'And what assurance can you give us that the relic will arrive safely in France?"

'As you know, I journey with a numerous escort, and I am willing to accept in addition as many men as you think necessary to ensure the shroud's safety. My life and my honor are pledged to see the Mandylion safe in France. If the emperor agrees, we will send a message to the king."

"How much gold do you have with you now?"

"Twenty pounds in weight."

"I will send for you when the emperor has made his decision."

"I will be waiting. I confess that I will not mind lingering in Constantinople a few days more."

Francois de Charney was practicing his archery with the other Templars, as Andre de Saint-Remy watched from the window of the great hall. Young de Charney, like Andre's brother Robert, looked much like a Muslim. Both had insisted on the necessity of taking on that appearance in order to cross enemy territory without undue contretemps. They trusted in their Saracen squires, whom they treated as close comrades.

After so many years in the East, the Temple had changed. Its knights had come to appreciate the values of its enemies-the Templars had not been content to engage them only in battle but also in their daily lives, and out of that had grown the mutual respect between the Templar knights and the Saracens.

Guillaume de Sonnac had been a prudent Grand Master, and he had seen something remarkable in Robert and Francois, qualities that would allow them to be the perfect spies-for thus they were.

The two knights spoke Arabic fluently, and when they were with their squires they comported themselves as true Arabs. With their skin browned by the sun and their vestments of Saracen nobility, it was difficult to see them as the Christian gentlemen they were.

They had told Andre of their countless adventures in the Holy Land, of the enchantments of the desert where they had learned to live, of writings by the Greek philosophers of antiquity recovered by the wisdom of the Saracens, of the arts of medicine learned from them.

The young men could not conceal their admiration for the enemies they had battled, which would have worried Andre de Saint-Remy had he not seen with his own eyes the young men's devotion and commitment to the honor of the Temple.

They would remain in Constantinople until Andre gave them the Mandylion to take to the Grand Master. He shared with them his hesitation to allow them to journey alone with such a precious relic, but they assured him it was only in that way that the shroud would arrive safe at its destination, the Templar fortress of Saint-Jean d'Acre, where most of the Temple's treasures were held. Of course, Saint-Remy had to first secure the shroud of Christ, and for that he needed patience and diplomacy, not to mention cunning-all qualities that the superior of the Constantinople chapter of the Temple possessed in no small amount.

ADDAIO ENTERED HIS HOUSE QUIETLY, TRY-' ing not to make any noise. The journey had exhausted him. Guner would be surprised when he found him in the morning. Addaio hadn't informed anyone in Urfa he was coming back so soon.

Bakkalbasi had stayed on in Berlin. From there he would fly to Zurich to withdraw the money they needed to pay the two men who were being hired to kill Mendib before he could be released from prison.

Addaio had known Mendib since he was a child. He was a fine boy, friendly and intelligent. Obedient. The pastor remembered how eagerly he had embraced his mission, their last words before he submitted to the age-old sacrifice and surrendered his voice forever so that the community might prevail. But now he was a known link between them and the cathedral. A link that must be broken.

They had managed to survive the Persians, the Byzantines, the Crusaders, the Turks. They had been living their secret lives for century upon century, carrying out the mission they had inherited.

God's favor should have been with them as the true Christians they were, but it was not-instead, He sent them terrible trials, and now a faithful young man had to die.

The pastor slowly climbed the stairs and went into his room. The bed was turned down. Guner always did that, even when Addaio was away. He could not have been a more faithful friend, trying always to make Addaio's life comfortable, sensing his wishes before he could make them known.

Guner would never betray him-it had been stupid to think that. If he could not trust Guner, then he would never be able to bear the burden he had carried since he was barely a man.

He heard a soft knock on the door and stepped to open it.

"Did I wake you, Guner?"

"I haven't slept for days. I must know. Is Mendib to die?"

"You got up to ask me about Mendib?"

"Is there anything more important than the life of a man, pastor?"

'Are you determined to torment me?"

"That's the last thing I want. But I can think of nothing else. Addaio, I appeal to your conscience-stop this madness."

"Guner, go. I need to rest."

Guner stared at him as if he could see into the depths of his dark soul. Then he abruptly turned and left the room. Addaio pressed his hands to his temples, trying to contain the rage and despair that pounded within him.

"HAVE A BAD NIGHT?" GIUSEPPE ASKED ANA, who was absentmindedly chewing on a croissant in the hotel's dining room.

"Morning. Yes, I had a terrible night, thanks. Where's Dottoressa Galloni?"

"I'm sure she'll be down any minute. Have you seen my boss?"

"No, I just got here."

Giuseppe looked around the room. The tables were all occupied. "Mind if I sit and have cofFee with you?" he asked the reporter.

"Of course not! How's the investigation going?"

"Slow. How about you?"

"I've become a history student. I've read dozens of books, spent hours online, but I'll tell you, last night I learned more listening to Sofia than from all of that combined."

"Yeah, Sofia explains things so well, you can see them. I've had that same experience with her. So, any theories yet?"

"Nothing solid, and today my head feels like jelly. I had nightmares all night."

"Must have a guilty conscience."

"What?"

"That's what my mother used to say to me when I woke up from a bad dream. She'd ask me, 'Giuseppe, what did you do today that you shouldn't have?' She said that nightmares were a warning from your conscience."

"Well, I don't remember doing anything yesterday that would bother my conscience. Certainly nothing to merit these nightmares. Are you just a cop, or are you a historian too?"

"Just a cop, which is enough. But I'm lucky to work in Art Crimes-I've learned a lot these years working with Marco."

"I can tell you all worship him."

"Yep. Your brother must have told you about him."

"Santiago has tremendous respect for him, and I like him too. I've been to dinner at his house, and I've seen him a few other times."

Sofia entered the dining room and spotted them.

"What's wrong, Ana?" she asked as she pulled out a chair.

"I guess I look like hell if you can see it from across the room! Is it so obvious I had a rough night?"

"You look like you've been to war."

"Ha! I was in the middle of a battle, in fact, and I saw children hacked to pieces, their mothers raped-I even smelled the black smoke from fires burning all over the city. It was awful."

"I can see that."

"Sofia, I know I'm probably pushing my luck, but if you have a minute free today and wouldn't mind, could we talk again?"

"I don't know when, but sure, we can talk."

Marco came in, reading a note, and walked over to the table.

"Good morning, all. Sofia, I have a message here from Padre Charny. Bolard is expecting us ten minutes from now in the cathedral."