The Omega scroll

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

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.’

‘Yes, Eminence. Although you will appreciate that Professor Kaufmann is applying a lot of pressure through the Department of Antiquities.’ There was silence at the other end of the line. It had been an unwise position to take.

‘I don’t care how much pressure there is,’ Petroni responded icily. ‘As a member of the Pontifical Biblical Commission your task is to ensure that the Word of God is shielded from any errors, and you are also there to ensure that the Holy Church is protected from criticism. And while I have you on the phone I did not appreciate Professor Kaufmann’s article on the codes in the Dead Sea Scrolls in last month’s Biblical Antiquities Review. I hardly need to remind you, Monsignor, that the contents of your file would not make life easy for you if it became public. I have protected you once, I may not be so lenient the next time.’

‘Of course, Eminence, of course.’ Like many others, Monsignor Lonergan should have saved his subservience. The line was dead.

‘ Vaffanculo! Up your arse!’ he yelled into the lifeless receiver. He got up from his desk and trod a well-worn path to the cupboard in the far wall. His trembling fingers made it difficult to get the small key into the lock and his hands were still trembling as he unscrewed the cap on the bottle. He walked back to the French windows that looked out over the gardens, drained his glass and poured himself another.

To anyone else the walled gardens would seem like an oasis in the middle of the ancient Arab capital of East Jerusalem, occupied by the Israelis since the 1967 Six Day War. Stately pine, cypress and palm trees gave shade and an air of tranquillity. Hedges, red desert flowers and sandstone steps dropped gently into leafy squares with stone seats, providing a place of escape from the pressures of the world. A short distance from the gates of the gardens, on the other side of the walls of the old stone Priory, the Old City teemed with the noise and aromas of life in the Middle East as it had done for centuries. For Monsignor Derek Lonergan, the guardian of Papal secrets in Jerusalem, the place resembled a prison.

‘What you don’t know, you arsehole, is that for your fifty million you get one copy of the Omega. I get the other copy, along with Thomas and Isaiah,’ he muttered to himself. The sly little Turkish antiquities dealer in the faded red fez could, he felt sure, be persuaded against mentioning the second box when they went to Zurich. A commission for organising payment of the fifty million. Turks understood these things, he mused as he emptied the whisky bottle and flung it into a box in the bottom of his cupboard.

Tel-Aviv

‘Dr Allegra Bassetti?’

Allegra turned to find David Kaufmann standing behind her.

‘Hi, I’m David Kaufmann. Welcome to Israel,’ he said with a broad smile.

‘Hello and thank you,’ she replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm and confident. This tall, tanned and fit-looking Israeli was not really what she had expected. David was a gorgeous looking man and the scar on his right cheek only added to his appeal. Judging him to be in his mid-forties, Allegra had imagined that a doctor of archaeology and an expert in Greek and Aramaic languages to be a little less athletic, a little more bookish and a little older. Had she known he was in his late fifties she would have been even more surprised. Fleetingly she remembered Professor Gamberini’s remark about him being very single.

‘I understand you speak English and Hebrew as well as Italian? That’s quite an achievement,’ he said, taking her bags.

‘Well, thank you, but my Hebrew is very rusty. Thanks for meeting me. I can hardly believe I am here,’ she said.

‘You’ll soon be in the thick of it. Onslow is not very far away.’

‘Your driver?’

‘My car. It was given to me by a friend of mine who was the British military attache here before he went back to London. The Honourable Onslow Harrington-Smythe – we never give the car the full title, just Onslow.’

‘That was very generous of your friend.’

‘You haven’t seen Onslow.’

Bemused, Allegra followed her very attractive research partner to the car park where he had parked the ancient British Land Rover with ‘Hebrew University’ hand-painted on its front doors.

‘Forgive the dust,’ David said, as he opened the door and thumped the faded green vinyl seat. Powdery dust from Jericho and several other biblical cities puffed up from the seat.

