didn't believe it was gone. “But so were you. They must have been after the shroud sample.”

“Well, I have to give you full credit for your idea of taking the sample out and leaving the case behind.”

“Thank you,” Stephanie said. “But first, let's make sure it wasn't just that they thought the case was something valuable.” She went over to her suitcase and again checked her jewelry case. Everything was still in it, including the cash.

Daniel did the same. The jewelry, cash, and traveler's checks were all accounted for. He straightened up. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“Get out of Italy. Never in a million years did I ever think I'd feel that way.” Stephanie collapsed on the bed, coat and all, and stared up at the multicolored glass chandelier.

“I'm talking about tonight.”

“You mean whether to change hotels or rooms?”

“Exactly.”

“Let's just stay here and use the dead bolt.”

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Daniel said as he stepped out of his pants. Holding them by the cuffs, he arranged them to preserve the creases. “I cannot wait to climb into bed,” he added, as he eyed Stephanie, sprawled out on her back. He then went to the closet and hung up his trousers. Holding on to the jamb, he stepped out of his loafers.

“It would be a humongous effort to move, and I'm bushed,” Stephanie said. With great effort, she got back on her feet and shook off her coat. “Besides, I'm not confident whoever has been plaguing us wouldn't be able to find us wherever we went. Let's just not leave this room until we're ready to leave the hotel.” She pushed past Daniel and hung up her coat.

“Fine by me,” Daniel said, as he unbuttoned his shirt. “In the morning, we can even skip trying to have something to eat here at the hotel. Instead, we can grab a bite of breakfast at one of those coffee bars at the airport. They all seem to have a
selection of pastries. The concierge said we should be there around six, which means we are going to have to get up pretty damn early, even if we don't try to eat before leaving.”

“Excellent idea,” Stephanie said. “I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to getting to the airport, checking in, and getting on that plane.”

4:45
A
.
M
., Tuesday, February 26, 2002

 

Despite the hefty
security lock on the door, Stephanie slept poorly. Every noise from inside the hotel or from outside had caused a minor panic reaction, and there had been a lot of noises. At one point just after midnight, when guests had keyed and entered a neighboring room, Stephanie had sat up, ready for battle, certain the people were coming into her room. She'd sat up so quickly that she'd pulled the covers from Daniel, whose response was to yank them back angrily.

After two
A
.
M
., Stephanie finally fell asleep. But it was far from a restful slumber, and it was a source of relief when Daniel shook her shoulder to wake her after what had seemed to her to be about fifteen minutes.

“What time is it?” she asked groggily. She pushed herself up on one elbow.

“It's five
A
.
M
. Rise and shine! We should be out in a taxi in a half hour.”

“Rise and shine” had been a phrase her mother had used to wake her when Stephanie had been a teenager, and since Stephanie had been an Olympic-class sleeper who hated to wake up, the phrase had always bothered her. Daniel knew the
story and used the expression deliberately to provoke her, which, of course, was an effective way to wake her up. “I'm awake,” she said irritably when he shook her again. She eyed her tormentor, but he merely smiled before briefly mussing her hair with the palm of his hand. The gesture was something else Stephanie found irritating, even when her hair was in disarray, as it certainly was at that moment; it was demeaning, and she had told Daniel such on several occasions. It made her feel as if he considered her a child or, worse yet, a pet.

Stephanie watched Daniel go into the bathroom. She rolled over on her back and winced at the light. The multicolored glass chandelier was blazing above her. Outside, it was still as dark as pitch. She took a breath. It seemed as if the only thing she wanted to do in the whole world was to go back to sleep. But then the cobwebs in her mind began to clear, and she thought about how much she wanted to get on the plane with the shroud fibers and get out of Italy.

“Are you up?” Daniel shouted from the bathroom.

“I'm up!” Stephanie shouted back. She had no compunction about fibbing, not after how merciless he'd been in waking her up. She stretched, yawned, and then sat up. After shaking off a brief sensation akin to nausea, she got to her feet.

A shower worked wonders for both of them. Despite Daniel's acting to the contrary, he had been far from feeling chipper initially and had had almost as much trouble getting out of bed after the alarm went off as Stephanie. Yet by the time they had gotten out of the bathroom, they were both in high spirits in anticipation of getting to the airport. They dressed and packed with great efficiency. By quarter past five, Daniel called the front desk to arrange for a taxi and to get someone to come get their bags.

