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Morelli’s mud-covered shoes.
    “Oh. I wanted to take a look at something under the Basilica, but it appears that Emilio and a team of construction workers were there first. Evidently, he’s had a wall constructed sometime in the past few days to block me from reaching my latest excavation. That little toad of a man has been spying on me again.”
    “Why don’t you go over his head?” Leo asked.
    “Now is not a good time to rattle any cages around here. Until I know who we can trust, I can’t afford to bring any unwanted attention to my work.”
    Morelli looked across the aisle at a group of nuns burning holes through them with their eyes and lowered his voice. “Did you know that Emilio made the suggestion to the cardinal that we should have a subway station constructed right under the Vatican? Can you imagine that? The man thinks it would be a great way to control the crowds and eliminate bus traffic. We could let the faithful just pop up like ground squirrels for a quick look around and then duck back down again. His plan would destroy literally thousands of years of history and make it impossible to do any further archaeological exploration of the area.”
    “I agree, that’s pretty appalling, Anthony, but I’m sure the archaeological committee of Rome would put a halt to any plan like that as soon as it was presented to them.” Leo knew that the subway system in Rome would have been much more extensive if it weren’t for all the historical treasures buried below.
    “The Italian government doesn’t have any say about what goes on inside Vatican City. I seem to be fighting a constant losing battle against those who want to destroy our past for some reason.”
    A final blessing from the altar brought the Mass to an end and the multitude streamed past the immense doors into Saint Peter’s Square and through the colonnade created by Bernini. The three men loitered in the cool morning air before deciding to head across the street for breakfast in a small sidewalk café.
    The waiter brought strong Italian coffee while the three men studied their menus and chose the Italian version of ham and eggs. Leo scanned the table for condiments and looked around at the different foods being served at other tables. “Too bad you can’t get hash browns in Italy.” He had a weakness for greasy American food.
    Father Morelli reached into a napkin-covered basket and pulled out a peach muffin. “This café caters to Americans, but you can tell by the flavor of the meat that they serve only local ham that’s been cured according to strict Italian law. Thankfully, hash browns haven’t found their way here yet. I highly recommend their pastries.”
    The sun was rising across a pale blue sky, erasing the early morning shadows crisscrossing the narrow Roman streets and bringing warmth to their outside table as the men began to eat. John was still studying his ham, looking as if he had discovered a new life-form, while Morelli gobbled his eggs and smothered his muffin with butter.
    “Are you familiar with the ancient area below the Basilica, Leo?” Morelli asked between sips of coffee.
    “I’ve only heard stories about it, but I’ve never had the opportunity to go down there myself. It must be fascinating, especially for an archaeologist.”
    “It is. Directly below the Basilica, under the main altar, is the Vatican grotto, a sanctified crypt where many of our most venerated popes are buried. Then, below the grotto, is an ancient pagan and Christian necropolis that dates back to the second century. It was discovered by a team of archaeologists in the 1940s. That was the area I was looking around in this morning. About the same time they discovered the necropolis, they found a small tomb there dating to AD 160. That was the tomb that held the bones of Saint Peter. It’s one of the most important archaeological finds to date in the Christian world.”
    “Saint Peter died years before that,” Leo said. “How did they know