Chapter Three
What is Faith?
The flight to London was uneventful, aside from Bones continuing to argue about how the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Anthropology
"They're not going to let us do a real investigation."
Booth shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pretended not to hear her as he flipped through the file he had in his lap.
"You've been through that thing a dozen times. Nothing new is going to hop out at you," Bones continued.
"Pop. The word is 'pop'. Nothing is going to pop out at me." He sighed this time and rolled his shoulders, hoping some of the tension between them would loosen.
"Pop, hop…whatever. Anyway, you're not going to learn anything new by looking at that file again. We don't have that much to go on at any rate. And besides the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Anthropology are going to tie down our hands anyway."
"Tie up. Tie up our hands, Bones." A small smile played at the corners of Booth's lips. "And how do you know that for sure?"
"Because I have worked with these people before, remember? While you might go to church every Sunday and feel great about your priest and your statues and your candles and your sacraments, just remember I've worked with them. And I'm telling you Signor Giacomo Moretti is going to do his best not to let us complete an investigation…"
"Bones." Booth finally swiveled what he could of his body toward her, cursing the downsizing of airline seats as well as the downsizing of everything else the airlines had. "Cullen's talked to the US Ambassador. He's assured us that we have the complete and full cooperation of the Vatican, their police, and the Pontifical Commission. We'll be fine."
He should have just stopped there. He knew it. As soon as she tilted her chin up another stubborn notch, Booth knew he should have just let Bones rant about the commission and Catholics – just let her run herself out and then maybe he could have a few hours of peace for his body to adjust to the time differences between DC and Rome.
But did he listen to himself? No. And now she was on a full-out tear. "You'll be fine," she countered. "Because you'll be there in Catholic Mecca with all the supposed bones and relics of your saints –- which by the way, are all probably false. No one will ever really know because the 'holy church'" – she paused for a moment to do air quotes – "won't let real archaeologists and scientists in to do controlled examinations. Then to top it off, there's no DNA to compare anything to, so just how do all you Catholics know that any of this is real? How can you believe in something you can't prove?"
The headache that had begun to pound behind his eyes earlier at the Jeffersonian went up an octave and began to pick up its beat. Booth wondered what the airline was now charging for aspirin. "Faith, Bones. Faith. You have to take some things in life on faith." He closed his eyes and prayed that this would at least satisfy her for a few minutes.
Instead he heard a snort. "Faith. Let me tell you a little something about faith and the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Anthropology. If Signor Giacomo Moretti still chairs that particular commission, all the faith in the world isn't going to find any answers for Olivia Daniels from Hoboken, New Jersey."
She slept most of the flight from London to Rome.
Booth absorbed the quiet like a sponge, letting the peace and the smell of her perfume wash over him.
A part of him realized that she was right. In reality, just like the Shroud of Turin, there really was no way to know if any of the relics the Catholic Church possessed were real. To be sure, the saints had been. There was historical and church proof of them. But the relics? An anthropologist could give a bone a date, an archaeologist could give a chalice a name, but to know if Saint Peter really used that chalice in the sacrament of the table – that was impossible.
But not everything in the universe ran on fact and science. Sometimes hunches and gut feelings, things that couldn't be defined or quantified, panned out to be valuable assets in an investigation. And Bones had yet to realize that a lot of what went on in life boiled down to faith. Faith in a system you couldn't control, faith in a God you couldn't see, and faith in emotions you couldn't stick under a microscope and measure.
She had faith in him. Booth knew that. He had never let her down, always had her back, and had never left her. But, looking her asleep in the seat next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, he had to wonder, did she have enough faith to accept the fact that his feelings went further than just guy hugs and take out Thai food on her couch after a hard case? Did she have enough faith in him to trust him with a part of her that no other man had claimed?
As seatbelt sign flashed and the landing gear engaged, Booth wasn't sure. "We're here," he whispered softly, gently nudging her awake.
Certain things are universal. Starbucks Coffee is one. Yellow crime scene tapes are another.
Booth and Temperance had no trouble getting from the airport to the Vatican, and much to Bones' surprise, no trouble getting from the Vatican to the Catacombs of Saint Priscilla. The yellow, plastic tape greeted them there, waving in the warm wind like a tour guide beckoning his tourist group.
Only this was no happy reminder of a European holiday. It was a tragic symbol of a study program cut short and a young, promising life ending far too soon. Booth peered over the top of his sunglasses, down the stairs into the catacombs while Bones fidgeted to his right.
"We need to get down there," she hissed. "God only knows how they've compromised my remains."
"I'm sure He does, Bones," Booth replied, a false lilt of humor tempering the edge of his words. "After all, we're here in His holy house. He's bound to know what's going on, compromised crime scene and all."
He met her eyes over the tops of his sunglass then, one message conveyed loud and clear – Calm down. We'll call in reinforcements if necessary. Just. Don't. Make. Waves. Now. Temperance knew the look and returned it with one of her own – Don't. Push. Me. Too. Far.
The soft swish of robes interrupted their stare-down. "Special Agent Booth," a voice called from behind. The tone was soft, yet authoritative, demanding respect. Booth turned. The short, balding man held out his hand to Booth. "I'm Signor Giacomo Moretti. There was a pause as the older man took in the person next to Booth. "And Dr. Brennan?" Pale blue eyes peered up into cerulean ones. "I didn't expect to see you again."
"Signor Moretti, I know you understand the time-sensitive nature of our investigation," Booth began diplomatically.
"And that we need to get down there to the remains now before they're compromised any further," Bones interrupted, elbowing her way into the conversation between Booth and the Signor.
The priest shut his eyes for a moment and Booth could have sworn he saw Moretti's lips move in a silent prayer – probably one for patience since the man had worked with Bones before. "I know," the Signor finally replied. "I know. And let me assure you, Dr. Brennan, the area has been sealed off since the poor girl was discovered. No one has been down there."
"No one but you?" Bones countered, steadily looking Moretti in the eyes.
Moretti shook his head. "Not since the initial discovery. Of course the nuns confirmed it with me…"
"Of course," Bones replied now staring over the yellow tape, straining to see anything in the dim light.
"And I called the Vatican police, who cordoned off the area," the priest finished, ignoring Bones interruption and looking up at Booth. "They determined who the young lady was and that she was an American citizen. Since then, the place has been off limits to everyone except the Vatican guards who are watching the entrance." The man waved his hand at the two men standing just to the side of the door.
"Thank you Signor Moretti," Bones said, "but just when are the Vatican police going to let us in?"
"Just as soon as I tell them you're here," the Signor replied, pulling out his cell phone from a pocket in his flowing robe. "It is good to see you again, Dr. Brennan. It's just a pity it's never under better circumstances."
