THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series) (24 page)

50

MARBELLA

Musa stood in the doorway of the upstairs room in the villa and watched Hamza, about thirty, bearded and wearing a New York Giants T-shirt and jeans torn at the knees, sitting at a table with Etienne, leaning over the parchment, with papers spread out and an open bottle of ink in the center. In a corner, one of Musa’s men with an AK-47 stood at ease looking bored and tired. Bright morning sunlight was streaming in through the windows.

“How much longer?” Musa asked impatiently.

“A couple more minutes,” Hamza replied.

When he was finished, Hamza said to Musa, “OK. Done. Take a look at it.”

Musa stepped forward and read, “I, Isabella, Queen of Spain, do hereby grant into perpetuity to the believers of Islam that portion of Southern Spain bordered by Malaga, Cordoba, Ubeda, and Granada,
including the Alhambra.” At the bottom, the parchment contained Queen Isabella’s signature.

To Musa, the document looked authentic, but he realized he had no expertise. He compared it with a copy of one of Isabella’s actual documents Etienne had printed on the computer. They looked the same. He spot checked the letters I, S and T. They were identical. Hamza had done a good job.

“Let it dry for half an hour,” Hamza said. “Then you can cover it with dirt for a few minutes to make it look old.”

“Excellent,” Musa said. He handed Hamza a roll of bills. “One of my men will drive you back to Marrakech. I need the helicopter.”

Once Hamza was gone, Musa said to Etienne, “The guard will take you downstairs.”

Etienne was staring at the document. “An official edict like this should have a border along the side.”

“But the other documents don’t have it.”

“Those weren’t official edicts.”

“Why didn’t you tell that to Hamza?”

“I’m tired and I forgot. But it’s no big deal. I can easily add it myself. It will only take a few seconds. For that, we don’t need Hamza.”

“OK. Do it. I have to go downstairs and call Professor Khalid in Casablanca. As soon as the document’s ready, I’ll fly there to meet him.”

Etienne was reaching for the pen. Musa said to the guard, “If he does anything other than work on the document … If he tries to escape, shoot to kill.”

“I’m going to make you rich and famous,” Musa said to Professor Khalid as he walked into Khalid’s office and shut the door. It was one in the afternoon.

“I would like that,” Khalid said. “I’m struggling on a teaching
salary. And no one from a university in a Muslim country gets any respect in the academic world.”

Musa reached in to his briefcase, pulled out the parchment, and placed it on Khalid’s desk. The Professor’s face lit up like a bright bulb.

“Incredible … Fantastic … This will change the course of history. Did you get it from Professor Etienne?”

Musa was pleased that, in his immediate reaction, Khalid accepted the parchment’s authenticity. Having told Musa that Etienne had discovered the existence of the parchment, Khalid just assumed that Musa had gotten it from Etienne.

“Dodging Khalid’s question, Musa said, “How soon can you call a press conference and assemble media people in Casablanca?”

“For something this significant, a couple of hours. Certainly by four this afternoon.”

Musa reached into his briefcase again. He pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check to Professor Khalid for one million euros.

When he handed it to the Professor, Khalid broke out into a broad smile.

“And what do I have to do in return?”

“Present the parchment to the world at the press conference and use the script I have prepared for you.”

51

PARIS

Elizabeth was typing at the computer in her cubby hole of a work station called an office. “The Atlantic Alliance has been at the heart of US foreign policy since 1945. Until Roger Dalton became President. It was inconceivable that this would change. Now …”

Over her shoulder, Elizabeth heard Rob, the foreign news editor, call from the doorway. “Hey, Liz, c’mere. You have to hear this.”

Once she joined him, he turned up the volume on the television on his credenza. The CNN announcer said, “We now go live to Casablanca, Morocco, where professor Khalid is about to begin his press conference.”

The Professor stood alone behind a lectern with half a dozen microphones. Elizabeth saw television cameras in the background.