David slammed his door twice before it shut and when he turned the ignition key Onslow’s engine cranked uncertainly. With a belch of black smoke and a cough it fired and roared into life.

‘Unless you really want to go into Tel-Aviv,’ David said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the roar of the engine, ‘which is nothing to write home about, I thought we might head straight up to Jerusalem. We can have a welcome drink at one of my favourite bars, then get you settled in?’

‘Tel-Aviv can wait for another day,’ she assured him, shouting back.

‘It’s the muffler or a gasket or something,’ he explained. ‘Must get it seen to one of these days.’ David swung the Land Rover out of the car park and headed south-east onto Route 1. Allegra felt a surge of excitement at the first signpost saying ‘Jerusalem’. She braced herself against the metal dashboard as David braked hard and swerved to avoid a minibus full of Arabs cutting in front of them. If the horn on the Land Rover had worked, he still wouldn’t have used it. David Kaufmann was not one to get agitated easily.

‘As you can see it’s a toss-up as to who are the world’s worst drivers. Us or the Arabs.’

‘You obviously haven’t driven in Italy,’ she replied. ‘How far is it to Jerusalem?’

‘It’s about 50 kilometres from here but the university campus is on Mount Scopus which is a few kilometres further on. Since this is your very first day we’ll brave the traffic and take the scenic route past the Old City. Tomorrow we have a briefing at the Rockefeller, although I should warn you there has been more than a little controversy over these scholarships and they may not be too pleased to see us.’

‘Does that have anything to do with the Omega Scroll?’ Allegra asked, deciding to find out how much David knew.

‘You know about that?’ he asked, glancing sideways at her.

‘A little,’ she replied enigmatically, ‘there’s been a bit of speculation in the Italian press from time to time.’

‘It may have something to do with it, not that there has ever been any proof of the Rockefeller having a copy, but it’s also about the fragments of the scrolls they hold. They’ve been pretty choosy about granting access, and it’s beginning to look as if there might be something very damaging in them, otherwise they would have been opened up to thorough scrutiny years ago.’

‘Do you think it’s real, the Omega Scroll?’ Allegra asked, pressing for more information.

‘My father certainly does,’ David replied. ‘Although I’m not so sure, yet it’s always in the back of your mind when you’re near an archaeological dig. What about you?’

‘I think your father might be right and whenever people get close to uncovering it, strange things seem to happen. You heard what happened to Professor Rosselli?’

David nodded. ‘A sad business. He and Yossi corresponded regularly. They never found who did it?’

Allegra shook her head. ‘The file’s still open but the trail seems to have gone cold. Your father is still trying to break the codes?’

‘You read his article on the Dead Sea Scrolls?’

‘It made the news in Italy.’

‘I’m not surprised, given what he wrote. You will meet him tomorrow, after our briefing at the Rockefeller. I’ll take you for a walk through the Old City and around seven-thirty-ish, if you feel up to it, we can mosey over to the Shrine of the Book. The Professor’s giving a briefing on the Dead Sea Scrolls to a bunch of visiting American congressmen.’

‘The Professor?’

‘My father, it’s a term of endearment. I’ve arranged our briefing at the museum for half past three so I’ll pick you up about quarter past two. Ish. Just in case the Palestinians are out and about and causing havoc.’ David’s comment was not entirely in jest.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘It’s been pretty quiet here for the last couple of months, but in Israel you never can tell. You get used to it. Most people are in the Reserves which is a continual reminder that the country has to be protected.’

‘You’re in the Army?’

‘Used to be. Pretty well everyone serves in the Defense Force, unless you’re pregnant or a mother. I gather you’d have to sign up,’ he added, laughing.

‘On both counts!’ Allegra found herself responding to this interesting Israeli. She felt relaxed and at ease with a man who obviously didn’t take life too seriously.

‘How long did you serve for?’

