The Bari Bones Read online

  “We know, but who else? Ever since the sailors stole the remains of Saint Nicholas, the Turks have been relentless in their efforts to get them back,” Father Guido explained.

  “Look, we don’t like it any more than you do, and yes, it sounds ridiculous considering it’s been going on for ages, but it’s true.” Father Enzo finally spoke.

  “It might make more sense to us if you tell us how and when this happened,” Sam said.

  Father Rob sat back in his chair, paused to gather his words, then told the story.

  “It was 1087, Bari was conquered by the Normans and plunged into depression. Once a Byzantine regional capital, it slowly slipped into decay and was at threat of anonymity from the world. The city needed saving from being plunged into total economic ruin. At the time, Christianity was in popular demand and every town was scrabbling for saintly relics. The bigger the saint, the greater the prestige and the more pilgrims would be attracted to the town. Saint Nicholas was the epitome of all saints since his post-death reputation had turned into a cult that swept across Europe. Everyone wanted him, especially Venice, but Bari beat them to it. Seventy sailors embarked on an intrepid two-thousand-mile journey to the city of Myra—now known as Demre, a city in ancient Lycia on the south coast of Turkey. They arrived in three ships in the middle of the night and conned their way into the tomb, smashed it open, and fled with the bones in hand back to their ships. Chased by a mob of Saracens they triumphantly escaped and made it back here with all but a few fragments of Saint Nicholas’ skeleton. He’s been under lock and key here ever since. Bari would be nothing but a dot on the map if it weren’t for the leaking manna.”

  “So it is all fake. A marketing tactic to make money off people who believe they will be healed by the manna.” Alex’s voice was thick with disgust as she spoke.

  The priests exchanged another silent communication.

  “I’m afraid not, Alex. It’s a miraculous thing. The fluid has indeed healed many. The blind place the liquid on their eyes and days after they’re able to see, the deaf can hear, limbs have grown back, cancer healed, the list goes on,” Father Guido declared.

  “And that brings us to the question. Where is the manna now?” It was Sam who asked. As a man of science he found it a difficult concept to wrap his head around, but he held back his opinion.

  “No one knows. Usually it is tapped during the ceremony, but with what happened to Father Francesco, we never had the ceremony and so the liquid was never extracted, at least not by one of us. We tried to extract it while the police were chasing after the murderer, but the crypt had already been emptied. We suspect the murderer must have found some way of sneaking in before he managed to evade the police.”

  “He doesn’t have it,” Sam declared.

  “How do you know? Do you know who murdered Father Francesco?” Father Guido was quick to respond, his fists in gorilla-like fashion on the table again.

  “No, but we know who the police chased that day. He was innocent; nothing but a young lad desperate to help his dying mother, that’s all. He was hiding when he heard the screams and was spotted by the altar boy when he tried to get away.” Sam defended Stavros in his absence.

  “We need to find out what the police know,” Alex suggested.

  “It won’t help. They’re in on it,” Father Guido turned and stared out the window.

  “That might be, but our only lead now is the notes. We need to see at least one other note to compare ours with; see if there’s anything that might point us in the right direction. You need to get your notes back.”

  “That’s impossible! They probably destroyed them already,” Father Guido spoke.

  “Wait, you said you gave the police your notes. What about Father Francesco? If we’re to assume he received the same threats as the rest of us, perhaps he kept a note from his victim,” Alex thought out loud.

  Without a word Father Enzo’s short, plump body wobbled out of the office and returned moments later with a Bible which he placed on the desk in front of them. His fat fingers hurriedly flipped through the Bible, allowing a stack of pages through his thumb one batch at a time. When the pages in one of the batches parted naturally he joyfully exclaimed. “I knew it! Here it is.”

  He stood back and allowed the rest of the small party to take it in.

  “You had it all this time, Enzo, and you never said a word,” Father Guido said in his now familiar passive aggressive voice.

