Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest (34 page)

"Yes, I would think so," the papal minister
said. "Such events are not uncommon in government. I must confess
that, on matters of archeology, the Vatican is usually playing
catch-up. We must rely upon the press for our information and I
have read nothing about this. I certainly hope you're not here to
accuse the Church of theft."

Before the meeting, Itamar and Zabronski
learned that Cardinal Fornenti had a reputation for charming those
who quarreled with the Holy See, and they were determined not to be
moved. "Your Excellency," Itamar continued, "we know that documents
looted from the Qumran cave were brought to the Vatican. The
government of Israel regards all archeological artifacts discovered
in the Jewish homeland to be state property. The Holy See must
return these documents immediately to their legal owner."

The cleric dropped his chin and tilted his
head, peering at his visitors through rimless glasses. "Of course,
what you suggest cannot be true. May I inquire about the exact
nature of the documents you claim are in Church possession?"

"Fragments of scrolls from the first century.
They belong to the State of Israel."

"Property of the Jewish state? Why, isn't
that a debatable subject? There are those who believe ancient
artifacts belong to the descendents of such treasures. If I am not
mistaken, the Jewish government in Israel has only existed for some
sixty years. But artifacts from the first century of the Common
Era, why that's a bit older, wouldn't you agree?"

"A legal question," Itamar responded with
cold crispness. "The Israeli government will be happy to submit its
claim to the International Court in The Hague. I doubt any modern
court would grant ownership to distant descendants whose claim is,
at best, hypothetical. Besides, the documents removed from Qumran
were written
by
Jews
for
Jews. I respectfully submit, Your Excellency, that
the Church of Rome had not been founded when these texts were
written in Hebrew and Aramaic, two ancestral languages of the
Jewish people. You're welcome to keep any Latin fragments."

The cardinal adjusted eyeglasses on his nose
with both hands. "May I ask what evidence you have that such
documents are here in Rome?"

Itamar nodded to Major Zabronski to exhibit
proof of the Holy See's involvement. After a glance at his notes,
the police officer said, "Father Benoit Matteau of the École
Biblique et Archéologique Française in Bethlehem brought stolen
fragments here on February 4, aboard a corporate Gulfstream
licensed to the Vatican." He handed to the cardinal copies of an
aeronautical license for the Gulfstream, along with a flight plan
filed with Ben Gurion and Fiumicino air-traffic controllers. One of
the cardinal's aides immediately snatched up the papers to free his
superior's hands. "Father Benoit is, as you no doubt know, a
respected scholar thoroughly familiar with Israeli antiquities
laws. I must remind you, your Excellency, that your priest and his
École in Bethlehem have enjoyed Israeli hospitality and protection
for more than four decades. He returned to Israel on February 8
aboard a commercial El Al aircraft, but has subsequently been
replaced in Bethlehem by Father Donito Freezini. We understand that
Monsignor Patrick Flaraty from Ireland has already been appointed
the new permanent director. Israeli police have issued a warrant
for Father Benoit's arrest."

The cleric's expression hardened, but he said
nothing.

"We know that Father Benoit is taking refuge
here in Vatican City."

"Oh," said Fornenti, feigning surprise. "Now
how would you know that?"

Zabronski fished in his briefcase for two
photos of the Dominican priest taken as he was leaving St. Paul's
Basilica. An electronic date embedded in the photos registered
thirteen days before. The photos passed from Zabronski's hand to
the cardinal's, who examined them briefly, comparing one with the
other.

"He has been seen at mass here," the Israeli
policeman added.

Cardinal Fornenti handed the photographs over
his shoulder to an aide, then nonchalantly instructed him in
Italian to look into the matter and report back.

"My government and the Vatican have no
extradition treaty," Zabronski continued. "So here Father Benoit
will remain until the Holy Father sends him back to Israel to be
tried for the theft of state property."

"If he were here, gentlemen, I would think he
would be free to come and go as he pleases," inserted the
cardinal.

