Adrian D'Hage - The Omega scroll

‘No, that’ll be all right, Dr Kaufmann. Sorry to bother you, but we have to know who’s here. I thought you would be at the ceremony.’

‘We’re on our way, Hafiz. I just need to get something from the office,’ David replied easily.

‘A chance for peace at last. I can hardly believe it,’ the old Palestinian said with a warm smile, returning to his car.

‘I thought you’d taken leave of your senses back there,’ Allegra said as they made their way to the vault.

‘Fortune favours the brave,’ David replied, draping the black cloth over the security camera. He got down from the ledge under the camera and made his way towards the vault doors.

Less than an hour later, the fragments of the Gospel of Thomas were safely back in the old olive wood box on top of some fragments of paper that David had added for bulk.

Mission accomplished, David and Allegra emerged from the depths of the museum but they knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. The sky was filled with helicopters, the blat blat blat of the rotors shattering the night. A pall of smoke hung over the Damascus Gate and a cacophony of sirens reverberated around the city.

‘David, no!’ Allegra held her hand to her mouth.

‘Come on,’ he said quietly.

The soldier at the checkpoint brandished his rifle and David brought Onslow to a halt.

‘You can’t…’ The soldier recognised David and he pulled up short. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, there’s been a bomb explosion at the ceremony.’

‘Any word on casualties?’

The soldier shook his head.

David swerved Onslow away from the roadblock and headed towards the Hadassah Hospital, getting behind a speeding ambulance.

As they pulled in to the hospital, the ambulance in front of them screeched to a halt. Two orderlies jumped out and two more ran to meet them. The young girl on the stretcher was not yet in her teens. Her head was covered in a bloodied bandage but the blood was seeping onto her face that was now very pale as her life ebbed away. The overstretched doctors on duty would do what they could, but they would be too late to save many of those now arriving in a never-ending stream.

Through the chaos, David and Allegra were finally greeted by a duty sister.

‘Oh, Dr Kaufmann, I didn’t see you there. Sorry to keep you waiting.’

‘That’s all right,’ David replied gently. ‘Are my parents here? Is there any word?’

‘One moment, Dr Kaufmann, I’ll get the medical superintendent.’

Allegra took David’s hand. They both knew that the old sister would only have summoned the superintendent at a time like this if the news was bad. The medical superintendent appeared and took David and Allegra down the corridor to a private waiting room.

Lorenzo Petroni was still glued to CCN’s live coverage. Tom Schweiker appeared on-screen and Petroni moved forward in his seat. Giorgio Felici had obviously failed to eliminate the journalist, but for the moment he was more interested in the fate of Donelli and Bassetti.

‘A shocking tragedy, Geraldine. Violence has once again taken the place of peace.’

‘And the casualties?’

‘All the government spokespeople will say is that Prime Minister Kaufmann and his wife Marian are in surgery, and that doctors are fighting to save them. The Palestinian President Ahmed Sartawi is believed to be in a serious but stable condition. He is also in the hospital here at Ein Karem, as is Cardinal Donelli.’

‘Any word on Cardinal Donelli’s condition, Tom?’

‘Remarkably his injuries are reported to be not serious and he has been listed as satisfactory. He was furthest away when the bomb went off. The explosives are believed to have been hidden in a lectern which was replaced shortly before the ceremony began. The Israeli Prime Minister was at the lectern when the bomb was detonated.’

‘No one has claimed responsibility?’

‘None of the terrorist groups have yet claimed responsibility, although my contacts here tell me the Israelis are now focusing on the brother of the Palestinian President, Yusef Sartawi. He worked for Cohatek, the company responsible for providing the logistics and sound for the ceremony. He died in the blast so we may never know the extent of his involvement.’

Cardinal Petroni snapped off the television, his lips set in a hard, colourless line. Giorgio Felici had set the contract at twenty-five million dollars, payable in advance, which Petroni had disguised as a Vatican Bank South American Aid Budget, and there was still nothing to show for it. Giorgio Felici had a lot of explaining to do.

Roma

‘ A vanti! ’

‘The media release, Eminence.’ Monsignor Servini, the Head of the Vatican Press Office, handed the momentous release to Cardinal Petroni. The world waited while Petroni checked every word: The Holy Father died at 9.37 this evening in his private apartment… A 8 p.m. the celebration of Mass for Divine Mercy Sunday began in the Holy Father’s room, presided by… The Holy Father’s final hours were marked by the uninterrupted prayer of all those who were assisting him in his pious death…

Lorenzo Petroni checked the release for accuracy and effect before he handed it back to the visibly distraught Monsignor Servini.

‘Release it,’ was all Petroni said, and he leaned back in his chair, contemplating the future with a degree of anticipation. Even after several meetings, some of the Curial Cardinals led by the elderly but immoveable Cardinal Castiglione were yet to be convinced of the need for the Pope to resign. Petroni had appealed to them on several grounds, including the obligation to put the good of the Holy Church above all else and the need to allow the Holy Father some peace in his declining health, but it had been to no avail. Even Petroni’s none-too-subtle reminder of the immense harm that could be done to a rudderless Church if a Pontiff were to slip into a coma had not been enough to shift Castiglione. Petroni sniffed the air with satisfaction. The votes of Castiglione and the rest of his knitting group would not be necessary. The stubborn old Pope was dead at last.

Petroni buzzed Father Thomas as soon as Monsignor Servini had left.

‘You may start the calls in the order of the list I gave you.’

‘Certainly, Eminence.’

A short while later the red telephone on Petroni’s desk buzzed quietly.

‘Cardinal Fritsch in Berlin, Eminence.’

‘Hans! Wie gehts? ’ Petroni asked, using the Cardinal Archbishop of Berlin’s native tongue more out of flattery than courtesy. ‘ Zehr gut. Zehr gut! The news here is not so good, Hans. Although not unexpected, this will still come as a shock, as it has to all of us here, but I wanted to call you personally before the news is released. The Holy Father passed away less than an hour ago at 9.37 our time…’

One by one Cardinal Petroni ticked off the names of the Church’s 194 cardinals from the list on his desk. One by one they were personally informed of the Secretary of State’s great sadness at the Pope’s passing. The last call was to Daniel Kirkpatrick.

‘Kirkpatrick.’

‘Lorenzo.’

‘It’s a very sad day here, Daniel. Your coverage has had just the right touch and I wanted to thank you personally. As has your coverage of the bombing in Jerusalem,’ Pentroni added, underlining the real reason for his call.

‘Thank you, Lorenzo, you’re very kind to call at such a sad time. Il Papa will be greatly missed, which is more than I can say for some of those Arabs in Jerusalem. Never trust an Arab, especially a Muslim.’

‘I agree entirely, Daniel, they run with the devil.’

‘Although Cardinal Donelli seemed fully supportive,’ Daniel Kirkpatrick responded, puzzled as to why such a senior member of the one true faith would side with the religion of terrorists.