‘Conscription runs for three years and after that you’re still assigned to a frontline Reserve unit until you’re thirty-nine. If there’s a war the whole country is mobilised. Buses and taxis carry troops, private planes and boats go into the Air Force and Navy and construction bulldozers and cranes go into the Engineers. All in all, we can put a quarter of a million troops into the field overnight. Back in 1973 it was very nearly not enough.’

‘Were you involved then?’

David nodded. ‘Pretty well everyone was. I had a gig in the ’67 event too.’

Allegra smiled to herself. Somehow David Kaufmann struck her as someone who would find the discipline of the armed forces irksome.

‘And your father?’

‘Far more distinguished career than mine. He was one of the youngest generals in the Army, although not everyone’s a fan. He has a view, and I agree with him, that fighting the Arabs is never going to solve the problem, but the High Command and a lot of politicians in this country expect their generals to be a bit more gung-ho. I don’t think he’s the flavour of the month with the Vatican right now either.’

‘Yes, after your father’s article on the codes in the Dead Sea Scrolls I can understand why the cardinal’s club would not be amused.’

‘That’s putting it mildly. I gather the Secretary of State – what’s his name – Petroli?’

‘Petroni.’ Allegra shivered with the memory.

‘That’s the fellow,’ David said, pulling out to push his way past a bus that was billowing thick black smoke. Up until now the road had been dead flat, passing through ploughed fields and the rich red soils of the fertile coastal plain, but now they had reached the rocky foothills of the Judaean mountains.

‘I gather he was bordering on apoplexy. I’m sorry, are you a Catholic?’

‘Don’t worry, lapsed, very lapsed,’ Allegra replied, deciding that now was not the time to go into her time in a convent. ‘You?’

‘Legally I’m Jewish.’

‘Legally?’

‘Being a Jew can be a bit complicated. If your mother is Jewish or you convert to Judaism, regardless of where you are born, according to Jewish law you are accepted as being a Jew. It’s a kind of worldwide citizenship. If you’re asking if I share the religious beliefs of the Orthodox Jews then the answer is no. I suppose I’m of no fixed religion. My father has a strong faith although only God would know how he’s kept it. He and my mother both lost their parents in the Holocaust. My mother’s pretty normal though!’

‘You seem remarkably well informed on the Vatican?’ Allegra was intrigued by his earlier observations.

‘My father is good friends with the bishop here, an Irish fellow by the name of O’Hara. Funnily enough he doesn’t seem too religious either. Nice guy. You’ll get to meet him too.’

As they reached the top of the long climb to the outskirts of Jerusalem, Allegra still couldn’t believe she was actually here.

‘The Old City goes back about four thousand years,’ David explained, not realising just how ‘lapsed’ Allegra was. ‘King David made it the Jewish capital about a thousand years before Christ after he beat the piss and pick handles out of the Philistines.’

Allegra smiled. She knew she would continue to enjoy David Kaufmann’s irreverent turn of phrase.

‘Not long after that his son Solomon built the first temple. That lasted about four hundred years until the good old Babylonians came in and knocked it over in 586 BC. Nehemiah built the second one about forty years later.’ David swerved to avoid a yellow Palestinian taxi. ‘Alexander the Great knocked the city off again in 332 BC, but the second temple lasted until the Romans in their inimitable style razed it to the ground in 70 AD. The Western Wailing Wall is all that’s left.’

At the end of the old Jaffa Road, they reached Zahal Square and Allegra got her first glimpse of the walls of the Old City. From her research Allegra knew that the walls themselves had survived since they had been built by Suleiman the Magnificent, the Ottoman sultan of Istanbul fame, in 1537. Against the backdrop of the wall, a contrast of ancient and modern pushed Allegra’s senses to their limits. A cacophony of cars, trucks, tourist buses, sheruts – the white Israeli minibuses – and their yellow Palestinian equivalents jostled for space on the crowded road.

