Morgan imagined the eerie sensation of diving in here, the pillars looming from murky green water and the glint of gold from underwater flashlights.
“That would be amazing, but devastating,” she said.
“There’s nothing that can be done though for the ocean can’t be stopped. It’s been inevitable for centuries. Money has slowed down for urban renewal and people are leaving. Soon it will be a ghost town composed of memories. Even now it exists primarily for tourists because most of the young Venetians have left.”
Morgan sighed. “It’s such a shame. Venice feels like it should be an eternal city, but perhaps it’s more of an idea than a real place. I must admit that the physical experience is a disappointment after the mental images built up over so long, although this Basilica is spectacular. It feels like a more spiritual place than St Peters for me, although perhaps that’s because no one else is here.”
In the darkness, Morgan felt Jake shift beside her. He was close but not quite touching. She could smell the clean scent of him and feel his body heat. She wanted to lean into him, to be held for just a moment in his strong arms, but there was danger there. She felt the connection between them, a spark of attraction that could explode in violence or passion. But in the dark, ghosts haunted them both, chilling their skin, pulling them away from the abyss of what could be. Morgan stopped herself, forcing her body to remain rigid, unbending even as he spoke from the dark.
“Do you believe in God, anyway? Are you doing this with any sense of belief about the stones or just for Faye and Gemma?”
His voice contained no trace of judgment, just curiosity. Morgan felt safe, concealed in the dark. It gave her courage to speak her real mind to a man she was beginning to trust.
“I believe in something beyond our experience, a realm above the physical that I can’t see or touch, but that I feel sometimes in certain places. I don’t believe in a savior who died for my sins, or a personal God who cares if I’m hurting. But I know there’s an energy beyond us, a power of good and evil, a light that gives life and a darkness that can destroy us. I don’t know. What do you think?”
Jake’s voice was gentle, almost wistful.
“I used to be a Christian once, but what I’ve seen has destroyed that. Artifacts from ancient times and sacred words have blown my mind and changed my experience of the world and what people call God. I’ve decided that it’s not about the religion you belong to, but the spirit of intent and of seeking your own truth.”
Morgan was silent for a moment, debating whether to speak more. She felt a pressing desire to share her thoughts but was also wary of his opinion.
“I feel most spiritual and close to whatever God is when I scuba dive,” she said quietly. “I’m so insignificant on the face of the world and yet so privileged to see life all around me. Nature shows the splendor in the universe, when so often what man creates comes nowhere near it.” She paused. “Once I lay back on a dive alone and looked up through giant kelp to the surface. The sun was shining down through the deep green fronds, their pods waving in the surge. I saw God in that moment, in the tiny worlds living their life out under the oceans, with no thought of us.”
The dark was a cloak to mask their honesty, their first real conversation held in the blackness of a magical place.
“What of the magnificent churches that we’ve been in over the last few days?” Jake asked. “Do you feel God here, or back in Rome or Santiago?”
“This is an amazing place, but the aim of cathedrals was always to make people feel in awe of their God. It was a sign of the power and riches of the Doge and the Venetian republic at a time when the grandeur of churches would demonstrate power and piety to all. Pilgrims would come, but is it awe of God, or man’s creation? I prefer to find my spirituality in nature where man’s hand is yet unseen.”
“And what about the stones?” Jake asked. “What was Pentecost anyway? Is it a myth built on a grain of truth or a real power that we will put back together when the stones are reunited? If one stone can perform miracles like Varanasi, what will all twelve do in one place?”
“I can’t see past Faye and Gemma now, Jake. We’re in this for different reasons but I don’t believe in a power that can change matter or perform miracles through pieces of rock. I’m a psychologist, and mass hysteria can explain the miracles in India. Even if there were miracles, that doesn’t make them from God and it doesn’t matter anyway. I need to do this to save my family. Can I count on you to help me to the end?”
Jake’s silence was just a fraction too long but then they heard the door below open and footsteps echoed through the church as Mario returned.
They switched their head torches back on and blinked a little in the light. It brought them back to real life in the church and they avoided each other’s eyes. It was as if the honest conversation in the dark had never happened. Mario reappeared on the balcony struggling with a metal suitcase containing the apparatus.
“We used this to inspect the dome of Maria Salute last year and repair cracks in the ceiling.”
He put the case down and opened it to reveal a small remote controlled helicopter, with pincers and a tiny drill as well as a catch bag. Morgan could see the two men grinning at the mini-copter like little boys with a new toy.
“We used the attachments to plug holes and the catch bag to stop the mortar falling on Maria Salute but I think it’ll do the trick. We need to hurry though. It’s pretty loud. We can’t get caught here. I’m not sure even Marietti would be able to placate the Patriarch of Venice over the desecration of the Basilica.”
Fitting the equipment together, Mario and Jake made sure the rotors spun properly and started it up. The loud buzzing echoed, resounding around the dome. At first Mario used the controls to hover above the ledge and then directed it up to the Pentecost cupola. Jake spotlighted the stone with his stronger hand-held beam.
“There’s a mini camera on the drill,” Mario said. “It pokes upwards and around the rotors so there’s no interference. Check out the image on the monitor, Morgan. It’s grainy but you can clearly see the middle stone is different to the surrounds on the throne. That must be it.”
Morgan knelt by the tiny monitor, anticipation building. Her professional curiosity was roused by what could be hidden here, and she felt immediately conflicted. How could she find enjoyment in what they did while Faye and Gemma were held hostage? She focused on the task at hand.
