“It was too much to hope that we would just find it there,” Jake said. “But a full search of the Vatican archives is beyond our capability at this point. We may not be able to find all the stones, but we have to try for the other ones before it’s too late.”
Morgan held her head in her hands, eyes closed as she thought hard, desperate to find the answer to where the stone might be. She shook her head.
“I’m not giving up on this one yet. Just give me a little time.”
Jake ordered them some pasta and coffee. There was nowhere to hurry to right now, as they needed to decide on their next destination. Morgan stared out the window at people passing, wondering how she could have been so wrong, chastising herself for wasting precious time. Where had they gone wrong in their research?
She watched Jake check email from Martin on his cell phone. He said something about Andrew and Amalfi but Morgan was still thinking about Peter. If any of the stones survived, then Peter’s must have been the most protected, the most precious. Then she remembered something about the body of Pius. She had seen that coat of arms before. Grabbing her own cell phone, she checked up on some facts about the Popes and Bernini.
“I’ve got it. This must be the right place. Look at this.”
She turned the phone so Jake could see. It was a coat of arms, crossed keys with a lion and an anchor.
“What is that?” he asked.
“I think Martin was right about Pius X,” Morgan replied. “This is his coat of arms and look, the lion of St Mark. Pius was Patriarch of Venice before he was Pope, and Mark was the evangelist who supposedly accompanied Peter on his travels. One of the gifts of the stones is communication and Mark’s Gospel became the basis of Christian orthodoxy communicated across the world. He was like a beloved son of Peter, so it makes sense that he took the stone after the Apostle’s death. The stone of St Peter must be in Venice.”
St Mark’s Square, Venice, Italy.
May 22, 11.45pm.
Piazza San Marco was dark as they approached by boat, the lagoon dancing with lights from the watery city, the smell of salty ocean on the light breeze. Morgan had been to Venice for the Biennale with Elian late one summer. Her memories of the place were colored with golden light reflecting on the water in the city of lovers. The air had been filled with music as string quartets played on the streets and the mood was champagne fizz and dancing. But the only strains of music she heard now were a lament for those lost days. She pushed those heavy thoughts away as the motorboat pulled alongside St Mark’s Square wharf.
Gondolas bobbed in the water, gold trim glinting in the dark as water slapped against their sides in the quiet night. By day, the well worn paths from St Mark’s to L’Accademia were packed, but now only a few people walked along the banks of the lagoon. Morgan and Jake hopped off the boat and headed across the square.
Morgan looked up at the imposing pink and grey granite columns that had stood guard over the square since the twelfth century. One column was topped by St Mark’s winged lion gazing out to sea, symbol of the gospel writer himself. St Theodor, the first protector of Venice, perched on the other, with an ancient dragon-crocodile beneath his feet. The original pagan saint had been displaced by St Mark in the ninth century. Morgan smiled thinking that a gospel writer would always trump a lesser known saint. Between these two pillars in ancient times, criminals had been executed before baying crowds. She had read that, even now, Venetians will not walk between the pillars in case the bad luck followed them.
Legend told that the original Venetians were noblemen who fled from ancient Troy, and Morgan could see how the grandeur of days past was still aflame in the memory of this proud people. The twin columns cast shadows onto the square, reflections in the water that flowed out of the drain holes. Morgan knew that the lagoon city flooded more than sixty times a year now, this being one of those nights. She and Jake sloshed in rubber boots towards the Basilica, barely lit in the shadowed square. It was nearly midnight and they didn’t have long to achieve their goal.
A whistle came from the shadow of the Doge’s Palace and another man joined them. Jake and he exchanged a rough handshake, then he turned to Morgan.
“Welcome to Venice, I’m Mario.”
“Mario’s on our team based here,” Jake said. “We have rooms in the secret chambers of the Doge’s Palace.”
“Why’s ARKANE working here?” Morgan asked, curious to know despite the cold.
“This.” Mario pointed down at the floodwaters that chilled their feet through the boots. “There are many who believe Venice won’t last another generation. A larger than usual flood, a tidal wave, any freak weather event and this floating city will be washed into the sea. We have a project that is cataloging, studying, and in some cases removing, the religious art works from sites here. ARKANE is working under the auspices of religious study and research, but in the case of removal, we’re putting expert forgeries in their place. The great paintings of Titian and Tintoretto as well as the Canova statues are all under threat. The two meter flood of 1966 devastated the city, so we need to protect what is here for when the waters come again. And they will come; it’s just a matter of time. Our hope is to save the treasures of Venice while the locals continue to deny the change is coming. There is history here too vital to lose because stubborn people resist the might of nature.”
He noticed Morgan shiver. “But it’s cold out here. Let’s get inside.”
They waded through the ankle-deep water to the Basilica. Even in the muted light from the street lamps it was a riot of multicolored marble. Morgan knew that each pillar supporting the church was a different kind of stone, sourced from around the world to demonstrate the glory of the Venetian republic, La Serenissima. She looked up at the stunning mosaics. One of the panels showed St Mark’s body as it was rescued from Egypt under siege in the ninth century. It had been smuggled to Venice under a pile of pork so the Muslims wouldn’t search the cargo. She remembered that St Mark had supposedly washed up in the marshes of the Venetian lagoon after a storm and an angel had told him that his body would rest here eventually. Hundreds of years later, it came to pass.