‘That’s the Jaffa Gate and further down you can see the Citadel,’ David said, pointing to the massive blocks at the base of a huge stone tower. ‘Otherwise known as the Tower of David. Just before Christ’s time Herod rebuilt it, and today it houses the Museum of the History of Jerusalem. When we haven’t got you out searching for more Dead Sea Scrolls, you and the Old City can get better acquainted.’

‘I’m looking forward to that,’ Allegra said as David swung Onslow into the car park of the hotel.

Dusky lights accentuated the front of the American Colony Hotel, one of Jerusalem’s most famous and stylish hotels. The architecture was typically Turkish fortress style and the rooms looked onto a beautiful old stone courtyard and well cared for palm trees, gardens and fountains.

‘Would you like a table, Dr Kaufmann?’ asked Abdullah, the Cellar Bar’s long-serving barman, indicating a vacant alcove under one of the old sandstone archways.

David looked at Allegra and raised an eyebrow.

‘I’d be happy to stand at the bar. I’ve been sitting in a plane for hours,’ she said, smiling at Abdullah. ‘I’ll have a beer thanks.’

‘A woman after my own heart,’ David responded.

‘Shalom,’ David said, raising his glass after Abdullah had brought the drinks.

‘David!’

David turned around to see Tom Schweiker walking into the bar.

‘Tom! How are you? It’s been a while. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Dr Allegra Bassetti. Allegra is an expert in archaeological DNA and is joining us to do some research. Allegra, meet Tom Schweiker. Tom’s a journalist but don’t let that put you off, some of them are actually quite decent!’

‘David has very discerning taste in friends,’ Tom said with an easy smile, shaking Allegra’s hand. ‘Welcome to Jerusalem.’

‘It’s good to meet you. I’ve often watched you covering the Vatican from Rome,’ Allegra replied, struck by the open camaraderie between the two men.

‘A beer thanks, Abdullah,’ Tom said, looking around. ‘Strange. That lard-arsed blowhard from the Rockefeller isn’t here. Blessed relief.’

‘Lard-arsed blowhard?’ Allegra asked, intrigued.

‘Monsignor Derek Lonergan,’ David explained. ‘He’ll be doing the briefing tomorrow.’

‘Lucky you,’ Tom observed. ‘Any progress on getting access to the scrolls?’

David shook his head. ‘At the moment we’re having trouble even getting an office. Every time the scandal of the scrolls is raised it makes news for a while and then you guys move on.’

‘Usually because someone’s blown up another bloody bus,’ Tom said. ‘That hardly touched the sides. Three beers thanks, Abdullah.’

‘Access to these scrolls seems to have had a pretty chequered history,’ Allegra observed.

‘Things have eased a little,’ David said. ‘In 1991 the new Director of the Huntington Library in San Marino, California, discovered a long forgotten photographic record of the scrolls in a safe. Unlike the Vatican, the Huntington believes in intellectual freedom. In the face of all sorts of legal threats the Huntington published the photographs, but I have my suspicions there is still more to come. The Vatican is guarding access to the originals, not to mention the actual dates of the scrolls, with all the ferocity of bin Laden’s bodyguards, and the appalling irony is that ever since the 1967 war several of the academics who do have access haven’t set foot inside the country, something that Lonergan strenuously denies.’

‘I think I saw him give an interview once on that very issue. Big man?’ Allegra asked.

Tom grinned. ‘With an ego to match. British American. David and I have already made up our minds about him, so it will be interesting to see what you think.’

‘You don’t like him much?’

‘Not a lot,’ David answered. ‘An elitist academic, but the Vatican like him because he supports their line. I wouldn’t be surprised if they employ him.’

Tom Schweiker was absorbing every detail of the conversation between Allegra and David. Where the Vatican was concerned he had his own reasons for getting to the truth. Not that he would ever quote David, unless they both agreed there was a reason to do so. David was a friend and Tom Schweiker always took a long-term view. David Kaufmann was far too important a source to burn in the quest for a short-term front page headline.