  “I didn’t. It’s Francesco’s Bible. I just recalled him once sharing how he often kept important notes in his Bible. It was lying next to him the day he was killed, so I picked it up and kept it in my office.”

  Sam took the piece of paper from the Bible and spread it out on the table. “It’s the same. ‘Give us the manna or you die’,” Sam read it out.

  Alex placed it next to Khalil’s note. “The writing is the same; same ink, same paper.”

  “But that’s it. We’re no better off than we were ten minutes ago,” Father Guido said with frustration.

  “Perhaps not,” Alex said. “We need you to do us a favor. The man they beat up is lying in hospital. We can’t be seen with him for fear of his family’s lives and we’ve not been able to speak to him since the attack. We need you to get Sam in to see him; disguised as a priest, to find out if Khalil remembers anything. The police would have been informed but his jaw was also broken, so I doubt they would’ve gotten far.”

  The clergymen’s discomfort was obvious.

  “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask and we mean no disrespect against the church, but it’s the only way in.”

  Father Guido snickered, “Oh, it’s not using the robe that offends us, it’s the fact that he’s a Turk and that you expect he would tell us anything.”

  Alex was taken aback realizing they derived Khalil’s lineage from her giving them his name.

  “He’s a Turk but he’s also a Christian who was ostracized for it. He lost his wife and two daughters as a result of his faith. He’s a good man and didn’t deserve to be dragged into this,” Sam said sternly.

  Father Guido started to protest but Father Rob held up his hand and cut him short.

  “No, Guido. It’s time this ends. Too many have suffered at the hands of this senseless feud. If it will help us find Francesco’s murderer and discover who’s behind all of this, we should do it. Besides, let’s not forget the fact that the manna is out there somewhere and any of us could be next if we don’t find it.”

  He turned to Sam. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Dressed as a Catholic priest, Sam entered the San Paulo general hospital with Father Rob at his side. It didn’t take much to get Khalil’s ward number from the hospital receptionist. As luck would have it, in her mid-fifties, Luciana was one of the regular devotees and knew Father Rob well, and as such, was all too keen to divulge that Khalil had had some odd-looking visitors the day before. Father Rob switched their conversation to English, for Sam’s sake, and repeated the information.

  “What do you mean ‘odd looking’?” Sam queried.

  She didn’t answer at first until Father Rob assured her Sam was there to temporarily take on a few of Father Francesco’s duties.

  “They were just odd. As far as I could tell they were Asian. We don’t often get Asian people visiting patients. Naturally we didn’t let them through since the police hadn’t even interrogated the patient. It is after all hospital policy and I wasn’t going to break it no matter how intimidating they were,” she said, as if she felt the need to let the priest know she wasn’t planning on breaking any rules for him either.

  “How many were there?” Sam asked again.

  “Two, but there were more waiting in their car over there.” She pointed to where they had parked outside the main entrance of the hospital.

  After Father Rob thanked her, he and Sam found a badly bruised Khalil in his bed.

  “How are you my friend?” Sam greeted as Khalil’s eyes opened to receive them. Under his
swollen and wired jaw he could tell Khalil was amused at his robed disguise.

  “Yes, yes, desperate times. You okay, mate?” Sam flipped his hospital file open but popped it back into its place since he couldn’t understand the Italian notes and instead moved to read the label on the drip. “Think you can get up?” Sam continued.

  “What? No, that wasn’t what was agreed,” Father Rob protested as Sam’s plan dawned on him.

  “Father, those guys came back to finish the job. Khalil knows something and it’s quite obvious they don’t want him to share it. If we leave him in here he’s as good as dead.

  “We can’t just take him,” the priest continued.

  “Why not? He’s not under suspicion or arrest for anything, simply recovering from being beaten to a pulp.” Sam moved the wheelchair from the other end of the room and helped Khalil in, unclipping the IV bag and placing it in his lap.

