Crescent Dawn (59 page)

“I suggest we start here,” he said. Grabbing one of the smaller crates, he blew a layer of dust off of its side, then shined a flashlight at it. A faded red Chi-Rho symbol was visible on the wood.

“Summer, that’s your Cross of Constantine,” Dirk noted.

Summer grabbed the flashlight from her father’s hand and studied the image, nodding quietly in excitement.

The crate showed damage along its side, where a burst from Zakkar’s Uzi had riddled the edge. Pitt took the butt of his .45 and rapped it carefully against the damaged seam to open the crate. The narrow end piece easily popped off, causing the damaged front cover to fall away. A pair of well-worn leather sandals tumbled out of the open box, falling to the deck. Summer tracked the sandals with the flashlight’s beam, noting a small slip of parchment strapped to one of the shoes. Shining the light closer, she illuminated a handwritten label penned in Latin:

The translation was not lost on anyone. They were staring at the shoes of Jesus.

T
HE CROWDS HAD GATHERED OUTSIDE THE DOORS OF Hagia Sophia in an immense line that stretched for more than six blocks. Pious Christians rubbed elbows with devout Muslims as pilgrims of both religions waited anxiously for the doors to open to the exhibit displayed inside. The venerated landmark building had been witness to countless historical dramas in the fourteen hundred years it had dominated the skyline of Istanbul. Yet few events in its past had generated the kind of excitement that pulsed through the crowd clamoring for a chance to make their way inside.

Those in the crowd paid scant attention to the old green Delahaye convertible parked in front of the entrance. Had they looked closer, they might have noticed a seam of bullet holes stitched across the trunk, which the car’s new owner had yet to repair.

Inside the building, a small group of VIPs stepped reverently across Coronation Square, admiring the dual exhibits beneath Hagia Sophia’s towering main dome one hundred and seventy-seven feet above their heads. To their right, they found a display devoted to the life of Muhammad, containing the stolen battle pendant, a partial handwritten recitation of the Qur’an, and other artifacts gleaned from the personal collection of Ozden Celik. On the left side of the hall were the relics of Jesus, discovered on the galley in Cyprus. Dozens of armed guards began assembling around the display cases of both exhibits, preparing for the museum’s formal opening to the public.

Giordino and Gunn were conversing with Loren and Pitt near a glass-encased ossuary when Dr. Ruppé joined them.

“It’s magnificent!” Ruppé beamed. “I can’t believe you pulled this off. A joint exhibit featuring relics from the lives of both Jesus and Muhammad. And in such a setting.”

“With its historic legacy as both a church and a mosque, Hagia Sophia seemed like the perfect place to showcase the artifacts,” Pitt said. “I guess you could say that the Mayor of Istanbul owed me one as well,” he added with a grin.

“It certainly helped that the folks in Cyprus agreed to a tour of the Jesus artifacts while they construct a permanent exhibit for the relics and the galley,” Gunn said.

“Don’t forget the late Mr. Celik’s contributions,” Giordino said.

“Yes, the Muhammad relics all belong to the good people of Turkey now,” Pitt noted.

“Another job well done,” Ruppé said. “The public is going to be thrilled. It really is an inspired lesson in tolerance to combine the religious histories.” He looked at Pitt with an arched brow. “You know, if I were a gambling man, I might think you were simply trying to hedge your bets in the afterlife.”

“It never hurts to have insurance,” he replied with a wink.

Across the square, Julie Goodyear stood enthralled before a small case containing several faded sheets of papyrus.

“Summer, can you believe this? It’s an actual letter written by Jesus to Peter.”

Summer smiled at the enthusiasm displayed on the historian’s face.

“Yes, there’s a translation below. He appears to be instructing Peter to make preparations for a large gathering. Some biblical archaeologists believe it could be a reference to the Sermon on the Mount.”

After staring at the document for a short while, Julie turned to Summer and shook her head.