‘The Vatican team puts the origin of the scrolls around two hundred years before Christ,’ Allegra said. ‘That’s probably true for some of them, but from the research I’ve done, some have definitely been written around the time of Christ, and they reflect both his and earlier teachings. Carbon dating would solve the question simply and decisively, but the Vatican has resisted that from the very beginning.’

‘I think you’re right,’ David said. ‘Their defence is too ferocious and anyone who disagrees is likely to feel the full force of the Vatican’s power, as one or two very distinguished academics have found to their cost. I have a very strong suspicion the Vatican is hiding something.’

Allegra nodded. ‘I’ve always had the feeling that the Vatican wanted to put as much distance between Christ and the Dead Sea Scrolls as they can.’

‘Why?’ asked Tom.

‘If it can be proven that Christ studied under the Essenes,’ Allegra said, ‘it would threaten the very essence of Vatican teaching, not to mention Christ’s divinity, the uniqueness of his teaching, and ultimately whether he was really out to start a religion.’

David was impressed by his new colleague’s willingness to question tradition, no matter how deeply rooted in history. He realised there was much more to Allegra than she was letting on. Aware that he was staring intently at her, he briskly turned towards Tom. ‘To the average punter that probably doesn’t matter much,’ David said, ‘but anything that links Christ with the Essenes is likely to give the Vatican a bad case of the vapours.’

‘I wonder if the Omega Scroll will come up at the briefing tomorrow?’ Allegra ventured, wondering what sort of reaction she would get from Tom.

Tom grinned. ‘Lonergan will give the impression of a welcome, but don’t expect too much cooperation, especially on the Omega Scroll. He’ll deny it even exists and I suspect they will do everything they can to make sure you both see as little as possible. Better go,’ he said. ‘Ferret Face is having a bad hair day. Lovely to have met you, Allegra. No doubt we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.’

‘Ferret Face?’ Allegra asked, curious.

‘His producer. Nasty piece of work apparently,’ David replied as they followed Tom out of the bar.

After they had left, Abdullah reached for the phone.

The small travel clock had a very persistent ring and Allegra fumbled for the button to silence it, blinking in the morning light coming through the big bedroom window. For a few seconds she had no idea where she was, until the fuzziness of her jet lag slowly cleared. Instead of the normal university ‘cell’, the Medina scholarship had provided a spacious one-bedroom apartment that was only a ten-minute walk from the Mount Scopus campus. The apartment building was nestled at the end of a quiet leafy cul-de-sac and boasted sweeping views from her bedroom and living room balconies. In the distance she could make out the Old City and greater Jerusalem. The early morning sun had caught the 35-ton golden cupola of the Dome of the Rock, the best known and most striking part of the Jerusalem skyline and the third most holy shrine in all of Islam. To the right of the Dome and beyond it Allegra could make out the drab grey cupola of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre that had been built over the reported site of Christ’s crucifixion in the Old City’s Christian Quarter. To the left of the Dome was the valley of Kidron and the Mount of Olives. Allegra stretched out contentedly. She had the morning free for a stroll through the university to get the university sign-up procedures out of the way, and plenty of time to get ready for the briefing with Monsignor Lonergan. She found herself looking forward to seeing David again.

Suddenly her peace was shattered as the whole building shook. When the shaking stopped Allegra got off the bed and gingerly opened the door to the bedroom balcony. The street outside was quiet and there didn’t seem to be any damage or any sounds of sirens, but she wondered if there would be aftershocks.

Not being sure what ‘ish’ meant, Allegra was ready a little after two, but it was nearly three before Onslow broke the peace of the neighbourhood. David leaned over and pulled the wire that served as a door handle on the passenger side. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he yelled, a boyish grin on his face. Allegra would learn that a time qualified by ‘ish’ meant just that.

‘Did you get the tremor here?’ he shouted, accelerating out of the cul-de-sac.

‘It frightened me a little. Is there much damage?’

‘Only minor. We get them here every few years although this one was a little bigger. It registered six on the Richter scale and the epicentre was near the Dead Sea but there’s not much out there so I guess we’re lucky.’

