The Turin Shroud Secret by Sam Christer Page B

that she’s lost track of time. It’s eight in the morning.
     Face the girls time. Time to tell them that last night wasn’t a dream. That she really has kicked their father out and is
     not having him back.
    Not ever.

37
    VATICAN CITY
    Andreas Pathykos leaves the Papal Palace and walks the five minutes to a café in the Piazza del Sant’Uffizio, off the southern
     curve of Piazza San Pietro. He’s been coming here for years. So has the man he’s about to meet.
    He orders a large plate of pastries, espresso and water then watches the door for his guest. He doesn’t have to wait long.
     Father Nabih Hayek jangles the overhead bell of the front door as he walks in. His thin face lights up as he spots his old
     friend at a table.
    Hayek is in his late fifties and Lebanese. He can trace his family back to the early days of the Maronite Syriac Church of
     Antioch, a unique Catholic order that retains its own liturgy, discipline and hierarchy. Antioch has a specialplace in Catholic hearts. It is here that followers of Jesus were first called Christians and after the destruction of Jerusalem
     in AD 70 it became a centre of the faith.
    ‘It is still cold,’ grumbles Hayek as a greeting. He embraces the papal adviser. ‘I long for spring.’
    ‘Have this coffee, I’ll order us some more.’
    ‘Grazie.’
    The visitor warms his arthritic hands around the small cup as Pathykos signals to the barman to bring refills. He lifts a
Pasticiotti
from the mound of pastries and places it on Hayek’s plate. ‘This one I got just for you.’
    ‘What’s in it?’ Hayek pulls the plate towards him.
    ‘Vanilla and chocolate,’ he declares, almost sinfully. ‘Enjoy.’
    Hayek bites into the tender pasta frolla pastry cup and relishes the rare indulgence.
    The following ten minutes are spent talking food, drink and the frivolities of life. Then Pathykos cuts to the chase. ‘I have
     informed His Holiness of the difficulties that are unfolding in Los Angeles.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘He expressed his concern.’
    ‘Explicitly?’
    The Greek takes a moment before answering. ‘He demands that if I have knowledge then I should share it with the authorities.’
    ‘How would His Holiness define “knowledge”?’
    ‘Justified true belief.’
    ‘Ah, the Plato definition.’ He licks cream from a finger.‘The great man
said, for someone to have knowledge of something, it must be true. It must be believed to be true and that belief must be
     justified.’
    ‘It is what most epistemologists accept, and according to such a definition then I have knowledge.’
    Hayek is not so sure. ‘You have
supposition,
dear friend. You have supposition not unequivocal confirmation, and therefore, as a consequence of having only supposition,
     you do not have truth.’
    ‘I suppose you are correct.’
    ‘I know I am correct.’ Hayek looks pleased with himself.
    ‘Now Andreas, in accepting you do not have truth – in admitting that you do not irrefutably know what has happened, you must
     also accept that you do not have
justified true belief
and therefore you do not have knowledge.’
    The papal adviser sips his espresso and absorbs the argument. He puts the tiny white cup down. ‘If asked, I will tell the
     Holy Father I have no knowledge in the truest sense of the word. If he instructs me to share more than knowledge, then I will
     tell you.’
    Hayek nods in agreement. It is the most he could hope for. He returns to his pastry and considers how much more to tell the
     Greek. Until today it has been easy to be open about these somewhat delicate matters. Given the discussion of the last few
     minutes, that may no longer be the case. ‘You have a contact in Los Angeles. Perhaps it would be better if from now onwards
     I dealt directly with him?’
    Pathykos understands the implication behind the offer.This way he can avoid any question
of future knowledge.
He can take action now to distance himself from things. But there is a price to pay for