“It’s just unbelievable. The fact that these artifacts were listed on a physical document that survived to this day is amazing enough. But then to have actually discovered all of the artifacts, and in excellent condition to boot, is nothing short of a miracle.”

“With some hard work and a little luck thrown in,” Summer replied with a smile. Spotting Loren and Pitt across the floor, she said, “Come on, I want you to meet my father.”

As Summer led Julie across the floor, Julie made her stop for a moment at the very first item in the Jesus exhibit. Displayed in a thick, protective case was the original Manifest. Beneath it was a small tag that read “On Loan from Ridley Bannister.”

“It’s nice to see the original again, though frankly I’m surprised that Mr. Bannister agreed to loan it to the exhibit,” Julie said.

“He nearly died in the grotto on Cyprus, and I dare say he came out of the experience a changed man. It was actually his suggestion to include the Manifest in the exhibit, and he has already agreed to display it permanently, along with the other relics, in Cyprus. Of course, he has managed to produce a book and documentary film about the Manifest,” she added with a smirk.

They stepped over to Pitt and the others, where Summer introduced her friend.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the young lady responsible for all this historic treasure,” Pitt said graciously.

“Please, my role was minuscule,” Julie replied. “You and Summer were the ones that discovered the actual relics. Especially the most intriguing item,” she added, pointing over Pitt’s shoulder at the limestone ossuary.

“Yes, the ossuary of J,” Pitt replied. “It created quite a stir, at first. But after careful analysis, the epigraphists deciphered the Aramaic inscription found on the front as reading ‘Joseph,’ not ‘Jesus.’ A number of experts postulate it’s Joseph of Aramathea, but I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

“I would think it’s likely. He was wealthy enough for an elaborate tomb and ossuary. Why else would Helena have included it in the collection? It’s just a shame that the bones have vanished.”

“That’s a mystery I’ll leave to you,” Pitt said. “Speaking of which, Summer tells me that you’ve found a new clue regarding Lord Kitchener and the
Hampshire
.”

“Yes, indeed. Summer may have told you how we found letters from a Bishop named Lowery who hounded Kitchener to turn over the Manifest shortly before the
Hampshire
’s sinking. Lowery was disabled in an automobile accident a short time later and ended up taking his own life in a bout of depression. I found a suicide note in his family’s papers in which he admitted to his role in the
Hampshire
disaster. The ship was intentionally sunk out of fear that Kitchener was taking the Manifest to Russia for public release. At a time when the First World War was at a stalemate, the Church of England was apparently terrified of its contents, particularly in regard to the ossuary of J and its paradox to the Resurrection.”

“I guess the Church is going to have a bit of explaining to do.”

As they talked, Loren drifted over to a small painting displayed behind velvet ropes. Easily destined to be the most popular item of the exhibit, it was a contemporary portrait of Jesus on a wooden panel, painted by a Roman artist. Though lacking the skilled hand of a Rembrandt or a Rubens, the artist nevertheless had created a strikingly realistic portrait of a reflective man. Lean-faced, dark-haired, and bearded, the subject stared from the panel with a striking aura. It was the eyes, Loren decided. The olive-colored orbs nearly jumped off the panel, gleaming with a mixture of intensity and compassion.

Loren studied the painting for several minutes, then called Summer to her side.

“The only known contemporary image of Jesus,” Summer said reverently as she approached. “Isn’t it remarkable?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Most of the Roman paintings that survived from that era are in the form of frescoes, so a freestanding portrait is quite rare. One of the experts believes it may have been created by the same artist who painted a well-known fresco in Palmyra, Syria. The artist likely painted frescoes in the homes of the wealthy of Judaea and supplemented his income with portraits. The historians seem to think he captured Jesus at the height of his ministry, shortly before he was arrested and crucified.”

She followed Loren’s gaze and studied the subject.

“He has a true Mediterranean look about him, doesn’t he?” Summer said. “A real man of the sun and wind.”