For the second time in two days Allegra maintained a survival grip on the dashboard as David roared across greater Jerusalem, weaving in and out between the buses and sheruts and anything else that stood in his way.

‘You don’t see the need for a horn?’ she asked innocently, as another pedestrian leapt back to the safety of a streetside store.

‘No point. They can hear us coming a mile off.’

Allegra raised her eyebrows but David studiously ignored her. Inwardly she smiled. There was clearly quite a lot of the ‘little boy’ in David Kaufmann, she thought, something that made her warm to him even more.

‘Welcome to the Rockefeller.’ Monsignor Derek Lonergan extended a sweaty hand to David and then to Allegra. His hand felt like a fat, wet fish. Allegra smiled politely and looked at David with a ‘you should have warned me’ look as they followed the Vatican’s man into his office. Derek Lonergan’s face was flushed and a few long strands of reddish hair waved defiantly from his pink scalp. His beard hadn’t been trimmed for a very long time and his breath smelt of whisky. The cord on his cassock disappeared under the folds of his belly. David grinned as he saw Allegra struggling to keep a straight face.

‘The Director sends his apologies but he’s asked me to brief you on his behalf,’ Lonergan said, as he cleared away the piles of papers from two old chairs and levered his ample rear onto the front of his desk, giving Allegra a glimpse of a flabby white leg as he swung it to and fro.

‘The Dead Sea Scrolls is both a very difficult field, and quite a simple one,’ Monsignor Lonergan began pompously. ‘It is simple in that a great deal of hype has been written about what might be in the scrolls. In reality, they contain nothing of startling interest. Biblical scrolls that contain information already available to us in the Old Testament and with very little variance from the scriptures. Most interesting, but perfectly innocuous, and they add very little to the knowledge we already have of the peaceful reclusive Essenes who chose to live in isolation in Qumran. On the other hand,’ he said, looking down at Allegra, ‘putting the fragments together and reaching these conclusions by deciphering the ancient script is a job that requires a considerable amount of expertise.’

‘What about the date of the scrolls, Monsignor,’ David asked, underwhelmed by Lonergan’s pomposity. ‘I see that some scholars have argued that they are more closely linked to the time of Christ than first thought?’

‘You may call them scholars, Sir. I most certainly do not. There is not a shadow of doubt that all of the fragments, or at least those we have had the time to examine, are from a pre-Christian era. No doubt whatsoever.’

It was a critical slip and David jumped on it.

‘So there are other fragments you have not yet examined.’

For a moment Derek Lonergan looked as if he had suddenly become very constipated. His face went crimson and he blinked several times before answering, his eyes bulging like those of a large cod.

‘A very small number are still in the vault,’ he replied dismissively. ‘From a cursory translation they appear to be copies of one or two of the minor books of the Old Testament.’

‘And the dating of those?’ Allegra asked.

‘That has yet to be determined but given the overwhelming evidence that we have obtained from the fragments already analysed I have no doubt they will also date between 200 and 100 BC.’

‘Does the analysis include carbon dating, Monsignor?’ Allegra asked with an almost nonchalant look on her face.

Constipation set in again. ‘I need hardly remind you, Dr Bassetti, that these scrolls are priceless. We are not about to chop them up to provide samples for chemists. The linen they were wrapped in has already been subjected to that type of analysis but,’ he said, pausing for emphasis, ‘when you have spent as many years as I have in this field you will come to realise that there are many other methods of dating that are just as accurate, if not more so. The coins found at Qumran for a start, not to mention palaeography.’

‘Palaeography?’

‘The science of the comparative study of ancient calligraphy or more simply, changes evident in the evolution of handwriting that can be dated according to style,’ Lonergan said patronisingly, as if Allegra was a particularly thick school student.

‘I know what palaeography is, Monsignor,’ Allegra retaliated evenly. ‘It’s just that in my experience using palaeography to obtain accurate dates is, at best, somewhat tenuous?’ Allegra’s smile infuriated Lonergan.

