CHAPTER VI

Shrouded History

"Blofeld's goons knew enough about our project to try to bait your father to the monastery," Jones muttered thoughtfully, shifting a handful of books from one arm to the other. He wore an overcoat over a tweed jacket and bow tie. Frank and Joe flanked the professor as the three walked down the main campus drag, Brody Way. It was empty.

"Blofeld?" Joe repeated. "Sure is a creepy name!"

"Ernst Stavro Blofeld," Jones sighed. "The head of SPECTRE." The archaeology professor stopped and faced Frank and Joe. "Look, kids, I appreciate your interest in helping your father. I can relate. I also understand you have quite a resume of solved cases under your belt, but even this might be out of your league. Maybe you should take the police protection and stay home."

"Try us," Frank answered.

"All right," smirked Jones. "What do you know about the Turin Shroud?" Both Frank and Joe each let out a low whistle as they exchanged glances.

Jones nodding knowingly. "I take it you have an idea. Come on," he cocked his head towards a diner across the street. "I haven't even had my coffee yet."

The trio proceeded towards the diner. Jones passed off the stack of books to Joe. "Give me a hand, will ya?" Then he said, as if to himself, "You boys probably don't even drink coffee yet."

At a quiet table in the corner of the diner, Jones marveled at the Hardys' appetite as he sipped his coffee. In between bites of a Belgian waffle, Frank asked, "How did you come to know my father?"

"We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance, a former student of mine. Felix Leiter. Works for the CIA. Your father and I both advised the government in the aftermath of a recent SPECTRE operation in the Bahamas called 'Operation Thunderball.' It was then we learned," Jones paused, dropping his voice even lower, "about the problem with the Shroud."

"Problem?" Joe asked gulping orange juice.

Jones looked around. "It's a long story, kid. The point is your father and I were appointed to a task force at the request of the Vatican."

"The Vatican?" Frank repeated in surprise.

Jones nodded, dispassionately sipping from the coffee mug. "SPECTRE got privy and has been trying to pick off each member of the task force." Jones glanced at Frank. "Guess the reputation of Fenton's sons as master sleuths have gotten around to SPECTRE if they wanted to kidnap you."

"Where's this monastery you mentioned that's in the telegram?" Joe asked.

"Cyprus. My hunch it's where they're keeping the Shroud," Jones replied.

"Who?" Frank asked.

Jones gave him a look. "SPECTRE! Aren't you kids detectives?" Shaking his head, he pulled a book from the stack on the table.

"We don't understand, Dr. Jones." Joe said slowly. "Are you saying Blofeld has the Shroud of Turin?"

Jones waved down a waitress as he turned pages of the book. He waited for her to refill his coffee mug before answering. "That's exactly what I'm sayin', kid."

"But," Frank wondered, confused, "How do you know that?"

"Because," Jones sardonically answered. "I gave it to them."

"What?!" Frank and Joe asked in unison.

Jones sighed. Frank and Joe desperately waited for an answer. Instead, Dr. Jones flipped through the book. "You know, since I became dean I had more time to myself. So I wrote this book." Jones held up the cover. It featured the famous black-and-white negative photographic image of the face on the cloth of the Turin Shroud.

"The Shroud: Relic, Art, or the World's First Photograph?" Frank read aloud. "Can you please tell us what you meant by you giving SPECTRE the Shroud?"

"All right," Jones complied. "But then I have a plane to catch." Jones sat back in his chair. "It was 1938, just before the Nazis invaded Czechoslovakia. My father, a friend of mine named Sallah, and a dear mentor to me, Marcus, were on an archaeological expedition in Hatay."

"The Canyon of the Crescent Moon!" Joe uttered in hushed awe. "I read it in National Geographic."

Jones nodded. "On our way home, at the port of Iskenderun, we were approached by representatives of Prince Umberto. Ever hear of him?"

Frank thought for a moment. "The deposed king of Italy? He's now in exile in…Portugal is it?"

"Very good, kid. You should think about Marshall for school," Jones said with a grin.

Frank shrugged. "I've got some other offers on the table."

"What did the prince want with you?" Joe asked impatiently.

"We had been longtime friends. He knew Mussolini and Hitler were colluding for a fascist takeover of Italy. That meant destruction of anything that wasn't of their liking—or possession of whatever they could use to their advantage. The prince asked my father and I to transport the Shroud to a secure location until the war was over."

"But," Joe said thoughtfully, "Why would Prince Umberto ask you to do that? Shouldn't that have been the chief prelate in Turin? The Shroud's in the Turin Cathedral, isn't it?"

"Actually, the Shroud's technical owner is King Umberto. To this day. It's owned by the House of Savoy. Has been since 1453."

Frank and Joe were hooked. "We had no idea!" Frank said.

"So you actually have seen the Shroud?" Joe asked.

"Oh, sure," Jones answered. "My father and I took it from Turin in an unmarked delivery truck across Italy to a Benedictine monastery for safekeeping." Jones paused, shook his head. Then he continued, saddened. "Blofeld found out. Assassinated all the monks at the monastery and took the Shroud. This was right at the end of the war before he fled to South America."

"You couldn't stop him?" Joe inquired.

"My father and I were in Ireland at the time we found out," Jones answered. "Went looking for it every few years now but no dice."

"And all this time everyone thinks the Shroud is in the Turin Cathedral?" Frank asked.

Jones nodded. "Behind lock and key in a safe place, supposedly. It hasn't been publicly shown since '33. The king's ties with the church are strong, hence the Vatican assembling this task force. They believe as do I that something seismic is about to happen with the Shroud."

Joe spoke up. "Why?"

"We got a solid rumor from a defected SPECTRE hood the Shroud is in Cyprus. And," Jones added, "I'm old. This might be my last chance to rescue it."

Frank was studying a full-page image of the Shroud in Jones's book. He gazed at the 14 ft. 5 in. x 3 ft. 7 in. linen cloth that bore the faded outline of a crucified man.

"My father actually knew Secondo Pia," Jones said with a faint smile.

"Who's that?" Joe asked.

"The photographer who first discovered the positive image on the photographic negative," Jones explained. "He was in Turin when Pia took the photos in 1898, a year before I was born."

"So there's more to this image than the naked eye?" Joe responded.

"Much more," Jones said. "There's grave concern Blofeld has been waiting for the right time to use it for his own gain. With his unsuccessful operation in the Bahamas, now might be that time."

The boys continued to pore over the book. "Frank, Joe," Jones finally spoke. "I'm sorry, but I have to get to work. Why don't you head back to the train terminal?"

Suddenly, from behind the trio, Frank and Joe heard a familiar voice. "Breakfast! My favorite morning meal!"

"Chet!" Frank and Joe said in unison.

Chet Morton stood at the entrance to the diner with an enormous smile on his face. Callie Shaw, Chet's sister Iola, and chums Tony Prito, a wiry, olive-skinned young man, and Biff Hooper, a lanky, resourceful friend of the Hardys, all joined him.

"Hey, the calvary is here!" Frank said happily as he greeted Callie with affection. Joe did the same with Iola.

"What brings all of you to Marshall?" Joe said as he surrounded his friends.

"The receptionist at the school said you were with Dr. Jones over here," Callie explained. She caught the nonplussed expression of Jones, still sitting at the table.

Smiling, Iola held up a small luggage bag. "So, Professor Jones," she said, "When's our flight?"