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crushing the Roman Catholic Church and tipping western belief onto its side.”
    I steal a sip of wine. I also take a look over my right shoulder at the small crowd gathered around the half dozen tables that fill the place. At one of the tables near the front entrance sits a solitary man. Not an unusual situation for this place. A dark-haired man, with a salt and pepper beard, black leather coat, reading glasses. He’s gazing at a newspaper. The Florentine. Florence’s English newspaper. Probably a professor, if I had to guess. No doubt from the same school where Andre was teaching before his abduction.
    I turn back to Anya.
    “I’m still not making the connection between the bones of Christ and the Muslim Brotherhood, other than their tremendous monetary value to the right investor.”
    She straightens herself up, runs her hand through her thick hair.
    “Don’t you see, Chase?” she says. “Islam reveres Jesus. They believe him to be a great miracle maker. The Koran speaks almost as highly of Jesus as they do Mohamed. But they also believe in something that the Vatican would rather we not know about.”
    “And that is?”
    “They believe that the man crucified on the cross somewhere around 30 AD was not Jesus, but a double. A fill-in if you will. They believe that the disciples protected the real Jesus and slipped him out of Jerusalem to protect him from his enemies.”
    “The Jewish Sanhedrin and the Romans.”
    “Once he was condemned and put to death, the movement Jesus started would be over. That’s the way the Sanhedrin and the Romans saw it anyway. That way they could maintain their way of life. All self-proclaimed Messiahs were dealt with this way. But, Jesus of Nazareth was different. He wasn’t a quack screaming his head off about doom’s day. He was the real deal.”
    “A real threat, in other words.”
    I feel something cold run up and down my spine. It’s the same ugly feeling I would often experience eight years ago when I first accompanied Andre in search of the mortal Jesus. I knew then, as I know now, that you don’t undertake a task like that lightly. I also glance once more at the man reading the paper. He’s staring at us in between glances of all the news that’s fit to print.
    I add, “I’m beginning to see why this wealthy Egyptian, whatever his name is, would be so interested in acquiring the bones. If they are proven to belong to the historical Jesus and if it’s also proven that he was not crucified but lived to be an old man, it would inevitably show that the Koran is right and the Bible is wrong.”
    “It would empower the Muslim Brotherhood and perhaps even factions like Al Qaeda like never before and it would effectively destroy the foundation upon which the Catholic Church has been established.”
    “How badly does this wealthy man want these bones?”
    “Very badly. Enough to kidnap my husband and do so under Egyptian government authority.”
    I drink some more wine, look once more at the man. He’s staring back at us. I pull a ten Euro note from my pocket, set it down onto the table, slide it under the empty glass.
    “Let’s go,” I say, under my breath.
    “I haven’t finished my wine,” she says looking up at me with those stunning pools.
    “You’re finished. We’re not safe.”
    Gazing over her shoulder, she says, “That man is staring at us.”
    “There’s a toilet in back. There’s also a door that leads to the outside right beside it. Go now. I’ll be right behind you.”
    She hesitates.
    “Go. Now.”
    She gets up, walks to the rear of the bar.
    I wait a full minute, then get up, grab my satchel, tossing the strap over my shoulder, and follow. I haven’t yet reached the back door before I make out the heavy footsteps of a man running after me.

CHAPTER SIX
    Anya is standing outside the door, her face a patina of panic and confusion.
    The door is solid wood and locks from the inside, but swings open onto the outside. Behind us exists a sort of