‘When you have some experience, Dr Bassetti, perhaps we might discuss the issue,’ he spat back, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice. ‘Now, if you will both follow me, I will give you a tour of the museum.’

‘Nice arse,’ David whispered as they followed the waddling off-white cassock down the corridor that led to the Scrollery. Allegra struggled to hold back a giggle.

The Scrollery was a long rectangular room with three rows of trestle tables running along almost its entire length. On top of these, dozens of thick square sheets of glass provided the only protection for the thousands of scroll fragments that had been assembled by the small international team dominated by Vatican scholars.

‘This,’ Lonergan announced unnecessarily, ‘is the Scrollery. Please don’t touch any of the glass covers. As you can see protestations of secrecy are entirely unfounded. Any member of the international team is free to move around the Scrollery and observe what other members are doing.’

David refrained from commenting. Since there was no one actually in the Scrollery, ‘doing’ seemed a moot point. Both David and Allegra were somewhat bemused to find that for reasons best known to himself, Lonergan gave them a detailed tour of the administration areas; room after room of filing cabinets and computers. Finally they reached the basement area that housed the photographic dark rooms.

‘Is that the vault?’ David asked innocuously, as they passed the very same heavy steel doors he had come across during the 1967 Six Day War.

‘Only the Director has the combination I’m afraid,’ Lonergan lied easily, not even breaking the rhythm of his waddle.

‘The fragments in the vault that have yet to be analysed. Perhaps we may be able to assist you in that area?’ David suggested.

‘Out of the question,’ Lonergan replied emphatically. ‘They have already been assigned. And,’ he said meaningfully, ‘the suggestion you might be attached to the Rockefeller has yet to be approved. Whilst we congratulate you both, most of the work of translation has already been done, and we were somewhat surprised when the Department of Antiquities saw fit to put more resources into a field that is already fully allocated.’ The use of the royal ‘we’ seemed to underline the ‘them’ and ‘us’ approach that David had predicted.

‘Have you any idea when approval might be forthcoming?’ David persisted, as they arrived back at Lonergan’s office.

‘That will be up to the Director,’ Lonergan replied vaguely. ‘Now, I’m afraid you will have to excuse me. I have another appointment,’ he said, looking at his watch. Across at the American Colony Hotel Abdullah was about to open the Cellar Bar.

‘What do you think of our man Lonergan?’ David asked as he and Allegra climbed back into Onslow.

‘I thought if I saw another filing cabinet I’d scream. Are the academics here all like that?’ Allegra asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘In the pompous fart stakes he probably tops the list but I think we’ve just been given a taste of how far they will go to prevent us seeing anything of value in the Rockefeller.’

‘He wasn’t too keen to let you get into the vaults,’ Allegra ventured.

‘You noticed. Makes me wonder what’s in them. I thought he was going to give birth there for a while, especially when he let slip there were more fragments.’

‘You nearly brought me undone with your “nice arse” comment.’

David laughed. ‘It’s amazing what some people do to their bodies. How would you like to get into bed with that lot? You’d have to go looking for it,’ he said, trying to keep a straight face.

‘Ugh,’ Allegra shuddered. ‘What an awful thought!’