“Certainly nothing like the images created by the master medieval painters depicting Jesus as though he was born in Sweden,” Loren said. “Does he remind you of someone?” she asked, entranced by the image.

Summer tilted her head while studying the painting, then smiled. “Now that you mention it, there is a resemblance.”

“A resemblance to whom?” Pitt asked, stepping over to join them.

“He has wavy black hair, a lean face, and a tan complexion,” Loren said. “The same features as you.”

Pitt looked at the painting, then shook his head. “No, his eyes aren’t quite as green. And judging by the background, he couldn’t have stood more than five foot three and weighed much over a hundred pounds. On top of that, there’s another big difference between us,” he added with a slight grin.

“What’s that?” Loren asked.

“He walked on water. I swim in it.”

T
HE AFTERNOON HEAT HAD PASSED ITS ZENITH, AND THE sun was casting long shadows on the Jerusalem District Court Building when the final jury verdict was read. The television and print reporters were the first to exit the building, anxious to file their stories on the trial. The courthouse hounds and curiosity seekers who had filled the courtroom gallery filed out next, gossiping among themselves about the outcome. Last came the witnesses and attorneys, thankful that the long trial had finally reached its end. Noticeably absent, however, was the defendant. Oscar Gutzman would not stroll freely out the front door of the courthouse. Cuffed and under heavy guard, he was quietly escorted out the back door and into a waiting police van, which whisked him away to Shikma Prison to begin serving his sentence.

Dirk Jr. and Sam Levine lingered in the foyer, thanking the prosecuting attorneys for their good work, before stepping out into the fading sunlight. Both men wore the look of bitter justice on their faces, knowing that the verdict would never fully make up for the deaths of Sophie and her fellow antiquities agent.

“Fifteen years for aiding and abetting the death of agent Holder at Caesarea,” Sam said. “We couldn’t have done much better.”

“It should ensure that he dies in prison,” Dirk replied impassively.

“In his poor health, I’ll be surprised if he survives the first year.”

“Then you better get moving if you’re going to try him on antiquities charges,” Dirk said.

“Actually, we’ve already cut a plea deal with his attorneys. Although we had a solid case against him for trafficking in stolen antiquities, adding a few years to his sentence would have been an academic exercise.”

“So what did you get out of him?”

“All charges were dropped in exchange for him cooperating in the ongoing investigation into the sources of the stolen artifacts in his collection. In addition,” Sam said with a smile, “Gutzman has agreed to bequeath his entire collection to the State of Israel upon his death.”

“That’s a pretty good coup.”

“We think so,” Sam replied as they reached the bottom of the courthouse steps. “It will take a little of the sting out of our losses.”

“Nice to know that something good will come out of all this,” Dirk replied. He reached over and shook Levine’s hand. “Keep up the good fight, Sam. Sophie would have wanted you to carry on.”

“I will. Take care, Dirk.”

As Sam headed toward the parking lot, Dirk heard someone call out his name. He turned to see Ridley Bannister, easing down the steps with the aid of a polished cane.

“Yes, Bannister,” Dirk replied.

“If you’ve got a moment,” the archaeologist said, hobbling up to Dirk. “I just wanted to tell you that, prior to the trial, I wasn’t aware that you were involved with Miss Elkin. She was a professional colleague of sorts, although we didn’t always see eye to eye. Nevertheless, I just wanted to say that I always considered her a remarkable woman.”

“I share your sentiment,” Dirk said quietly. “Thank you, by the way, for participating in the trial. Your testimony was instrumental in putting Gutzman away.”

“I knew that he bought stolen artifacts, but I never imagined he’d go so far as to hire trained terrorists to augment his collection. It’s not difficult to get caught up in the allure of artifacts, and I carry my own sins in that regard. But you have to make right at the end of the day. You and your family showed me the way, in addition to saving my life. For that, I shall always be grateful.”