Khalid began: “I have in my possession a document of enormous historical significance. For many years, I and other medieval historians have believed that in 1504 on her death bed, Queen
Isabella of Spain wrote on parchment an edict granting to Muslims in perpetuity a portion of what is now Southern Spain, bounded by Malaga, Cordoba, Ubeda, and Granada, including the Alhambra. She did so because she felt guilty for what she did in 1492. She had promised Muslims they could worship freely in Southern Spain if they put down their arms and didn’t continue fighting against her Christian army. The Muslims relied on her promise. Six months later, she reneged and ordered Muslims to convert or leave Spain. Otherwise, they would be killed.”

Elizabeth was stunned. What the hell’s going on? This can’t be right. In the myriad of texts and articles she had read on the subject, no one had ever mentioned this so-called promise of Queen Isabella. All the historians through the centuries couldn’t have missed something so critical. Moreover, by all accounts, Isabella was unwavering in her hatred of Muslims to her final breath.

On the television screen, Professor Khalid picked up a parchment resting on the lectern and held it up to the cameras. “Here is the parchment Queen Isabella prepared, which has not been seen in more than five hundred years. I will be willing to answer a few questions.”

One reporter asked: “Where did you get this parchment?”

“I promised my source confidentiality. I must honor that.”

“What do you expect to do with the parchment?”

“Give it to a museum in Morocco.”

“Questions will be raised as to its authenticity. Are you willing to submit it to an independent group of scholars?”

“I will of course consider all such proposals. Until I have one that is appropriate, I intend to keep it locked up.”

“Will you make copies of the parchment available?”

He held it up again.

“All of the cameras here are filming it. Those photographs will no doubt be digitalized. So everyone in the world with a computer will have a copy. And now I must leave.”

Clutching the parchment in his hand and accompanied by two armed Moroccan soldiers, Professor Khalid strode from the room, looking like a cat who had swallowed a canary.

The CNN announcer was back. “We have just heard a Good-Friday bombshell. An announcement of enormous historical significance for Spain, as well as for Christians and Muslims everywhere. Professor Khalid has told us …”

Elizabeth picked up the remote and turned the TV to mute.

Rob said, “You’re writing a book on this subject. What do you think?”

Rob had no idea what she was doing with Craig involving Musa or what she knew about his plans. She had no desire to tell him she thought Musa had ginned up this phony parchment. So she said, “I think it’s all a crock. Khalid was wrong when he said medieval historians believe Isabella executed a document like this on her death bed in 1504. I’ve never read or heard anyone even mention it. And Khalid isn’t willing to make the document available now for examination.”

“But it could be a new discovery. Those happen from time to time. Look at the terracotta warriors in China. Or the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

Elizabeth was convinced the document was a fake. Besides everything else, coming now with Musa undoubtedly searching for legitimacy for his attacks on Europe, the coincidence was too great.

“That’s precisely the point,” she said. “In China, the Xian farmer who made the discovery told the world how he did it. While digging a well. For the Dead Sea Scrolls, the location, who discovered them, and details of discovery were immediately disclosed. Here, the Professor refused to say a word about any of these. Telling the world that he promised his source confidentiality confirms it’s all rubbish.”

Rob took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. His thoughtful expression told her he wasn’t convinced by what she’d said.

“It’s an explosive story, Liz.”

“I agree.”

“The most significant in the world. I’d like you to drop the piece you’re doing on President Dalton and move up on this story. That OK with you?”

“Sure.” She would be thrilled to use the
Herald
’s resources to assist her and Craig. “With the research I’ve done for the book, I could hit the ground running.”

“Good. Do it. But keep me posted. If you need help, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Afraid to talk in the office, Elizabeth left the building. She walked a block, turned a corner, and called Craig. “Have you heard about Professor Khalid’s parchment?”

“I heard him live on TV. I still have it on, listening to commentary. I was planning to call you. What do you think?”

“The parchment’s a phony. Put together by Musa.”