Now, with the help of Martin’s ARKANE database they had found that Pius had engaged repairs to the Basilica of St Mark’s while he was Patriarch there in 1901. He could have hidden the stone then before relocating to the Vatican. Morgan dared hope that they would find it here, her desperation increasing with the imminent threat to her family. The skeptic in her doubted that the stones had any powers are all, but the weight of history and legend was beginning to press on her. If any of the stones had power, then St Peter’s must surely be the most important. The Apostle anointed by Christ to become the rock of the church, the denier who became a champion of the gospel, who died in Nero’s bloody vengeance for the great fire of Rome, crucified upside down, unworthy of the same death as his Savior.
Mario led them around the side of the building and in through a side door.
“I still have the keys from the last project we did here … and a private tour impresses the girls,” he grinned. “The Basilica was built as a mausoleum and private chapel for the Doge, the elected ruler of Venice. It’s attached to his Palace but we’ll go in here to avoid the cameras on that side. So what are we looking for?”
Morgan could see that Mario was keen to help and eager to make a good impression. Clearly Jake had some influence within ARKANE.
“We’re looking for a piece of stone,” Morgan said. Mario laughed, the sound echoing in the cavernous dark.
“Have you seen the Basilica before?”
“It’s been years since I was here for the Biennale and we didn’t come inside but … wow!”
Mario shone his powerful flashlight into the dark and lit up patches of the walls, ceiling and floor.
“We have a lot of stone here,” he said. “More than 8000 square meters of mosaic cover the walls, vaults and cupolas of St Mark’s. Where do you want to start? Any information will help us narrow it down.”
“OK,” said Morgan. “We’re looking for a rock that was part of the Pentecost story. Is there anything relating to that in the Basilica?”
Mario grinned at her.
“This is the right church for Pentecost. Come upstairs. Be careful now. We need to go up to the balcony viewing platform.”
Mario handed out headlamps which they put on, keeping their hands free to help them climb. The steps were ancient and worn. Huge gaps between them made it hard for pilgrims to mount but had made it easier to defend against invaders in ancient times. Morgan grasped the rail to pull herself up, her headlamp dimly lighting the way. They reached the viewing platform and Mario swung his powerful flashlight beam out over the abyss below them, and then towards the ceiling of the main dome.
“That’s the Pentecost mural,” he pointed upwards. “A glorious depiction of the Holy Spirit descending onto the twelve Apostles.”
Morgan stared up at the scene. A huge circular mosaic of gold depicted twelve seated men, each with a stream of fire touching them, emanating from the throne of the Holy Spirit in the center. Four angels stood with wings outstretched, bright gold encircling them all.
“The detail’s amazing. It’s so bright even in this dim light.”
Mario nodded.
“The mosaic work is incredibly detailed, all of it gold or precious stone. It’s priceless.”
Morgan pointed up at the mosaic. “Those red streams from their heads must be the tongues of fire. They all come from the central point. We need to examine the throne of God further.” She used the powerful binoculars they had brought to examine the mosaic as Mario aimed the flashlight. “There’s definitely something on the throne.”
It looked like there was a small grey stone embedded there, a plain marker against the gold and jeweled ceiling. Overshadowed by the number of bright stones, it could hardly be seen at all, but Morgan wondered whether it was actually the real jewel of the mosaic. Had Pius hidden the Apostle’s stone in plain sight?
“What do you think?” Morgan passed the binoculars to Jake so that he could see it too. Her excitement was clear in her voice as she asked. “How can we get a closer look?”
“There’s no way to get up there,” Mario said. “The dome is directly over the main church nave, fifty meters above the ground.”
Jake examined the buttress of the balcony, rubbing his chin in thought.
“There’s no time for scaffolding,” he said. “What other equipment do you have here?”
“There’s the remote viewer we used to salvage some of intricate work on the church of Maria Salute. It’s a mini helicopter so it’ll be noisy.”
Jake nodded. “We really have to get that stone tonight. If it’s our only choice, we have to try.”
“Sure, it’s just next door in the Doge’s Palace,” Mario replied. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Sit tight, you two. Enjoy the view.”
Mario headed back down into the darkness of the Basilica. They heard his footsteps retreat and the creak of the door shutting behind him. Now they had a moment to stop, Morgan felt the rush of the last few days catching up with her. The need for just a moment of respite was overwhelming.
“Can we turn off the lights and just be in the dark for a bit?” she asked. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“Of course.”
She could hear the exhaustion in Jake’s voice as well. This mission was taking it out of both of them. They turned off their flashlights and sat in silence, leaning against the ancient stone. The smell of incense was strong even at night, but the stink of the sewers was a dark tone beneath it, a pervasive problem of the flooding. In the quiet, Morgan felt an affinity with Jake, the first real tendrils of partnership. That was dangerous though. She was tired but that didn’t mean she could let her guard down. She still didn’t know enough about ARKANE but perhaps now was the time to find out.
“Is ARKANE retrieving artifacts alongside the Italian government?” she asked.
“Yes, although we’re working primarily with the Vatican. Italy doesn’t want to hear of Venice flooding or disappearing.”
“Wasn’t there talk of a flood barrier?”
“There have been plans for all kinds of ways to stop the waters, but nothing has been done and it floods all the time,” Jake replied. “Venetians have to pump water from their houses and shops every morning as water rots away the foundations. We may be scuba diving in this gorgeous church in our lifetime.”