"Yes, free to come and go where he pleases
inside Vatican City, but not elsewhere and certainly not in Italy
with, which we have an extradition agreement. Israel is committed
to maintain good relations with the Holy See. Our government will
take no action against your priest as long as he remains in the
Vatican City. But, between you and me, I wouldn't recommend that he
take his supper on the Piazza di Rovere beyond papal jurisdiction
by some four hundred meters. We Jews are a small people who,
throughout history, others have enjoyed injuring. But that was in
the past. These days, we have a new policy; those who harm us are
punishable wherever they can be apprehended. Jewish justice now has
a long reach. Were Father Benoit in Israel, we would charge him
with theft and, if convicted, imprison him. But for the present, he
is here and, as far as we're concerned, you may have the honor of
feeding him in the Pope's cafeteria for the remainder of his
natural life."

"Are you suggesting that we turn over this
priest?"

Itamar, knowing he was more diplomatic than
Zabronski, reentered the discussion. "Your Excellency, we're
urgently requesting the return of the documents Father Benoit
stole. If we receive them in their entirety, we are prepared to
overlook charges against him."

Fornenti demonstrated his control by casually
smiling before he said, "But, gentleman, how can you possibly know
what this priest is alleged to have taken?"

"We know exactly what he took. Every fragment
of parchment, every word," replied Itamar. From a folder he had on
his lap he extracted two DVD disks in clear plastic envelopes and
placed them on the desktop in front of the cardinal. "We have an
electronic record of everything. You may keep these to check
against what Father Benoit brought here."

The cardinal asked, "Can your people read
these documents?"

Itamar made a snap decision not to dissemble,
even if the truth would embarrass the prelate. "They are in Aramaic
and Hebrew, our historic tongues. We have already compiled many
into readable text."

Knowing that Vatican scholars were
unsuccessful in assembling the fragments, Cardinal Fornenti was
surprised, but rallied by saying, "Well then, I'd be curious to
know what these documents say."

Itamar expected this question and replied
without a moment's reflection. "I'm certain you would, Your
Excellency. But until this matter is resolved, we have chosen to
classify the information. You know as well as we that without the
original documents we cannot make a claim to their authenticity.
Nobody will accept mere copies as genuine historic artifacts. Why
should we expose ourselves to ridicule?"

"Very wise," the cardinal said, promising to
look into the matter. He warned that the Vatican worked slowly. "My
counselors will need at least a week to investigate. During that
time, we would be happy to accommodate you in the Vatican.
Otherwise, it would be helpful for you to remain nearby, in case we
have questions."

Itamar picked up a pained expression on
Zabronski's face. He knew the police officer would choose freezing
in the Antarctic rather than remaining overnight in Vatican City.
"Thank you for this thoughtful invitation, but unfortunately, my
colleague must return to Israel immediately. I'll remain in Italy
to answer your questions. May I give your aide my cell phone
number?"

As Zabronski passed before the cardinal on
his way out, the churchman put a friendly hand on his shoulder.
When the police officer turned to see why, the cardinal asked with
a pleasant smile, "By the way, how's the food on the Piazza di
Rovere? I might like to join you there someday."

"With great pleasure," Zabronski answered.
"And please, bring along Father Benoit."

When the cardinal accepted his humor with a
playful grin, Zabronski smiled back, finishing his earlier remark,
"So I can arrest him."

From his room in Hotel de la Minerve, Itamar sent
Gabby an urgent email:

HI GABRIELLE: I MUST STAY A WEEK IN ITALY ON
BUSINESS. IF YOU CAN, SPEND IT WITH ME. I KNOW A WONDERFUL, QUIET
INN AT MONTEFOLLONICO IN THE TUSCAN COUNTRYSIDE. I'M GOING TO
RESERVE TWO ROOMS. SEND ME YOUR FLIGHT NUMBER AND I'LL PICK YOU UP
AT THE ROME AIRPORT. COME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. SHALOM. Iti.

***

For weeks, Gabby had managed to avoid the
apartment on Ussishkin Street, thinking there was nothing there but
raw memories. Then a neighbor telephoned her at the Kings Hotel to
say that the front door was slightly ajar and appeared to have been
forced open.

"Oh no, not again!" she squealed, sensing
that the apartment had been ransacked a second time.

