Shrouded in Silence (17 page)

Dov leaned over his desk and the grin disappeared. "The so-called 'brown book' is slang for a parchment that apparently was written in the first century. A member of the Sanhedrin named Alphaeus had apparently inquired about an opinion from a highly significant person who became a big-time player in the earliest church. The man was James, the brother of Jesus."

"
The brother of Jesus!"
Michelle shrieked.

"That's what I got from Father Donnello. They have a document in which the brother of Jesus is commenting on who he thinks Jesus of Nazareth was."

Jack dropped down in his chair. "You've got to be kidding."

"The official name of this little masterpiece is
The Prologue of James.
Apparently what we have is an opening into the mind of James where he lets his hair down about the family secrets."

"I've never heard of it," Jack almost whispered.

"That's the point. Late in the twentieth century, the manuscript was found during an excavation of the Convent of the Sisters of Zion in Jerusalem. Water kept seeping up through the floor of the chapel and workmen tried to fix the problem. By tradition, Jesus was dragged through the Ecce Homo arch that was supposed to be beneath this convent. Eventually, they unearthed the Lithostrotos, a piece of the original pavement with a game scratched on it that the Romans played to make someone a mock king. The archaeological discovery made headlines at the time. But what no one let leak out was the fact that they had turned up this document. The codex was whisked off to Rome and never saw the light of day. Are you beginning to get the picture?"

"You're implying that this manuscript contained some highly controversial ideas?" Michelle ask. "That's why we never heard of it?"

Dov grinned sardonically. "You think the church would hide such a thing?"

"They have before," Jack said. "What you've found is an amazing discovery."

"Yeah," Dov said. "Think about how the brother of Jesus might have reflected on his sibling growing up and claiming to be the messiah. We get hints in the Gospels that family members might have thought Jesus was on the deluded side some of the time. What if James recorded some information that blows the problem wide open?"

Jack rubbed his mouth nervously. "We are sitting on a keg of dynamite."

19

T
he days of early October had begun to leave an unusual bite in the air. Cold weather hadn't turned to snow, but Munich felt like the white stuff wasn't far away. An early winter might be coming. Walking across the
Marketplatz,
Klaus realized he had overstayed his welcome. A week ago he had expected to be gone by the end of that week. Saturday and Sunday slipped by, and he had stayed in his old room. The civility of his parents had begun to wear thin by the next Monday. Now four more days had passed, and he was still sleeping in that cozy old room he'd grown up in as a boy.

Before long his mother and father would start their own investigation into why he had suddenly turned up. Although the Baer name was considered a problem by some of the rightwingers, there were many who still remembered that his family had been in authority many years ago during the terrible war.
SS-Sturmbannfuhrer
Richard Baer had been so tightly linked with the government that strands of his influence still existed sixty-four years later. By running down one of those connections to the current government, his parents could begin to put some kind of story together that might be uncomfortably close to the truth. He couldn't have them turning up what had occurred in Rome. They'd boot him down the stairs for sure and send him flying out the door. The issues were simply too tense.

The wind picked up and blew across the
Marketplatz,
sending bits of paper and debris swirling through the air. Klaus turned up the collar on his coat and slowed his pace. Even with the wind whistling, he didn't have anywhere to go and was walking aimlessly. He had to think about what he should do next. That was the pressing issue that had to be solved quickly.

A tall man in a brown overcoat with a small black hat pulled down over his eyes passed him. Out of the corner of his eye, Klaus saw the man slow. Klaus picked up his pace. The man could be with the police and had possibly picked up information on his return to Munich. Not a good sign. At the curb, he stopped and whirled around, expecting to catch the brown overcoat trailing him. Nothing. Klaus looked again. No one in sight. He hurried across the street and down a narrow alley. No one showed up.

Feeling reassured, he started walking again. After two blocks, he spotted a small café, which would serve hot rolls and coffee. Perhaps, a little internal warmth would help clear his thinking. Picking up the pace, he walked in and stopped at the counter. Choosing a nice warm cinnamon roll and a paper cup of coffee, he sat to the back of the restaurant.

He immediately noticed a newspaper had been left on the table. Possibly the paper would give him some important information about what was happening across the country that might have some bearing on where he should go. Quickly scanning the headlines, he found the stories mainly described murder and mayhem happening around Munich. A brief story from Augsburg reported a car wreck on the autobahn, but the change of governments in Berlin didn't interest him and he certainly didn't want to read about the Trade Fair in Mannheim. He started to fold the paper when a man sat down in the chair immediately across the table.

Klaus stared. The brown overcoat and hat-covered face had been following him all the time!

"
Hallo,"
the man said. "Greetings from Albert Stein."

Klaus gasped. "W-w-hat's going on?"

"You left rather abruptly without expressing any appreciation for what Dr. Stein had done for you. His recompense and care were inadequate?"

"Oh, n-no. N-not at all. I had an emergency that took me away."

"Really?" The man removed his hat and set it on the table. Dark-set eyes and a thin face with a narrow moustache left a foreboding appearance. "I wonder what that emergency might be." He leaned across the table and pointed his long, narrow finger as if he was about to reach out and stab Klaus in the throat. "Family problems? Care to share with me?"

