The Fifth Gospel (23 page)

they laid him in it and rolled a great stone against the door of the tomb, and departed.

“Who did it?” Ugo asked.

I closed my eyes. I knew these gospel verses by rote. Fusing together the testimony of all four gospels would yield:

And Joseph took down Jesus' body.
Nicodemus, who had at first come to him by night, came bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred pounds' weight. They took the body of Jesus,
and wrapped it in the clean linen
cloth/cloths. Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden
a new tomb hewn in the rock where no one had ever been laid. It was the
Jewish
day of Preparation, and the Sabbath was beginning, so
as the tomb was close at hand,
they laid him in it and rolled a great stone against the door of the tomb, and departed.

The censored parts were about the burial spices, the shroud, the man named Nicodemus, and—strangest of all—the word
Jewish
. The only unknown was whether the word for the burial linen would be singular or plural: three of the four gospels use the Greek word
sindon
, meaning “cloth” or “shroud”; the other uses
othonia
, meaning “cloths,” plural.

I could think of just one thing that connected these censored words.

To be sure of it, I checked the rest of the column.

“Ugo,” I whispered, “do you have any idea how old this manuscript is?”

“Fourth or fifth century, I estimate,” he said.

I shook my head. “I think it's older than that.”

A nervous smile crossed his face. “How much older?”

I tried to contain the trembling in my hands. “Nicodemus is mentioned only in the gospel of John. So are the burial spices. So is the word
Jewish
in this final sentence. Everything this censor cut out was from the gospel of John.”

“What does that tell us?”

“There was a group of Christians called the Alogi. They wanted John's gospel rejected. I think they censored this manuscript.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“The Alogi existed in the late
one hundreds
AD. This manuscript is
probably the oldest complete gospel manuscript in the world.”

He looked despondent. “So the word they censored must be
cloths
. That's the word John uses.” Then he registered what I'd said. “Sorry, repeat that?”

“I said,
this is probably the oldest
—”

Only then, when he interrupted me, did I understand the depth of his obsession.

“No. Before that. You said these people wanted to reject the gospel of John. Why?”

“Because the Alogi knew the gospel of John wasn't like the other gospels. It's more theological. Less historical.”

“What do you mean, less historical?”

“It's complicated, but Ugo—”

“John says
cloths
, but the other three gospels all say
cloth
. Are you telling me John can't be trusted?”

“Ugo, we have to tell the Cardinal Librarian about this book. It can't stay hidden down here.”

“Answer me! If John is unreliable, then the whole gospel testimony about the Shroud would change. Correct?”

I hesitated. “It might, but it's not as simple as that. There are rules. Reading the gospels takes training.”

“Fine. Then teach me the rules.”

I raised a hand, trying to slow him down. “Tell me this manuscript is going to be safe.”

He sighed. “Father, of course it's going to be safe. But
I
found this book.
I
need it. And I can't lose it to neurotic, overprotective librarians. You know they'll just—”

Suddenly he stopped. He cocked his head toward the steel door and stared at it in alarm.

“What is it?” I whispered.

But he was too rigid to speak. Only his eyes moved. They glanced at his watch, then peered down the far end of the aisle.

Finally I made out a faint mechanical whirr. A motor turning at a lower note than the drone of the distant ventilator.

The elevator.

“Did I set off the alarm?” I asked.

But he only stared at his watch as if it must be deceiving him.

“How do we get out?” I asked. “Is there another exit?”

“Don't move.”

I peered through the open spaces between shelves. A moment later, my eyes caught it. Movement near the door.

Ugo stepped backward.

Where are you going?
I mouthed.

Silently he refilled the duffel bag and lifted it onto his shoulder, eyes never leaving the main door.

An instant later, a voice rose in the vault.

“Doctor Nogara, please come out.”

Ugo's hand gripped the duffel bag. He knelt and pointed at the scanner on the wall, reminding me not to move. Then he himself began to slink away.

“I mean you no harm,” the voice said. “I was sent here by the Secretariat of State. I need to know what you're doing here.”

The sound of it was drawing closer. Ugo raised three fingers in the air, but I couldn't understand the signal. Closing the manuscript, I prepared to slide it back on the shelf.

“We know you've been working in Turkey,” the voice went on, only a few stacks away. “We know you've been helped by Father Andreou. I've followed him to Esenboğa Airport several times. He's supposed to work for us, so we have a right to know where he goes.”

Ugo's eyes were wide with fear. He gestured wildly for me not to replace the book on the shelf. He lifted his hand in the air again but this time raised only two fingers.

Now I could see the man's silhouette. It passed across the mouth of the aisle with the shadowy sweep of a cassock.

I stepped toward the steel door, but Ugo waved me off. He glanced at his watch and extended a single finger in the air.

My fears got the better of me. Without waiting, I placed the Diatessaron on its shelf and made for the door.

As soon as Ugo saw me move, he turned back and darted toward the Diatessaron. “The book!” he rasped. “
The book!
”

The sound echoed through the vault. The silhouette turned. At that moment, the timer on Ugo's watch went off. Instantaneously, the lights on the timer went out. The vault went black.