  Khalil let out a low murmur under his clenched jaw and pointed his splinted arm to the small locker next to the bed.

  “Oh yes, of course.” Sam took his clothing from the locker and stuffed it in an empty medical waste bag.

  “I’ll distract Luciana, you get him to the car,” Father Rob said under his breath, surprising Sam with his sudden change of heart. And distract her he did; by means of inviting her to pray with him.

  As a result, their kidnapping went down without a glitch.

  “You didn’t think we’d leave you here, did you?” Sam joked with Khalil as they drove away from the hospital.

  “Now what?” Father Rob asked when his red Fiat Punto turned the corner.

  “We get him someplace safe and find out why those thugs came back for him.”

  They were almost at the church when Father Rob spotted the pale gray Alfa Romeo in his rearview mirror. Deciding to divert at the last minute, he turned away from the church.

  “Where are you going?” Sam asked

  “I think we’re being followed.”

  Sam spotted the silver-gray car turning the corner behind them. “The banged-up Alfa. I see it. Turn right here,” Sam told the priest who did as he was told. With their eyes on the mirrors they watched the car turn in behind them.

  “Khalil, it’s best you lie down in the seat, mate. Father, can you shake them?”

  “I think so. I grew up in these streets.”

  From beneath his religious attire, Sam took out his gun and swiftly ran through the prep sequence.

  “Is that really necessary?” Father Rob objected.

  Sam didn’t have to answer him. The series of gunshots hitting the Fiat’s trunk did so on his behalf. The priest swerved in response to the unexpected violent act but managed to regain control of his car.

  “Try to stay calm, Father. Now would be a great time to put your memory to the test and get us out of here.”

  Father Rob dropped a gear and pushed his foot down on the gas. More bullets hit the back of the car, shattering the rear window. Sam aimed and fired a shot at the Alfa’s wheel but missed when Father Rob had to swerve to avoid an oncoming car.

  “Someone’s going to get killed like this!” he shouted before veering the car off the shoulder and onto an arterial road.

  The Alfa was gaining on them. “You’re going to have to try harder, Father. They’re fast decreasing the distance between us,” Sam declared as a bullet whistled through the narrow space between them and shattered the front windscreen. A knee-jerk reaction had the priest almost hitting a lamp post before he managed to straighten the wheels again.

  Sirens shrieked through the air as the police now trailed behind the two cars.

  “I knew this was a bad idea!” Father Rob yelled as he took another turn around a large traffic circle. “Maybe we should just pull over and explain everything to the police.”

  More bullets hit the Fiat’s body. Civilian vehicles abruptly came to a halt behind them, causing a traffic jam which the Alfa easily circumvented.

  “Why aren’t the police stopping them?” the priest queried as he watched the two police vehicles deliberately slowing down behind the Alfa.

  “I hate to say this, but it seems you were right. They’re in on it. Hold still,” Sam directed as he leaned the upper half of his body out the window and took aim at the Alfa’s right wheel. He fired off a shot and hit his target. The Alfa swerved before it skidded sideways, flipped and rolled multiple times across the road until it smashed into the concrete column of a bridge. Sam watched as three Asian men crawled out of the car.

  “You can relax, Father. No one’s dead,” Sam reported, observing the priest’s drained expression.

  When they arrived back at the basilica, Sam took Khalil inside while Father Rob parked his car a block away.

  “What took you so long?” Alex asked when she closed the office door behind them.

  “We ran into some trouble,” Sam said in response to the stunned faces of Fathers Guido and Enzo as he sat Khalil down on the worn burgundy couch in the office.

  “Where’s Father Rob?” Father Enzo asked with concern, “and who’s this?” Father Guido added.

  “Parking his car, and this is Khalil; their latest assault victim, and now their new target.”

  “What do you mean ‘you ran into trouble’?” Alex asked as she moved a hat stand next to Khalil onto which Sam hooked the IV bag.