When she arrived shortly after, it was clear
from gouges on the doorpost that someone had tampered with the
lock. To prepare herself, she paused before entering, then took
determined steps into the vestibule. Everywhere, furniture was
overturned and personal belongings strewn on the floor, leaving a
greater upheaval than after the first break-and-entry. To survey
the full extent of the damage, she had to step over items on the
cluttered floor. If anything, this proved that the burglars had
failed to find what they were looking for on their first visit. She
wondered if the same intruders had returned for a second look. Or
was this the handiwork of someone else?

Gabby stepped around an overturned stool and
buried her head in her hands, blocking out the mess before her.
Nothing seemed to make sense. Itamar had told her before leaving
for Rome he was confident that the original fragments were
somewhere in Italy. So if the Church already had what it wanted,
why make more trouble in Jerusalem? That puzzle stirred a more
distressing thought. Perhaps not all the fragments were in Europe.
One or more might still be in Israel.

A forensic team from Major Zabronski's office
arrived an hour after Gabby's call, immediately initiating a new
search for fingerprints and taking more photos. Zabronski's
officer-in-command, a loquacious, avuncular looking man with an
uncombed crop of silver hair, appeared elated with the possibility
of finding new clues. He explained how, in ongoing investigations,
one shred of evidence usually leads to another, slowly casting
light on clues hidden when the probe first began. "Now that they've
struck again, we have some traction here," he said with apparent
delight, insensitive to how the break-in affected Gabby.

She asked the officer, "Major Zabronski made
it clear the government won't interfere in a Bedouin blood feud, so
is your department still investigating the deaths of Timothy
Matternly or Mumad banu-Nazeem?"

The officer paused to consider the
implications of sharing with her new information. "Our position has
changed a bit," he responded. "We've never seen a Bedouin using an
Uzi. It's not beyond the realm of possibility, you understand, but
these people mistrust Uzis, probably because, for years, they faced
them in the hands of our army boys. We killed hundreds of smugglers
with them, and Bedouin are all smugglers in one form or another.
And most are related to each other. I can tell you they weren't shy
about killing an equal number of our boys, but never, in my memory,
with an Uzi.
Baruch ha-Shem
, the killing
stopped years ago."

"But I hear they still smuggle whenever they
can," Gabby said.

"Why of course they do. But with us it's a
matter of degree. If they stay within acceptable limits, so will
we."

***

After meeting Gabby at Rome's Fiumicino
Airport two days after his email, Itamar drove with her north
through small farms and vineyards to the rolling hills spotting the
Tuscan countryside. At the Relais La Chiusa in the agricultural
village of Montefollonico, they entered a cool, dark room Itamar
had reserved for Gabby. Hand in hand, they stumbled to the window
around a low writing table and two spindle chairs. Darkness
frustrated unlocking an old-fashioned latch securing the wooden
shutters. Once freed, both doors swung open to shower the room in
warm midday sunlight. Itamar stood behind Gabby, both hands lightly
gripping her shoulders, as together they gathered in a panorama of
manicured vineyards, punctuated by irrigation fountains and
Christian statuary. Squared off pastures in the distance were
familiar to them from the brushes of Renaissance painters. Itamar
lowered his arms around her waist. For several minutes, they were
lost in the soft serenity of this bucolic land, unaware of how
their bodies had merged.

Before dinner, they watched the artistry of
kitchen staff preparing for the evening meal. Like a painter
touching his canvas, a sous-chef sliced fresh lettuce with a small
paring knife, measuring each leaf before planting it in a
garlic-glazed bowl. His helper washed and re-washed a dozen
tomatoes with the attention of a surgeon scrubbing in for an
operation. Though a spring breeze accompanied the failing sunlight,
Gabby and Itamar chose to eat outdoors on a hillside near the
kitchen. Three waiters set a table with a starched white cloth,
silverware, candles, and two sets of wineglasses. By the time they
sat down, lights from nearby farms flickered in the valley. A
waiter soon returned with eggplant and olive ante-pasta and a dry
local Semillon selected by the maitre d'hotel.

Unwilling to spoil the mood, Gabby postponed
telling Itamar about the last break-in in Jerusalem. But, freed
from her inhibitions by several glasses of more regional Italian
wine, she broached the subject gently, telling him that, while it
confounded her thinking, it was really no big deal. In fact, she
said with a touch of humor, she had gotten accustomed to being
violated. "Kinda comes with the turf these days."