“So, now you’re the expert,” Shawn replied sarcastically. “Let me show you something.” Shawn directed the beam of his headlamp to the lower edge of the limestone, where he’d begun the even harder job of undermining the object. At that moment, the entire lower edge was exposed. “Notice something curious,” he said, in the same condescending tone he’d used a moment earlier. “The ‘slab,’ as you call it, is perfectly horizontal and vertical. If it were debris from some other project, chances are it wouldn’t have ended up so perfectly level and perpendicular. This piece of limestone was carefully placed. It wasn’t haphazard.”

“How much longer?” Sana asked in a tired voice. There was no doubt in her mind that her sacrifice of struggling with her claustrophobia was not appreciated. If she’d felt capable of leaving on her own, she would have done it at that moment.

Ignoring Sana’s question and with the circulation restored to his shoulder muscles, Shawn went back to work. Rapidly he completed the filling of the first bucket with dirt. He then called out for the second to be handed in. Twenty minutes later he had a slit-like opening about four inches deep and four inches wide exposing the end of what he now knew to be a limestone box. The cover was about an inch thick, and was sealed with caramel-colored wax. Giving up on the masonry hammer because of the confined space, Shawn switched to using the chisel as a scraper before pulling out the debris by hand.

Suddenly, Shawn froze. He sucked in a lungful of air as his heart skipped a beat. The lights in the necropolis had flashed on, accompanied by the low rumbling sound of electrical transformers being activated.

Chapter 13

13

3:42 P.M., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2008
NEW YORK CITY
(9:42 P.M., ROME)

Jack was thoroughly disgusted with himself. For the second time in two days, he’d completely lost control. Yesterday it had been with Ronald Newhouse, illustrating just how poorly he was handling his son’s illness. Thinking back on his actions in the chiropractor’s office embarrassed him, especially since it was Laurie who bore the brunt of the tragedy, while he fled the house on a daily basis to avoid even thinking about it. Today he’d essentially blamed his four-month-old son for his lapse of sanity, which was even more embarrassing than railing against a quack chiropractor. Guiltily, he thought about how Laurie would respond when she learned he’d told Bingham and Calvin about JJ. Although they hadn’t discussed it openly, both saw the situation as an utterly private affair.

Jack was still sitting at his desk, where he’d retreated after the dressing-down in Bingham’s office. He looked at his in basket, which was overflowing with laboratory results and information he’d requested from the medicolegal investigators. He knew he should get to work, but he couldn’t get himself to start.