The Omega Scroll (36 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Jerusalem

T
he media had had the story for nearly two months. The murder of Mike McKinnon had been embarrassing for both Israel and the United States, and the CIA categorically denied McKinnon had any authorisation for involvement with what was now suspected to be the theft of an Israeli antiquity. Mossad wasn’t buying any of it. Eventually a compromise was reached. Provided the name of ‘the man in his fifties’ or his relationship with the CIA was not disclosed, an increasingly restive media would be allowed to report on the double murder in the laneway off Yehuda ha-Yamit and publicly air the speculation on the Omega Scroll that had been swirling around Jerusalem and Tel-Aviv for weeks. Four billion dollars worth of defence equipment bought a certain amount of cooperation, even from the Israelis. The first report appeared on the front page of the
Jerusalem Post
, alongside a report on Pope John Paul II’s throat surgery and his deteriorating condition.

Hunt for the Omega Scroll Goes On

Tel-Aviv police are baffled by a robbery at the Hebrew University several weeks ago, and a subsequent double murder in a laneway off Yehuda ha-Yamit, the police officer in charge of the case, Chief Inspector Amos Raviv, admitted today. In a daring raid on one of the university’s laboratories, a suspected Hamas operative driving a van carrying the signage of a local security company stole a safe pretending to collect it for repair. The driver of the van was found shot dead in a garage near the Old Yafo Port area along with another male, believed to be in his fifties, whose name has not been released.

‘At this stage we still have no idea what interest Hamas might have had in the safe,’ Inspector Raviv said, acknowledging there were rumours that it might have contained the Omega Scroll.

The Hebrew University has dismissed the rumours as speculative nonsense.

‘To the best of our knowledge the safe was empty,’ a spokesman for the Hebrew University said, denying that the university had any involvement with the Omega Scroll.

The Rockefeller Museum has refused to comment.

‘We have no significant leads at present and we are appealing to anyone who may have seen anything to come forward,’ Chief Inspector Raviv said. – Associated Press

The Director of the Rockefeller’s ‘refusal to comment’ had focused the media’s attention on what the museum might be hiding and a worried Jean-Pierre La Franci telephoned Cardinal Petroni with the news.

‘We are getting calls here as well, Eminence, and unless someone says something, this is not going to die.’

‘Leave it with me,’ Petroni said icily. Lonergan had been away long enough, he decided. It was time the fat academic stopped swanning around the world and got back to doing what he was paid to do, protecting the Church’s interests. Petroni buzzed his private secretary.

‘Eminence?’ answered Father Thomas.

‘Do we know where Monsignor Lonergan is?’

‘Somewhere in Europe on a lecture tour, Eminence. Possibly Florence.’

‘Possibly is not good enough, Father Thomas. Find out and place a call.’ The Cardinal Secretary of State switched off his intercom with an irritated flick.

Firenze

At Il Museo Archeologico in the Italian city of Florence, Derek Lonergan brought his lecture on the Dead Sea Scrolls to its conclusion.

‘I reiterate, there is not a shadow of doubt,’ he said, raising his chin and almost closing his eyes, ‘that the Dead Sea Scrolls are dated two hundred years before the birth of Christ.’

The ‘crowd’ of eighteen people applauded politely, and one by one they made their excuses, leaving Monsignor Lonergan in the hands of the museum’s hapless director, who eventually managed to put him in a taxi and send him in the direction of his hotel on the banks of the Arno, facing the Ponte Vecchio.

‘A triple scotch, barman. My vocal chords need oiling,’ Lonergan said as he sat on a bar stool, belching loudly.

More than one eyebrow was raised among the occupants of the white lounge chairs scattered around the elegant surrounds of the Hotel Lungarno’s main bar.

‘
Certamente, Signor
,’ the barman replied. ‘You are a singer?’ he asked with a smile, his English pronunciation less than perfect but streets ahead of Lonergan’s Italian.

‘Good God, man. Are you all mad over here? I have been lecturing to a very large and appreciative audience on the mysteries of the Dead Sea Scrolls. You’ve heard of the Lonergan Lectures? They’re quite famous.’

‘Ah! Monsignor Lonergan.’

‘The very same.’

‘There is a message for you.’

