Adrian D'Hage - The Omega scroll

‘Naturally,’ the Turk replied. He had anticipated the request and handed Lonergan a worn leather pouch. ‘This contains clearly marked envelopes with blank sample parchments from each of the scrolls. You will no doubt want to conduct carbon dating and other tests.’

‘How do I contact you?’

‘You don’t. The boxes will now be moved to another place for safekeeping,’ the Turk said. ‘I will contact you in a month.’

As he headed back towards the Damascus Gate Derek Lonergan looked at his watch, wondering if the Cellar Bar would still be open. It was after one in the morning. Probably not, he thought. The coded letter to Petroni would have to be sent via the Vatican’s diplomatic black bag which would probably prompt a question or two from Bishop O’Hara. Fuck him. Not to mention Petroni when he got the request for fifty big ones, well fuck him too. Fuck the lot of them. He cursed again as he staggered up yet another blind alley.

Tel-Aviv

T he landing gear of the British Airways Boeing 747 rumbled and thumped into place. Allegra pressed her face against the window with mounting expectation, waiting for her first glimpse of Israel. The Holy Land. She had read so much about it when she had been at the convent in Tricarico and now she was finally here. Mamma had demanded to know every detail, details that would no doubt be faithfully repeated for the benefit of La Signora Bagarella and La Signora Farini, and anyone else who might be around the cobblestone alleys of Tricarico. Papa would provide less detail, but Tricarico’s only wine bar would nevertheless be kept up to date on Allegra’s progress.

The big aircraft banked slowly and Allegra’s first sight of the Promised Land was disappointing. The Mediterranean lapped a dirty shoreline with waves of little consequence, and the late afternoon sun couldn’t do much to bring either to life. In the distance she could see Tel-Aviv and the city was equally unspectacular – a myriad of tightly packed nondescript buildings with the skyline occasionally broken by high-rise hotels overlooking what passed for a beach. The first all-Jewish city of modern Israel had been founded in 1908 as a garden suburb of Old Jaffa. Old Jaffa had been known throughout history as the pilgrims’ gate to Jerusalem and one of the oldest continually inhabited places in the world. Now the tables had turned and Old Jaffa was just another part of metropolitan Tel-Aviv.

The captain applied more power and the four Rolls-Royce RB211 turbofans growled, only to quieten again as the 400-ton aircraft settled on its approach path. The purser took the intercom and commenced the customary landing spiel. ‘As we will shortly be landing in Tel-Aviv…’

Allegra continued to stare out of her window, only to see that the surrounding countryside was as uninviting as the shoreline, a narrow plain of low scrubby greens and browns. But to the Israelis this countryside was a lot more than that. It was Eretz Israel, the land of Abraham and Moses and the twelve tribes of Israel. Nothing in the Old Testament, save Yahweh himself, was more precious.

After what seemed like an age of taxiing, clearing immigration and waiting for the luggage carousel to start spilling luggage onto the roundabout, Allegra finally reached customs.

‘Open the case.’ If the machine gun contrasted strangely with the attractiveness of the young customs officer, it was in perfect harmony with her eyes. Steely and suspicious.

‘Is this your first visit to Israel?’ Her English was crisp with only a hint of a Jewish accent.

‘Yes,’ Allegra replied, opening her suitcase.

‘Business or pleasure?’ the young Israeli customs officer demanded as she rifled through Allegra’s bag with ruthless efficiency.

‘I’m here on a scholarship with the Hebrew University.’ The customs officer looked her up and down and snapped the suitcase shut.

‘Enjoy your stay in Israel,’ she said curtly and waved Allegra through. Allegra wheeled her trolley into the arrivals hall. Ben Gurion Airport was busy and there was an almost continual stream of announcements ricocheting off the terminal walls, first in Hebrew and then in English. Allegra searched the crowd for Dr David Kaufmann, scanning the dozens of faces, looking for someone who might fit the brief description she had been given. About six feet tall, olive complexion, curly black hair, blue eyes and solid-looking. With the possible exception of the curly hair it wasn’t much help.

Roma

Not long after his appointment Cardinal Petroni had personally overseen the installation of secure phones for those he might need to contact. It was just as well. If what Lonergan had told him was true the acquisition of the second copy of the Omega Scroll was now nothing short of critical, and it would have to be done with the utmost secrecy. Petroni dialled his personal code, followed by the country code for Israel and finally the number for Lonergan’s secure phone in Jerusalem.

Derek Lonergan winced as the telephone rang loudly and he was forced to search for it under the piles of documents and papers that covered his desk. ‘Lonergan’, he answered thickly, not realising it was his red phone.

‘Good morning, Monsignor, this is the Cardinal Secretary of State.’

‘Eminence.’ Lonergan jerked his head to a more upright position and immediately regretted the suddenness of this action. ‘You have my letter?’ he asked, holding his head.

Petroni’s voice was cool. ‘Switch to secure.’

‘Yes, Eminence.’ Up yours, he thought darkly as he fumbled for the plastic key that switched the phone to its secure mode.

‘How many people know of the existence of the Omega Scroll, Monsignor?’ Petroni asked when Lonergan eventually mastered the technology and came back on line.

‘Other than the Bedouins who found them, and they would not have been able to translate it, only the antiquities dealer,’ Lonergan replied. ‘It stands to reason that it would not be in his interest for word to reach the authorities. I, of course, have not mentioned it to anyone.’

‘Keep it that way. How much room do we have to manoeuvre on price.’

‘He plays very hard, Eminence. I offered him one million dollars but he scoffed at it. It was then that he made mention of the Omega Scroll and said he would be able to find other buyers.’

‘This might be a secure line, Monsignor, but unlike mine, your conversations can be overheard. Guard what you say!’

‘Of course, Eminence.’ Up yours again, he thought, more darkly than before. The line stayed silent until Cardinal Petroni spoke again.

‘We cannot afford to take the risk. Tell him we will pay the asking price. The money will be available for collection in Switzerland and we will pay for his travel there, but once he collects the money he is no longer our problem. Monsignor Thomas will meet him in Zurich and the exchange will be done at the bank. You are to attend the meeting to attest to what we are buying. The details will be forwarded to you in a sealed envelope in the black bag and will arrive tomorrow. Is all of that clear?’

‘Perfectly, Eminence.’

‘Good. Now there is one other matter that requires your attention. I have received advice that Dr Allegra Bassetti and an Israeli scholar, Dr David Kaufmann, have been awarded post-doctorate scholarships at the Hebrew University.’

‘Yes, Eminence,’ Derek Lonergan said, wishing that the percussion section of the London Philharmonic would find somewhere else to practise other than inside his skull.

‘Regrettably they will have unfettered access to those scrolls that the Jews already hold. The Hebrew University will request access to the scrolls you hold in the Rockefeller. On no account is that to occur, although outwardly you are to give the impression that we are cooperating. If necessary they can be given some office space but you are to delay that as long as possible.’