“It's hard to believe we'll be in Nassau by late this afternoon,” Daniel said, as he closed and locked his suitcase. The day's itinerary was to fly to London on Air France via Paris, connect to British Airways, and then fly on directly to New Providence Island in the Bahamas.

“What I find difficult to comprehend is that we'll be going from winter to summer in a single day. It seems like ages since I've been in a pair of shorts and a summer top. I'm psyched.”

The bellman arrived and took their luggage down to the lobby on a garment cart with instructions that it should be loaded into the taxi. While Stephanie dried her hair, Daniel stood in the bathroom doorway.

“I think we should tell the manager about our intruder,” Stephanie said over the sound of the hotel's hair dryer.

“What would that accomplish?”

“Not much, I suppose, but I'd think they'd want to know.”

Daniel looked at his watch. “I think it's a moot point. We don't have time. It's almost five-thirty. We need to be on our way.”

“Why don't you go down and check out,” Stephanie suggested. “I'll be down in two minutes.”

“Nassau, here we come,” Daniel said as he left.

 

The phone's insistent jangle yanked Michael Maloney from the depths of sleep. He had the phone to his ear before he was totally awake. It was Father Peter Fleck, Cardinal O'Rourke's other personal secretary.

“Are you awake?” Peter asked. “Sorry to be calling you at such an hour.”

“What time is it?” Michael asked. He fumbled for the bedside light, then tried to make out what time it was on his watch.

“It's twenty-five minutes before midnight here in New York. What time is it there in Italy?”

“It is five-thirty-five in the morning.”

“Sorry, but you told me when you called this afternoon that it was imperative you speak with the cardinal as soon as possible, and His Eminence has just returned to the residence. Let me put him on the line.”

Michael rubbed his face and patted his cheek to wake himself. A moment later, James Cardinal O'Rourke's gentle voice sounded in Michael's ear. He too apologized for calling at such an inconvenient hour and explained that he'd been forced to remain at an interminable function with the governor, which had started in the late afternoon.

“I'm sorry I must add to your burdens,” Michael said, with some trepidation. He was not fooled by the powerful man's humble graciousness. Behind the apparent benevolence,
Michael was well aware of how ruthless he could be, especially to a subordinate who was either foolish or unlucky enough to displease him. At the same time, to those who pleased him, he could be extraordinarily generous.

“Are you implying there has been a problem in Turin?” the cardinal questioned.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Michael said. “The two people whom Senator Butler sent to receive the sample of the shroud are both biomolecular scientists.”

“I see,” James commented.

“Their names are Dr. Daniel Lowell and Dr. Stephanie D'Agostino.”

“I see,” James repeated.

“From your instructions,” Michael continued, “I knew you would be distressed about this development because of its implications about unauthorized testing. The good news is that by working quickly with Monsignor Mansoni, I have managed to arrange that the sample will be returned forthwith.”

“Oh,” James said simply. There was an uncomfortable pause. As far as Michael was concerned, this was hardly the response he was expecting. By this point in the conversation, he counted on a definitively positive reaction from the cardinal.

“Obviously, the goal is to avoid any more scientific indignity for the shroud,” Michael added quickly. A shiver ascended his spine. His intuition was telling him the conversation was about to take an unexpected turn.

“Have doctors Lowell and D'Agostino voluntarily agreed to give up the sample?”

“Not exactly,” Michael admitted. “The sample will be confiscated by the Italian authorities when they check in for a flight to Paris this morning.”

“And what will happen to the scientists?”

“I believe they will be detained.”

“Was it true that the shroud itself did not have to be touched to produce this sample, as Senator Butler suggested?”

“That is true. The sample was a tiny piece from a swatch that had been cut from the shroud a number of years ago.”

“Was it turned over to the scientists in strict confidentiality, without official documentation?”

“To the best of my knowledge,” Michael said. “I had
communicated that that was your specific wish.” Michael began to perspire, certainly not as copiously as he had while hiding in the hotel room the previous day, but from a similar stimulus: fear. He could feel a knot of anxiety building in his stomach and tensing his muscles. The tone of the cardinal's questions had a barely perceptible sharpness that most people would not have perceived but which Michael heard immediately and recognized. He knew His Eminence was becoming progressively angry.