It did not occur to Derek Lonergan that the barman’s recognition might be due solely to the name written on the phone message which said, ‘Urgent you return to Jerusalem immediately. La Franci.’

‘
Lei è va bene, Signor?
’ the barman asked, a concerned look on his face.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Jerusalem

T
he day of the peace ceremony had dawned fine and warm, and Cohatek’s chief sound engineer had spent the day supervising the preparations. It was late afternoon and Yusef leaned against one of the scaffoldings and looked around the sanitised Damascus Gate, now sealed off by the Israeli Army, minus the usual tanks and armoured vehicles. Much to the chagrin of some in the military, the Prime Minister had directed that ‘all life was to be respected’ and a new policy of absolute minimum force had been applied.

Despite this, not everyone was in favour of the peace agreement and the minimal presence was still visible. Every chair, table, box of equipment and even the outdoor toilets had been subjected to rigorous searches by hundreds of ordinary soldiers, bomb squads and sniffer dogs. Banks of magnetometers had been set up at all of the entrances and young Israeli soldiers guarded the checkpoints nervously. All but the prime ministerial parties and cleared VIPs would have to pass through these if they wanted to watch the ceremony. Lengthy queues were already forming.

Even with all those defences in place Yusef knew that a determined attack could still succeed and he nodded to the young Palestinian who had been put on the payroll. The false papers had passed scrutiny and Yusef watched as the young man slid behind the wheel of the forklift. Suddenly the forklift lurched backwards into the speaker’s lectern, the one with the specially constructed motifs on the front. The grinding crunch caught the attention of everyone in the area and Yusef rushed over to the hapless driver, shaking his fist.

‘You stupid fucking idiot!’ he swore. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ Yusef stared at the shattered remains of the lectern with a look of despair on his face. He was quickly joined by two Israeli officers, one of them Brigadier General Avrahim Mishal, the man tasked with the security for the peace ceremony.

‘Do you have another one?’ General Mishal asked.

‘Yes, but we don’t have much time. At least these haven’t been damaged,’ Yusef replied, running his hands over the symbols of Israel and Palestine. ‘Would it be possible to provide an escort, General?’ he asked. ‘Our warehouse is in West Jerusalem and I’m not sure we’ll get a replacement through the traffic in time.’

Brigadier General Mishal spoke to the young captain at his side. ‘Get this man a truck and an escort and get the replacement back here as soon as you can.’

An hour later Yusef watched as the soldiers at the checkpoint on Nablus Road stopped the Israeli Army truck with the replacement lectern strapped in the back. A short conversation followed between the captain in the front of the truck and the soldier manning the checkpoint and the truck was waved through.

It took Yusef twenty minutes to re-attach the national symbols and re-wire a new microphone to the system on the podium under the Damascus Gate. His voice boomed over the Old City of Jerusalem.

‘Testing … testing … testing …’ Satisfied, he switched the microphone off.

‘Everything OK?’ General Mishal asked, coming over from where he had been standing watching the crowd fill the area in front of the ancient gate.

‘Fine, thank you, and thank you for the escort. I don’t think we could have got the replacement here without it,’ Yusef replied.

‘Happy to help,’ General Mishal said with a smile.

Deciphering the Omega Scroll had taken two painstaking months, and now there were only ten pieces left. On the afternoon of the peace ceremony David and Allegra packed up their finery for the evening and headed over to Patrick’s.

‘Did you see the article in the
Jerusalem Post
on the safe murder a couple of days ago?’ Patrick asked. ‘Odd that it’s taken this long to reach the press.’

‘It probably had something to do with the American man. Tom tells me he was a CIA agent, and there was a suppression order on the media, which makes it all murkier still.’

‘It’s a pretty vague article,’ Allegra said. ‘They’ve yet to identify him, and after what happened to John Paul I, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Vatican’s gorillas have something to do with it.’

‘Trouble is it’s stirred up another bucket load of media interest in the Omega Scroll, so I hope whoever thinks they’ve grabbed it doesn’t look too closely at what they’ve got,’ David said, easing another fragment into place. Just four more to go. Already the messages on the Magdalene Numbers and DNA were very clear. The warning was almost complete.