“Do you think anyone will notice it’s gone?” she said. “After all, this could be the true relic of St Mark’s, not the body of the evangelist.”
“Don’t worry Morgan.” Mario reassured her. “You take this stone and I’ll fashion a replica and replace it tomorrow night. No one will even know it’s gone; the mosaic is too high up to see.” Gently drilling around the side of the stone, Mario neatly positioned the catch bag underneath to catch the debris. “Almost there now. It’s so small. I just have to lever it out ... OK, it’s in the bag.”
Mario guided the mini-copter back to their ledge and shut it down. Jake opened the catch bag, sifted through the fragments and scooped out the stone. He held it out. It was a rough dark circle, just smaller than his palm. The side that had been facing into the church was blank, almost worn, but the inner side was roughly carved, a circle within a square.
“Is that it?” Mario looked disappointed. “Is this all you’re looking for?”
Jake turned it over in his hand, and looked at Morgan.
“What do you think? Can you verify it?”
“It looks like the same rock as the others,” she said, “but it has to be the right one. Why else would a dull stone be mounted in the center of the golden Pentecost mural? It must have tremendous significance for the church.”
But Morgan felt a sense of foreboding as she touched it. They now held five stones of the Apostles, but that wasn’t enough. They had to find the others because time was running out.
Desert property of Joseph Everett, Arizona.
May 22, 7.02pm
Joseph Everett watched through the one-way mirror as Faye tucked Gemma into the small bed in the sparsely furnished room they were being held in. He listened as she finished telling her daughter a story.
“The princess was very brave and didn’t cry, even though she was trapped in the magic castle.”
“The prince is coming to save her, isn’t he, Mummy?”
“Of course my darling, but the prince has to have adventures along the way, so he’s a bit late.”
“What ‘ventures?”
“Sleep time now, GemGem. I’ll tell you about the adventures tomorrow night.”
Faye bent and kissed the little girl, stroking her hair. She turned the desk lamp away so Gemma’s face was in shadow and she could sleep. Joseph felt himself admiring her. The woman was definitely resilient, or at least hid her fear well in front of the child. After the kiln she had been brought back here and Joseph had sat watching them. She had snatched Gemma into her arms and held her tightly, burying her head in the little girl’s hair until she was pushed away by the protesting child. Then Faye’s face had cleared and she pretended that nothing had happened. It was as if she compartmentalized the experience and would not let her own terror affect her daughter.
Joseph raised his hand to the glass and traced the shape of Faye’s face on it. She still sat on the bed looking down at Gemma, holding her little hand. He felt a pang of longing for this woman and a little girl to love. Could he have had this life if his bitch of a mother had been different? What if she had tucked her boys in and told them stories? All he could remember were insults, taunts and the filthy cupboard under the stairs, and now his own marriage was one of fear and duty, bound by the public face he wanted the world to know. But only Michael had really loved him, had told him stories in the dark, stroking his hair as Faye was doing now. What if he could take this woman for himself? Would she love him?
He shook his head, wondering at his temporary weakness. He didn’t know how to be with a woman like that. She was nothing to him but a symbol of a life lost. Michael didn’t have a wife and child. He barely had breath left in his body but his brother was his only family. Slamming his hand against the glass, Joseph watched Faye start in surprise and fear. She instinctively bent her body, protecting her daughter as Gemma woke again and started crying. Joseph stalked from the hidden room, focused on the end-game. It was time to make plans for Pentecost.
May 23
Doge’s Palace, Venice, Italy
May 23, 2.33am
Mario carefully packed the pieces of the mini-copter back into the suitcase then the trio retraced their steps down the stairs and exited through a hidden doorway.
“This was once been used by the Doge for his personal visits to the church,” Mario explained as he led Morgan and Jake behind the great marble pillars of rose and teal. “The secret rooms are hidden in floors built behind and above the open public rooms. These are simple wood, whereas the others are ornate and painted gold for impressions’ sake. There are prison cells and even a torture chamber here.”
Morgan shivered, memories of what she had suffered at the hands of those in power invading her thoughts. She pushed them away.
“Governments are all the same throughout the ages,” she said, “nothing changes.”
Mario shook his head.
“Actually, Venice was one of the most impressive early democracies. The government had a complicated election process that prevented the nepotism and despotism that plagued other parts of Europe at the time. It was truly a light in the medieval darkness of tyranny on the continent.”
Morgan heard the pride in his voice, defense of his beloved city. She knew she had her own conflicting feelings about Jerusalem, a city she loved and despised, where truth was ever malleable and people’s lives hung in the balance of the great religions. Perhaps Venice had been just as tangled.
Mario led them through the maze of tiny wooden spaces.
“This is the authentic Venice, the real halls of power. Casanova was imprisoned here, you know. He was one of the few who escaped. It is an amazing historical place, once the keeper of all the secrets of the republic.”
They walked up the grand staircase to the first floor of the Doge’s Palace, torchlight illuminating the colors of paintings covering the walls, the opulence of a once wealthy Venice. Mario stopped at a painted scene of a group of nobleman and opened a panel with a key. The hidden door swung open and they went inside the secret rooms of the Doge’s government. The ceilings were low, half the size of the grand rooms they had come through, designed to fit two levels of offices to each of the public facing levels with tiny windows camouflaged into the outside walls, providing a little light to the dark space. Here the civil servants of the Venetian government had toiled away, the real power behind La Serenissima.