"Who are you?" Klaus had caught his breath as his shock had turned to alarm. The man obviously had been sent by Stein, and that could mean anything. Probably, he had a death assignment. "Don't jack me around."

"Oh, the tough-guy routine. Stein said you might try that with me. Let me warn you that I am an expert in the martial arts, and I doubt that you want to end up on the floor before I drag you out of here by the legs." He suddenly smiled. "I don't think you want to wrestle with me."

Klaus bit his lip. The man was positioned to block him if he bolted for the front door. He might be bluffing, but then again, he probably wasn't. Stein had the ability to use who-knows-what means to get anything he wanted. There was little point in resisting. He might as well go with the flow.

"It wasn't hard finding you," the man began. "I figured you'd run for home. Your age and background pointed in the direction of Munich."

"Look," Klaus said more softly. "Level with me. Who are you?"

"Let's just call me a detective with excellent connections. In fact, I had access to the fact that you crossed the border by train into Switzerland. When you came into Germany with an Italian passport under the name Burchel, it wasn't difficult to pick up the trail."

Klaus studied the hardness in the man's eyes and smelled the scent of a killer. Probably, he had come to finish him off. A cold chill rippled through Klaus's body. No matter what he did, this guy could drop him and be gone out of the café before the employees even knew what had happened. He was cornered.

"Y-you've come to kill me?" Klaus ask.

"You are a lucky man," the detective said. "If I were going to finish you off, I'd have done it back there in the
Marketplatz.
No, the gods of eternity, have smiled on you, Klaus Baer. Today is not the time for your funeral if you play your cards right." His voice dropped into a threatening growl.

"Stein wants his money back?"

"No, Klaus. He wants
you
back."

Klaus felt his jaw drop slightly. "Your kidding."

"Dr. Stein knows all about what you've done. Your problem is not that little deed you performed out behind the church in the middle of the night. It's the fact that you ran and did not come back to him. That's the big problem to be considered."

"I-I d-didn't want to expose him to the danger," Klaus said in a pleading voice.

"Well, that's for Dr. Stein to decide," the man said. "I'll leave it with him. In the meantime, you are going to return to Rome to finish the work you began."

"To Rome!" Klaus exclaimed.

"Your friend Stein has been doing your job. Even now, he is having to do the task that you should have completed. However, leaving immediately may set better with him."

"Immediately?" Klaus's voice raised slightly.

"You are not to go back to your parent's home. We are going to the airport, and I will fly with you to the Rome International Airport. I have your ticket in my pocket even as I speak. You will simply disappear just as unexpectedly as you came here. Perhaps, a nice thank-you letter to your parents will explain your leaving suddenly. However, when we walk out of this hole-in-the-wall you will ride with me to the airport, and we will leave.

"Don't I have any choice in the matter?" Klaus said defensively.

"Oh, yes," the man said. "You can decide to stay here. You do so by declining to leave with me. In that case, you will be dead within the hour." He slipped his hand under his coat as if to reach into a shoulder holster. "You have a choice. You have thirty seconds to make it."

Klaus kept watching his eyes. Total indifference settled across his face. This dude would just as well kill him as fly him back to Rome. Life or death hung in the balance and the issue rested on his shoulders. The matter was simply that simple.

"I understand," Klaus said. "Let's go to Rome."

20

T
he winding steps would have been steeped in darkness except for a few electric lights stationed along the way. Even though the descending stairway was stone, the steps had been used for centuries and portions had worn slick. Dov Sharon grasped the handrail as firmly as possible. A slip and fall on the cold granite would do him considerable harm. Since stumbling across the existence of this concealed staircase, he had been in the archaeological dig and archives beneath the Vatican Secret Library every day. His relationship with Father Donello had grown considerably, and the old man seemed to particularly enjoy his company. He was also starting to share personal accounts with him.

When Dov reached the bottom step, he made sure his feet were firmly planted on the rock floor before he took another step forward. Once certain that he could walk without tipping, he started toward the priest's office. He had barely gotten halfway across the floor when the office door flew open.

"Ah! Dov, my boy," the priest exclaimed. "Come in! Haven't talked to anyone all day."

"Good to see you, Father Donnello. You're looking well."

"You're kidding. I sit down here day after day in this dark hole while my skin turns whiter by the moment and my arms increasingly shrivel. I must look like a dried mushroom."

"Not at all," Dov said. "After all, don't you say Mass in some of the chapels upstairs?"

"Once a day, but that's inside stained-glass windows. No reprieve there."

Dov laughed. "You're trying to make yourself look bad."

"No, no, it's all the truth," the priest said. "Come in and have a cup of tea. I just heated the water a few moments ago."

"Good," Dov said. "I could warm myself with a nice brew."

The priest ushered him inside the small office and pointed to a small stool. Hustling around in his meager supplies, he pulled out a small bowl of sugar and a stained cup that probably didn't need to be washed but looked like it wouldn't hurt.