  “They tried to finish the job with Khalil. I guess they feel the need to clean up any loose ends; perhaps thinking that he knows something that could expose them.”

  Khalil moaned in an attempt to speak but only his lips moved.

  “Next thing we knew they were shooting at us,” Sam added just as Father Rob burst into the office and leaned his body against the closed door behind him. “You can’t stay here. It’s the house of God! I won’t tolerate you bringing violence into a holy place,” he griped, his complexion still a pale gray.

  Khalil moaned again.

  “I agree,” Father Guido added. “This is getting out of control! Your friend here needs to be in a hospital, not here. You say he’s a target. That means they won’t hesitate to come back for him. We have mass tonight. You have to get him out of here.” Father Guido was in his usual stance over the desk.

  “Now hold on, Guido. We did ask them to help us. Let’s not forget we’re all at risk of ending up like Francesco if we don’t find the manna and give it to them.” It was Father Enzo who spoke, revealing he had more of a backbone than originally thought.

  Father Guido moved to the window and a few moments of silence filled the room.

  “We understand the predicament we’re all in, but Father Guido is correct. We have dozens of devotees coming to mass tonight. It will be grossly negligent of us. You can’t stay here,” Father Rob agreed.

  “You can go to Father Francesco’s apartment. They won’t suspect you’d be there,” the suddenly brazen Father Guido suggested.

  Father Rob who still hadn’t moved away from the door, agreed. “You’re right. I believe if he’d been alive he would have wanted to help in some way. Who knows, we might find another note amongst his things. I’ll fetch the car.”

  And with that he promptly turned and made his way back to his red Fiat.

  When Father Rob opened the door to Father Francesco’s apartment and let Alex, Sam and Khalil in, the apartment had been ransacked.

  “Great, so they’ve been here already,” Alex commented, clearing away the mess on the small bed that stood by the window in the studio apartment.

  “How is that great?” Father Rob questioned.

  “Well, it means that they won’t likely be back since they’ve already searched the place. My guess is they were hoping to find the manna here.”

  Khalil moaned again.

  “Okay, my friend. You must be in pain with all this moving around,” Sam responded, but Khalil moaned again.

  Alex walked over and sat next to him where he was now lying on the bed.

  “You’re trying to tell us something, aren’t you, Khalil?”

&nbs
p; Khalil’s eyes declared relief as he nodded.

  Sam rummaged through the countless books and papers that lay scattered on the floor and eventually found a pen and a newspaper.

  Since his writing hand’s arm was in a cast they watched as Khalil took great effort to write a note with his other hand—of which two fingers were in a splint. The note simply said clothes. Sam leaped across to where he had dropped the hospital bag, that carried Khalil’s clothes, on the floor by the front door. He emptied the bag onto the bed next to Khalil whose hand immediately searched for and pulled his pants from the pile. With his two broken digits, he clumsily wriggled his hand inside the pockets—first one and then the other. When his hand came out empty from both pockets, he frantically went back to the first pocket.

  “What is it, Khalil? What are you looking for?” Alex asked, taking the pants from him. She stuck her hand into the pocket and pulled out a small scrunched up patch of navy-blue cloth. Khalil groaned with exhaustion and dropped his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes as he did so.

  Alex inspected the piece of crumpled fabric which was glued together by dried blood. As her fingers pulled the fabric fibers apart she flipped it over.

  “What is it?” Sam asked as his head turned sideways to make sense of the image.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m not entirely sure yet. There’s too much blood.”

  Fabric in hand she dashed into the small kitchenette and wet the piece of cloth under the tap. The blood dissolved and revealed a partial image that might have once been a white square or a rectangle. Inside the space was one half of a bright red, circle shape with two smaller ones floating on either side of it and below it a word—or what was left of one after it had been torn away from the rest of the image.

  “It’s a logo! Khalil, you’re a genius!” she yelled when she placed it flat on the table in front of Sam and Father Rob, smoothing it out with her hand.