“I totally agree. Particularly because Khalid is in Morocco. Remember, Musa told us that his goal is to advance the Muslim takeover of Europe. This gives him some basis for a foothold.”

“I convinced Rob to let me jump on it.”

“Perfect. The best thing you can do is prove this parchment is a phony. And have the
Herald
publish your article. If you do it quickly, we deal a blow to Musa.”

“I’ll get started right now.”

52

PARIS

Elizabeth asked the
Herald’s
IT Department to obtain a copy of the parchment and forward it to her electronically.

While she waited, she used her computer to check world reaction to Khalid’s announcement. As she expected, the story was dominating the news. European leaders were unanimous in calling it a hoax. Spanish Prime Minister Zahara hastily convened a news conference to denounce the parchment as “an outrageous fraud … a pack of lies,” and an attack on Spanish sovereignty.

In contrast, Muslim governments, particularly in North Africa, lauded the discovery. The Algerian President called it “an admission of guilt” for the crimes crusaders perpetrated against Muslims.

Elizabeth switched back to e-mail. Now she had the parchment on her system. She downloaded it, then enlarged the document.

She read it several times, studying each letter and word.

She was shaking her head. She had to admit it looked genuine.
What if it is? Musa would gain a tremendous advantage.

She went into the computer file for her book, from which she located and downloaded four other documents from the late fifteenth century, two of which had been authored by Queen Isabella.

Comparing the documents with the naked eye, she concluded that if this parchment was a phony, Professor Khalid or whoever prepared it was knowledgeable. Extremely knowledgeable. The handwriting on the parchment seemed identical to Isabella’s other documents.

Is it conceivable that anyone other than Isabella could have prepared it?

She thought about Professor Khalid’s statement that Isabella had prepared it on her deathbed. Would anyone have been capable of writing an edict like this with death imminent? Probably not. If she were dying, would her handwriting be identical to her normal handwriting? Never.

Elizabeth picked up a loupe. Slowly and painstakingly, she searched for and compared words and letters appearing in the parchment with the same words and letters in the documents.

Then it struck her. A subtle difference, but under the loupe a difference nonetheless. In Isabella’s other documents, the line on top of all the letters “T” was straight. But in the parchment, the line on top of the letters “T” had a slight upward curl on the right side.

She went to the
Herald
’s IT room and got a microscope with a greater magnification. When she used that to examine the parchment, she not only saw the slight upward curl on the letters “T”, but the curl looked as if it had been superimposed on the original letters “T.” Added as an afterthought, or at a later time.

She looked at the original documents again. The curl was definitely missing. Now she was absolutely positive the document was a fraud.

She was puzzled. The rest of the work was so good. How could the forger of the parchment have made such a sloppy mistake?

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was being forced by Musa to prepare it and wanted to signal experts who examined the parchment that it was a phony.

And the curl was superimposed. She groped for an explanation. One possibility was that someone other than the forger placed it there.

Regardless, with the curl someone was trying to send a powerful message: This parchment is a fraud.

Elizabeth sat down at the computer and began drafting her article. “An Historical Hoax,” was her title. Then she stopped. What I need, she decided, is corroboration from a world-renowned expert on medieval history and Queen Isabella. She checked her watch. Almost five in the afternoon. Her deadline wasn’t until midnight.

She tried to decide whose opinion would carry the most weight and might be available in the next few hours. One name popped into her mind: Professor Etienne at the University of Paris. He was one of the most respected people in the world. Internationally recognized. She’d met with him a couple of times in connection with her book. He’d been very helpful in directing her to source material.

She called his office and got voice mail. No surprise there. Professors are usually gone by five o’clock. She called his home. A woman answered.

“This is Elizabeth Crowder from the
International Herald.
I’d like to speak with Professor Etienne.”

“My husband’s in London on business for a couple of days. I don’t know when he’ll be home.”

Elizabeth wasn’t deterred. “Could you please give me his cell phone number?”