“Father Maloney! For your information, the senator has already introduced his promised legislation limiting charitable tort liability, which he now believes with his backing has a better chance of passing than he did when he proposed the idea on Friday. I don't need to explain to you the value of this legislation for the church. As far as the shroud sample is concerned, with no official documentation, even if some ill-advised testing were to be done, the results could not be authenticated and could be simply repudiated.”

“I'm sorry,” Michael blurted lamely. “I thought Your Eminence would want the sample back.”

“Father Maloney, your instructions were clear. You were not sent to Turin to think. You went there to find out who took possession of the sample and follow if necessary to see to whom it was ultimately delivered. You were not to arrange for the sample to be returned and thereby put in jeopardy an extremely important legislative process.”

“I don't know what to say,” Michael managed.

“Don't say anything. Instead, I strongly advise you to reverse what you have set in motion if it is not already a fait accompli; that is, of course, unless your immediate career goal is to be assigned a small parish someplace in the Catskill Mountains. I do not want the shroud sample confiscated, nor do I want the American scientists arrested, which is a more accurate term for what awaits them than the euphemism you employed. Most important, I do not want Senator Butler calling to say he has withdrawn his bill, which I believe will be his response if what you have described were to occur. Am I clear, Father?”

“Perfectly clear,” Michael stammered. He found himself holding a dead line. The cardinal had abruptly disconnected.

Michael swallowed with some difficulty as he hung up the receiver. Being sent to a small parish in Upstate New York was the church's equivalent of being sent to Siberia.

All at once, Michael snapped the phone up out of its cradle. The American scientists' plane wasn't leaving until after seven. That meant there was still a chance to avert a career disaster. First, he phoned the Grand Belvedere, only to learn that the Americans had already checked out. Next, he tried to call Monsignor Mansoni, but the prelate had left his residence a half hour earlier on church business at the airport.

Galvanized by these revelations, Michael jumped into his clothes, which were conveniently draped over a bedside chair. Without shaving or showering or even using the toilet, he ran from his room. Unwilling to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs. Within minutes and out of breath, he fumbled with his rent-a-car keys before climbing into his rented Fiat. Once the engine turned over, he backed up and raced out of the parking lot.

Hazarding a glance at his watch, he estimated that he could get to the airport a little after six. The main problem was that he had no idea what he was going to do once he arrived.

 

“Are you going to give him a big tip?” Stephanie questioned provocatively, as the taxi mounted the ramp leading to the departure-drop-off area of the Turin airport. Daniel's taxi phobia was beginning to get on her nerves, although to Daniel's credit, the driver had completely ignored Daniel's repeated requests for him to slow down. Every time Daniel had spoken, the man had merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “No English!” At the same time, he hadn't driven any faster than the other cars on the highway.

“He's going to be lucky if I even pay the fare!” Daniel snapped.

The taxi came to a stop in a sea of other taxis and cars discharging passengers. In contrast to the center city, the airport was already busy. Stephanie and Daniel climbed out, along with the driver. With the three of them working, they got all the luggage out of the small taxi and piled it on the curbside. Daniel grudgingly paid the man, and he left.

“How should we work this?” Stephanie asked. They had
more bags than the two of them could reasonably carry. She glanced around the immediate area.

“I don't like the idea of leaving anything unattended,” Daniel said.

“I agree. How about one of us going to get a cart while the other stands guard.”

“Sounds good. What's your preference?”

“Since you have the tickets and passports, why don't you get them out and ready while I find the cart.”

Stephanie worked her way through the crowd, keeping her eyes peeled for a cart, but all were in use. She had better luck inside the terminal especially after she had walked past the check-in counters to the security area. Travelers going through security to the departure gates had to leave their carts in the terminal proper. Stephanie took an abandoned one and retraced her steps. She found Daniel sitting on the largest of their suitcases, impatiently tapping his toe.

“It took you long enough,” he complained.

“Sorry, but I did the best I could. This place is hopping. There must be quite a few flights leaving around the same time.”