‘And two revelations will ridicule a third,’ he said, translating the Koiné, ‘though the revelations be from Abraham, all of them.’

‘It’s beginning to look like Yossi was right about the clash of civilisations,’ Patrick observed sombrely. ‘It’s nearly half past six though, perhaps we’d better be leaving this for tomorrow.’

‘Yes,’ David said reluctantly. ‘By the time we walk down there and get through security the orchestra will be well and truly warmed up. This has waited two thousand years, it can wait another day.’

David’s mobile rang and he picked it up from the table.

‘David Kaufmann.’

Allegra knew instinctively that something was not quite right and she waited anxiously for him to hang up.

‘That was Hafiz,’ David said, his mind racing. ‘He’s just got a message to say that Lonergan is due in from Europe later tonight. He’s going to the museum straight from the airport and the Director is meeting him at nine. Hafiz has been told to stay on duty in case he’s needed.’

‘He’s not due back for another month!’

‘He’s supposed to be speaking to the London Archaeological Society next week. Lonergan wouldn’t be missing a gig like that for the world,’ Patrick observed.

‘Not to mention working after hours. He’s normally at the bar by five,’ Allegra said, realising that time was running out.

‘It can only mean one thing,’ David said. ‘Someone’s ordered him back, and I’ll wager it’s because of that article on the Omega Scroll.’

‘Lonergan will be worried that the fragments might have come from his trunk and if he’s going straight to the museum he’ll be wanting to check it before he meets with the Director,’ Allegra said.

‘You’re right, I wish I’d put the Gospel of Thomas back when we got the three duplicates of the Omega fragments. A bit late now,’ David reflected ruefully, ‘but we can’t afford to take the risk. I’ll have to get the fragments of the Gospel of Thomas back into the vault now. Hopefully Lonergan won’t search his trunk too closely.’

‘What about the ceremony, David. We’ll miss it!’

‘You go with Patrick, I’ll join you both later.’

‘No you don’t, I’m coming with you. If we get to the vault in time, maybe we can still catch some of the ceremony later.’

‘What about the external security patrols?’ Allegra asked as they drove into the museum car park.

‘We’ll have to chance it,’ David said.

Allegra’s heart sank as the security patrol car drew into the car park behind them.

Roma

Cardinal Petroni flicked the television on. Two items were dominating the world’s media: the Pope’s failing health and the peace ceremony in Jerusalem. Petroni watched as the network recapped the events of the last month, showing a clip of the ambulance carrying the ailing Pontiff arriving at Rome’s Gemelli Clinic. The Pontiff waved feebly from his stretcher and Petroni sniffed derisively. When the Pope’s breathing had worsened, necessitating a tracheotomy, Petroni had approved the Vatican’s media releases that were designed to reassure the faithful. Now, in the Papal apartments directly above, the old Pope had suffered a heart attack and his kidneys were failing. Petroni had been angered when the Papal Physician had kept the true state of the Pope’s health to himself, but now the Pope’s condition was terminal and he had perhaps forty-eight hours left. Petroni allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. Given his legendary stubbornness, the Pontiff might hang on for a little longer, but seeking his resignation would not be necessary. Petroni had instructed a reluctant media office to prepare a media release ‘should he be called by the Lord’ and that was now ready for signature. Petroni leaned forward in his chair as the scenes of the lights in the Papal apartment windows faded, to be replaced with the Golden Cupola of the Dome of the Rock.

CCN, along with the world’s media, were covering the momentous peace ceremony in Jerusalem. The international journalists had been allocated an area on top of the old Wall, off to one side, and Tom Schweiker was giving a background brief on the lead up to the signing and the hope it held for the future. Not for you, Petroni mused. A contact in Washington had let him know that Schweiker’s investigation into Lonergan’s past had reached as far as the FBI and Petroni had told Felici to execute the next level. That would be done at the same time as the assassination of Donelli.

