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Poeta café for coffee this morning," Jack flinched, realizing what he had just said.
"Dar Poeta! So that's where you were!" Michelle planted both hands on her hips. "That's why you were late!"
Jack grimaced. "Actually, I was."
"Drinking coffee and watching people walk by," Michelle cut him off. "I swear! She looked at him fiercely, but grinned. "You're worse than a child." Michelle laughed. "But you and your taste for artichokes are certainly predictable."
"Maybe you'll have to punish me tonight." Jack grinned. "Think so?"
"Honestly!" Michelle opened the door and they walked back inside.
Dov Sharon got up from his desk and limped over to Michelle and Jack's conversation. "I couldn't help overhearing what the reporter said. We still don't actually know where the ending to Mark's Gospel is hidden." He raised an eyebrow. "Do we? I mean isn't our work something of a secret?"
"Yes and no," Jack said. "We don't go around sharing all our insights, but it won't hurt for us to pick up a little free publicity. We are funded by a foundation in America, and they'll be glad to learn that the press is following us, but we're still in the speculative phase. We don't want to talk about our hunches or about where we might eventually dig."
"That makes sense," Dov said. "Just checking. I think I'll run down the street and grab something to eat. I missed breakfast this morning."
"Sure," Jack said. "We'll be here."
Dov closed the door behind and Jack could see him walking away from their offices.
"Do you think Dov is really on the up and up?" Michelle whispered.
"Why do you ask?
"I don't know, Michelle's voice trailed away. "Sometimes he seems so distant like he's not telling everything he knows."
Jack looked at her with a puzzled frown. "I don't know what to say. I really like the man."
"I certainly don't dislike Dov. It's just that something bothers me about him."

4
 
 
 
U ncertainty and fear rumbled down the ancient streets of Rome. The police had not found significant clues to identify the perpetrators of the terrorist crime during the three days following the bombing in the subway. With the police stymied, the citizens of Rome became more agitated over what might happen next. Yet, the furious speed of cars on the narrow boulevards and overcrowded thoroughfares did not diminish. The press of Rome's always urgent business of merchants and tourism continued to hammer out a daily tempo that never slackened. Constantly studying the social terrain through glasses thick enough to be prisms, Dr. Albert Stein understood these facts well.
Stein had moved to Rome from Munich, Germany, a few months before and had taken up residence in a flat on Via del Gracchi not far from Vatican City. Having studied at and departed from Tübingen five years before the Townsends arrived, the short, thick professor had completed his PhD studies at Stuttgart and then gone on for more detailed work in biblical form criticism at Oxford, England, before coming to Rome. He had selected the small residence on Via del Gracchi because it was not ostentatious and the location gave him close access to the Vatican's vast library. A harsh critic of Scripture, Albert Stein had been smitten with the desert discoveries near the village of Nag Hammadi in Egypt. Studying the Gospel of Thomas as well as The Gospel of Judas had captivated his interest. Subsequent ancient tracts like The Gospel of Truth and The Gospel of the Egyptians pulled Stein into Gnosticism. Brilliant, Stein remained equally caustic and acrimonious. Hoping to become a renowned household name with worldwide recognition, his lack of notable achievement had left him frustrated.
As the recovery of the automobile business climbed after World War II, money had poured into the Stein family coffers more by good fortune than by design. Having been part of the Nazi war machine, their manufacturing industry fell with the state. The Steins expected harsh reprisals from the Allies, but the Americans needed the Stein