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the wake of the fire, the cathedral was closed to the public. It would remain closed for a while, so once again the shroud was to be transferred to a vault in the Banco Nazionale. The decision had been made by Marco, and the cardinal had agreed. The shroud was the cathedral's most precious treasure, one of Christianity's most important relics, and given the circumstances it would be much better protected deep within the vaults of the bank.
    Sofia squeezed Marco's arm. She didn't want him to feel alone; she wanted him to know she believed in him. She admired him, almost venerated him, for his integrity and because, behind the unsentimental, tough-guy image he cultivated, she knew there was a sensitive man always ready to listen, a humble man always willing to recognize when others knew more than he, yet a man sure enough of himself never to forgo his authority.
    When they argued over the authenticity of a work of art, Marco never imposed his own opinion, he always let the members of his team give theirs, and Sofia knew he deferred especially to hers. A few years back he had started calling her
dottoressa,
in tribute to her academic record: a Ph.D. in the history of art, an undergraduate degree in ancient languages, a degree in Italian philology. She spoke English, French, Spanish, and Greek fluently and had also studied Arabic, which she could read and generally communicate in.
    Marco looked at her out of the corner of his eye, comforted by her presence. As much as he respected her academic achievements and relied on her considerable professional expertise, he couldn't help feeling it was a shame that a woman like her hadn't found the right man. She was very attractive-beautiful, really. Blond, blue-eyed, slender, funny, and intelligent-
extremely
intelligent-although she herself didn't seem aware of how exceptional she was. Paola was always on the lookout for somebody for Sofia, but so far her efforts had all failed; the men were either threatened or overwhelmed by Sofia's intelligence. Marco couldn't understand how a woman like that could maintain a stable relationship with Pietro, who seemed well out of her league, but Paola had told him to stay out of it, that Sofia was obviously comfortable with it.
    Pietro had been the last person to come on board the team. He'd been in the department for ten years. He was a good investigator, meticulous, painstaking, and untrusting by nature-which meant nothing escaped him, however small and seemingly unimportant. He had worked in Homicide for many years but had asked for a transfer-sick, he said, of the blood. Whatever-he'd made a good impression when the guys upstairs sent him in for the interview and opened a position for him on the team in response to Marco's chronic complaints that he was understaffed.
    Marco got up, and Sofia followed. They skirted the main altar and entered the sacristy, where they found a priest, one of the young men who worked in the episcopal offices, coming in at another door.
    'Ah, Signor Valoni, I was looking for you! The cardinal would like to see you in his office. The armored van will be coming for the shroud in about a half hour. One of your men-Antonino, I think-called to tell us. The cardinal says he won't rest easy until he knows the shroud is safe in the bank, even though one can't take a step without bumping into one of the carabinieri you've sent."
    "Thank you, padre. The shroud will be guarded until it enters the vault, and I will be in the armored van personally to make sure it arrives safely."
    "His Eminence has asked that Padre Yves accompany the shroud to the bank, as the Church's representative and to ensure that everything possible is done for its safety."
    "That's fine, padre, no problem with me."
    The cardinal seemed nervous when Marco and Sofia entered his office.
    "Signor Valoni! Come in, come in! And Dottoressa Galloni! Please, have a seat."
    "Your Eminence," said Marco, "Dottoressa Galloni and I will be riding with the shroud to the