Jerusalem

Cameras, from which the feed was being pooled, were positioned at several points near the front of the podium. President Ahmed Sartawi would speak for the new State of Palestine, and as a cleric, he would also speak of the way ahead for Muslims in Palestine, supported by the presence of the Imam of Jerusalem on the dais. Prime Minister Yossi Kaufmann would speak for the State of Israel, and as a devout Jew, he would speak to the Jewish faith, supported by the presence of the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem. Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, the Patriarch of Venice, would add the support of Christianity, the third great faith of Abraham. Giovanni would speak first, followed by Ahmed and then Yossi. Three leaders, three statesmen, three men of vision. Once the speeches were over, they would move to the table beside the lectern where the Prime Minister of Israel and the President of Palestine would sign the agreements handed to them by Giovanni.

Under the direction of the internationally renowned Israeli conductor Levi Meyer, the Peace Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir had been assembled in Jerusalem. The one hundred and forty piece orchestra boasted some of the best musicians, Jewish, Muslim and Christian, ever assembled in the history of music.

Marian was escorted to her seat beside the one reserved for Yossi on the official podium. The Peace Philharmonic, with the three hundred member choir behind, was seated 9 metres above her on a platform that had been constructed around the stone battlements of the Damascus Gate. Levi Meyer lifted his baton and the powerful light beams picked out the diminutive Israeli on his conductor’s podium. On Petroni’s television screen, the cameras panned in for a close-up of Levi, a light breeze ruffling his silver-grey hair, a look of concentration on his face. The cameras pulled back for a wide shot of the orchestra and choir. Like their conductor, the members of the orchestra were dressed in white dinner jackets and evening gowns, symbolic of peace. Behind them were the colours of the choir: on the left, a third of the choir were cassocked in the soft blue of the Israeli Star of David; on the right, brilliant green represented the universal colour of Islam; and between the two was the white of Christianity. The choir represented hope, peace and tolerance – the message of the great Prophets of history.

The sweeping strains of Beethoven’s Choral Mass in C Major reached into the darkness of the night, across the Valley of Kidron to the Mount of Olives, echoing around the souks and alleys of the Old City, and across the parks and gardens of the New City. The music floated across Golgotha where Christ had spent his last hours, bounced against the Western Wall of Nehemiah’s great second temple that had refused to succumb to the Romans, and splashed across the great Dome of the Rock where Muhammad had made his ascent to heaven.

Cardinal Donelli walked to his seat on the podium, his scarlet robes rustling in the breeze. He winked at Marian as he took his place beside her. She looked relaxed, calm and beautiful in the history of the moment.

Roma

‘Petroni!’ The irritation in the Cardinal Secretary of State’s voice was strident as he answered the buzz from his secretary.

‘I know you don’t wish to be disturbed, Eminence, but Ashton Lewis from the State Department in Washington is on line one. He said it was urgent.’ The long-suffering Father Thomas sounded nervous. Urgent messages from Knight Commanders of Malta were not to be ignored.

Cardinal Petroni snapped off the intercom without replying and composed himself.

‘Ashton, good to hear your voice. How can I help?’ Petroni asked, keeping his eye on the coverage of events in Jerusalem.

‘I thought you ought to know, Lorenzo, that the Administration is treating the peace process in Jerusalem with some caution. Kaufmann has made far too many concessions to the Muslims, and the Jewish lobby here is outraged at the support for the removal of the settlers, especially from the West Bank. The next election is still a long way out, but a lot of the Republican senators are nervous.’

As Cardinal Petroni listened, his agile mind formulated a plan.

‘I agree completely, Ashton, the Muslims can’t be allowed to gain the upper hand and I’m much obliged. When are you coming to Rome? We must have dinner.’

Cardinal Petroni put the phone down and got up from behind his desk, deep in thought. Ever since that impostor Muhammad had tried to usurp the role of Christ in the world and proclaimed himself the messenger of God, the evil followers of Islam had tried to extinguish the one true Faith. Now they were trying it again and the peace process in Jerusalem was a clear danger. In reality it was an accommodation with Islam that must never be allowed to gather strength. His mind made up, Petroni punched the preprogrammed number for the Knight Commander of Malta in the CCN studios in New York.

‘Daniel, it’s Lorenzo. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, Lorenzo, although we are all praying for Il Papa. It sounds very serious?’

‘I’m afraid so, Daniel. He has been a wonderful leader and he will be very hard to replace. The good fight must go on though, which is the real purpose for this call. This peace process in Jerusalem has us all very worried here.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, Lorenzo. We seem to be making a lot of concessions to the evil of Islam.’