"Aye. That would be like them. If something didn't mesh with their dogma, it was often destroyed. Look what happened to the Mayan codices, a vast font of ancient knowledge. The Church deemed them to be the devil's work, and all but a few were burned."

Seichan recognized a contradiction and moved closer. "Then why didn't they just destroy the sarcophagus? Why go to the trouble of scouring it clean?"

Wallace answered, "If it is a grave marker, they might have respected its interment. The Church, at the time, was not above its own superstitions. They might not have wanted to disturb the bones."

Gray voiced his own interpretation. "Or maybe what was stored here had value to them."

"Like the Doomsday key," Rachel said.

Seichan ignored Rachel's glance in her direction. She merely crossed her arms.

Gray bent down and examined the lid. "It looks like it was wax-sealed at one time." He lifted his hands and rubbed flakes from his fingers. "But somebody broke that seal."

"It had to be Father Giovanni," Rachel said. "Look over here." She had moved over to the old cross and pointed at the walls to either side.

Drawn in charcoal were notations and calculations done in a crisp modern hand. It looked like Father Giovanni had measured every dimension of the cross. He'd also drawn a perfect circle around it. More lines crisscrossed it in an unfathomable pattern. To Seichan, it had a vaguely arcane look.

What was Marco doing here?

Gray studied the cross. Seichan saw the calculations going on behind his expression. If anyone could find that key, it was this man.

Gray finally turned away. Seichan suspected that a part of his mind was still working on the mystery of the cross, but he pointed over to the sarcophagus.

"If Marco broke that seal, let's see what he discovered."

1:03 P.M.

It took all of them to shift the lid.

How had Father Giovanni done it on his own? Gray wondered as he braced his feet and shoved. Did he have help? Or did he haul down some tools?

Still, brute force proved sufficient. With a scrape of stone on stone, they pushed the top askew but kept the lid balanced on the top.

Gray shone his flashlight down into the interior of the sarcophagus. The hollow space was hewn out of the bluestone block. He had been expecting some moldering bones, but though there was room for a body, the sarcophagus was empty.

Except for one item.

A massive book, bound in thick leather, rested in the center. It stretched a foot wide, just as thick, and two feet long. It looked perfectly preserved. Most likely the tome hadn't been disturbed since it was first closed up and sealed with wax.

Gray reached for it.

"Careful," Wallace warned, his voice hushed. "You don't want to damage it. We should be wearing gloves."

Gray hesitated, sensing the age of the text.

Despite his words of caution, Wallace waved impatiently at Gray. "What are you waiting for?"

Swallowing, Gray gingerly placed two fingers on the edge of the book. Surely Father Giovanni had already opened it at least once. As Gray lifted the heavy cover, the book's binding, likely sinew and long dried, resisted opening.

"Gently now," Wallace urged.

Gray pulled the cover fully open and leaned it against one wall of the stone chest. The first page was blank, but it was transparent enough to see through to the rich colors of the next page.

Wallace shifted closer. "Dear God..."

The professor reached down himself and pulled back that first page. "It's calf vellum," he said, pinching the paper. But his eyes grew wider as he revealed what lay below.

Under the beams of their flashlights, the ink on the next page glowed like molten jewels. Dark crimsons, golden yellows, and purples so rich they looked damp. The illustrations on the page were meticulous and dense, depicting stylized human figures tangled with knots and wrapped in intricate scrollwork. In the center of the first page, surrounded and supported by the intensity and force of the artwork, sat a crowned and bearded man on a gold throne.

It was clearly meant to represent Christ.

"It's an illuminated manuscript," Rachel said, awed by its beauty.

Wallace turned a few more pages. "It's a Bible."

His finger hovered over the crisp lines of Latin text that ran tightly over the pages. The calligraphy was ornate, with fanciful images folded into the capital letters. The pages' margins were equally decorated with a riotous mix of mythical animals, winged children, and tangles and tangles of knots.

"The iconography reminds me of the Book of Kells," Wallace said. "An illuminated treasure of Ireland that dates back to the eighth century. It was the result of decades of labor by sequestered monks. And that book only covered the four gospels of the New Testament."