Hesitation on the other end. “I don’t know. My husband doesn’t like to give it out.”

“Professor Etienne and I have had a couple of meetings about a book I’m doing. This is a matter of great urgency. I’m working under
a deadline. I want to quote him in a newspaper article. It will help his career. I think he’d like that.”

“I’m sure he would.” She gave Elizabeth the number.

“Thank you very much. I’ll call him right now.”

Elizabeth dialed Etienne’s cell immediately. Got the Professor’s voice mail. This time, she left a message: “Professor Etienne, this is Elizabeth Crowder from the
International Herald.
I have clear evidence that Professor Khalid’s parchment is a phony. I am planning to write an article saying that for tomorrow’s paper. I would like to obtain your corroboration. My deadline is midnight tonight. Please call me as soon as possible.” She gave him her office and cell numbers.

Then she went outside for a cappuccino and called Craig.

“I have proof the parchment’s a phony. I’ll explain when I see you.”

“That’s great. Will you put that in an article in tomorrow’s paper?”

“For sure. I’ll spend the evening drafting. Rob will review it. I’m also trying to get corroboration from Professor Etienne at the University of Paris. He’s one of the top people in the field.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Afraid not. I’ll be home a little after midnight.”

“I’ll be up. Bring a copy.”

Back in her office, Elizabeth resumed drafting. She left the cell phone on the desk next to the computer. She didn’t want to miss Professor Etienne’s call. When it rang fifteen minutes later, she grabbed it. “Yes, Professor.”

“It’s Carlos, in Spain.”

“I was expecting someone else.”

“I gather that. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no. I didn’t mean that.”

Carlos must have something important. “What happened?”

“Very strange. Bizarre situation in Avila, Spain, in the south. I’m not sure it has anything to do with Musa or The Spanish Revenge. But I figured it might. So you should know.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“In an isolated Franciscan monastery, the police found the dead bodies of four monks in the basement. Some had been tortured before being executed. Eyes gouged out.”

Elizabeth winced.

“The police aren’t releasing the information. I learned about it from a special alert from Interior to our Ministry.”

“Where’d you say that was?”

“Avila, in the south.”

“That’s where Tomas de Torquemada was buried.”

“The police observed fresh earth around his grave. So they dug down.”

“And?” she said anxiously.

“Somebody had been digging there a day or so ago. They didn’t disturb the coffin. Didn’t take the incredible cache of jewels in a metal box. But they buried in that grave another monk who had been beaten to death and a young Arab in his thirties who had been shot and didn’t have any ID. The police have no idea what occurred. We’re all dumbfounded here.”

Not Elizabeth. As the phony parchment on her desk caught her eye, she pieced together what must have happened. Before preparing the parchment, Musa tried to get his hands on the real one, believing that it existed and was buried with Tomas de Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor, who would have hated the promise in the parchment and tried to conceal it for all time.

She postulated that Musa had acted in reliance on this story. When it turned out to be false, he had someone fabricate the parchment. For Elizabeth, the events in Avila were powerful evidence she was right: The parchment released by Khalid was a phony.

When I meet with Professor Etienne, she thought, I’ll ask him about this as well. She couldn’t wait for him to call.

Meanwhile, what to do about Carlos’s information? Her conclusions were too speculative to share with him or anyone else
until she spoke to Etienne. She’d even wait to tell Craig until she saw him tonight. Hopefully, after her meeting with Etienne. She thanked Carlos and told him she needed time to think about what he said and its possible connection to Musa.

After she ended the call, a shiver went up and down her spine. Five dead monks. Eyes gouged out. If she was right, and the more she thought about it the more convinced she became, then what happened in Avila demonstrated how important the parchment was to Musa. His obsession had no limits. If she could prove it was a phony and publish that, she’d be cutting out the ground from under him.

With renewed determination, she turned back to her article, stopping periodically to stare at her cell phone, willing it to ring.

Please call me, Professor Etienne.