Adrian D'Hage - The Omega scroll

‘You were here for the conclave in 1958?’

‘I was a very ordinary priest working in the Congregation for the Clergy. Would that I was a simple priest again,’ Salvatore said wistfully. ‘I was here when he was elected. Roncalli – John XXIII – was their compromise candidate. They didn’t know it but their Eminences had a very large tiger by the tail. Un Terremoto! An earthquake! I want you to promise me something, Giovanni. If they do offer you the Keys to Peter, accept.’

‘Eminence I-’

‘I know, I know. It’s not something you would even think about, but if you are offered them, it will be for a reason.’

Giovanni left Cardinal Bruno’s office, totally inspired by his new project. The Keys to Peter were the furthest thing from his mind. Fleetingly his thoughts turned to Allegra and he wondered if he should meet her in Milano, but just as quickly he decided against it. He didn’t want Allegra to feel that she was being forced into telling him why she had left the Church. Giovanni decided he would wait.

It would be a long time before their paths would cross. By then the international academic community would be noticing they had a very talented Dr Bassetti in their midst, and the cardinals outside of Rome would be aware that the Holy Church had a brilliant priest within her fold. A priest that if Cardinal Bruno had his way would be elevated again, this time to archbishop. Two rising stars, on very different paths that would spectacularly intersect at the Alpha and the Omega of Jerusalem.

Langley, Virginia

M ike McKinnon scanned the latest intelligence reports on al-Qaeda’s nuclear capability. The first came from one of the CIA’s agents operating out of Kabul in Afghanistan. McKinnon skipped over the background summary. He was already depressingly familiar with the contents, including the discovery of papers that proved Osama bin Laden’s nuclear intentions. After the United States had invaded Afghanistan, a group of journalists had found some chilling documents in a house in Wazir Akbar Khan, one of Kabul’s more fashionable areas. The documents had included diagrams of the compression of plutonium into the critical mass required for a nuclear explosion.

The next section was headed ‘Subject of interest – Dr Hussein Tretyakov’. McKinnon recognised the photograph immediately. He had met Tretyakov at a Nuclear Disarmament Conference in London. Hussein Tretyakov was short, with spiky grey hair and broad shoulders. He had a square rugged face, with a high forehead and expressionless pale blue eyes. The teeth below his thick black moustache, McKinnon recalled, were stained from years of smoking unfiltered cigarettes. Dr Tretyakov had been one of the Soviet Union’s most brilliant nuclear physicists. Had been. Now he was on the Kremlin and the CIA’s ‘most wanted’ list. McKinnon skimmed over the biographical notes. He knew Tretyakov’s background well. Born in Grozny, Chechnya, in 1946. Two doctorates, one on the production of weapons-grade plutonium and the other on controlled nuclear fusion in tactical devices. A career that included stints at the quaintly named Research Institute of Experimental Physics at Chelyabinsk in the Urals, as well as at the plutonium reactor Chelyabinsk-65 at Lake Kyzltask and at Novaya Zemla, the central test site in the north of the Arctic Circle. It had never appeared on his official biography, but McKinnon and the CIA were also well aware that Dr Tretyakov had spent a considerable amount of time in the top-secret warhead production facility near Zlatoust, perfecting nuclear suitcase bombs.

Mike McKinnon stared at the colour photograph and he reflected on what had driven a man of Tretyakov’s ability to the darkest side of his profession. Mike knew that with the collapse of the Soviet Union, Dr Tretyakov, along with hundreds of other Soviet scientists, had been thrown out of work. More ominously still, in 1994 Boris Yeltsin had begun to brutally suppress Chechen President Jokhar Dudayev’s claim for Chechnya to become an independent state. Grozny had been bombed on New Year’s Eve, but the Chechen separatist fighters had fought back tenaciously, inflicting heavy losses on the Russian tanks, armoured personnel carriers, self-propelled guns and thousands of troops. In the backlash that followed, Hussein Tretyakov had lost his wife and their three small daughters. They had been a devout and devoted Muslim family, but now that family – as an orphan, the only one Hussein had ever known – was gone. President Dudayev’s threat to place the nuclear suitcase bombs on the market after the United States had ignored Chechnya’s call for independence was supported by Dr Tretyakov. He had nothing else to lose.

Tretyakov’s reckless actions couldn’t be condoned, but unlike some of those in the corridors of power in the Pentagon, for McKinnon it was important to understand the reason for his behaviour. President Vladimir Putin, Mike thought ruefully, had taken up the persecution of the Chechens where his predecessor had left off and Dr Hussein Tretyakov had been pushed into the arms of al-Qaeda. The report was chillingly inconclusive. Dr Tretyakov’s present whereabouts are unknown. The last sighting of him was in Peshawar, in the north-west frontier of Pakistan. There are unconfirmed reports that he has linked up with Abdul Musa Basheer and other al-Qaeda leaders who have been seeking to purchase several of the nuclear suitcase bombs Tretyakov is known to have in his possession.

Mike McKinnon’s face reflected his concern, his jaw set determinedly. Earlier that evening he had read an unclassified report on the Omega Scroll and the Islamic nuclear factor by Professor Yossi Kaufmann. Was this coincidence or connection? he wondered.

Milano

A llegra made her way down the familiar hallway to the Vice Chancellor’s office. It had been over fifteen years since Antonio Rosselli’s brutal murder but she still missed her kind-hearted mentor dreadfully. She knew Rosselli had been on the cusp of revealing the secrets contained in the Omega Scroll and that Cardinal Petroni was somehow involved. Allegra and Giovanni were more determined than ever to uncover what was in the Omega Scroll, but other than storming the vaults of the Vatican it seemed there was little they could do. That was about to change.

‘You wanted to see me, Professor Gamberini?’ Allegra asked at the door of the Vice Chancellor’s office.

‘Come in, Allegra. Have a seat.’

Professor Gamberini was immaculately groomed from his fine dark hair to his tailored pinstriped suit and polished black leather shoes. He was the antithesis of Antonio Rosselli yet his gentle and open manner reminded her, painfully, of her beloved Professor. Gamberini had taken over the role of mentor, encouraging Allegra to continue with her scientific discoveries, and he was diligently fostering her growing international reputation.

‘Have you ever been to Jerusalem?’ Professor Gamberini asked, coming straight to the point.

Allegra’s heart skipped a beat and she immediately thought of Giovanni. She had been thrilled when he had been promoted to archbishop two years ago, and it had given her some small satisfaction to learn that their nemesis, Cardinal Petroni, had furiously opposed the promotion but had been overruled.

‘No, why do you ask?’ she replied, uncertain of what was coming next.

‘One of the great cities of the world,’ Professor Gamberini observed. ‘The Hebrew University there is offering two interesting new scholarships in archaeology, the Medina Scholarships, a sabbatical for up to four years of research and study of the Dead Sea Scrolls. One for an Israeli scholar, and one for an exchange scholar from overseas. What do you think?’