David found a place to park Onslow not far from the New Gate and they walked towards the Old City Walls. Allegra’s faith, or at least the Catholic form of it, was now only a distant memory, but like most people who visit Jerusalem for the very first time, Allegra looked around with a certain amount of awe as she walked on the very same cobblestones that Christ and his disciples, Pontius Pilate, King David and a host of others had walked on so many years ago. David and Allegra paused for a moment inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre that covered Christ’s tomb. Then they walked on towards the eastern end of David Street and the Central Souk; three parallel streets covered with stone arches that dated back to the Crusaders. Allegra soaked up the atmosphere as they wandered into Souk el-Lakhamin, the butchers’ market, where freshly slaughtered meat and chickens were hanging on big hooks in front of white tiled alcoves, a scene that looked like it had not changed for hundreds of years. Further on in Souk el-Attarin and el-Khawaiat, Arabs had crammed their wares into tiny stone Crusader vaults and were bent over dirty blue and green plastic buckets, full to overflowing with green and black olives. Nutmeg, ground peppers, cumin seeds and a hundred other spices were piled in wooden boxes or wrapped in plastic. Oranges from Jaffa, together with eggplants, custard apples, tomatoes, beetroot, cabbages and a myriad of other fruit and vegetables tumbled onto the smooth stone pavement. They walked past a corner bakery where sweet breads and pastries were piled on wooden trays.

‘The history of this city is amazing,’ Allegra said. ‘I can hardly believe I’m walking around here.’

‘One of the great cities of the world,’ David agreed. ‘The only city in the world where the three great monotheistic faiths of Judaism, Christianity and Islam meet.’

Jerusalem. It was one of the great sticking points of the Middle East but one of the keys to any solution to the Palestinian-Israeli problem. Sacred to the Jews, the place where King David had thrown the Jebusites out of an otherwise inconsequential city a thousand years before Christ, declaring it to be the Jewish capital. Sacred to the Christians, the place where their Saviour had been crucified and buried. Sacred to the Muslims, the place where Muhammad had ascended to heaven from Haram al-Sharif, the Dome of the Rock.

Three great religions, all competing fiercely with one another, all with the same God, Allegra mused, as they made their way back to Onslow.

The Shrine of the Book, part of the Israel Museum, was to the west of the Old City and not far from the National Library and the Knesset. It had been built in 1965, specifically to house the Dead Sea Scrolls that were held by the Israeli Government. The building had a unique appearance influenced by the scrolls themselves. The roof was a white dome in the shape of one of the lids of the jars in which the scrolls had been found. At the entrance, a black granite wall had been erected, the contrast of black and white a reference to the War Scroll and its description of a forty-year titanic struggle between good and evil that civilisation had yet to witness – a struggle between ‘the Sons of Light’ and ‘the Sons of Darkness’. A struggle that would herald the return of the Messiah.

David bounded into the entrance vestibule with Allegra at his side.

‘Good evening, Yitzhak,’ he said, addressing the man at the security desk and flashing one of several ID cards he kept on a chain around his neck.

‘Go on through, Dr Kaufmann, Professor Kaufmann is about to begin. Welcome to Israel, Dr Bassetti.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, a little surprised that the guard knew who she was.

‘Do you know everyone in Israel by their first name,’ she demanded when they were through the magnetometer.

‘Only the important ones. The security guards and the typing pool,’ David said with a laugh, and led her into a long, subtly lit passage way.

‘This is a reconstruction of the caves. They depict the Essene community and the area around Qumran where the scrolls were discovered. They were a very advanced civilisation,’ he said, pointing to the orrery, a bronze model of the solar system. In the middle, a large bronze ball spinning on top of an iron rod represented the sun. Around it, the planets of the solar system were depicted by smaller bronze balls that were spinning and moving around the larger sun in elliptical orbits.

‘There are ten planets in this model,’ Allegra observed. ‘A very recent discovery.’

‘Interesting, isn’t it.’

In 1999 two teams of scientists – one at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette and one at the Open University in the United Kingdom – reported that the orbits of the most distant comets in the icy wastes of the solar system were inexplicably clumping together into highly elliptical orbits, suggesting the influence of an unknown planet. Both teams had put the possible tenth planet at three trillion miles out.

‘If this model was to scale,’ David continued, ‘and our farthest known planet Pluto was placed a metre from the sun, the tenth planet would need to be positioned a kilometre away.’

‘Which explains why none of our telescopes have been able to pick it up,’ Allegra reflected. ‘The Essenes couldn’t have known that?’

‘No, although I think there is probably more to that community than we first thought. The model is based on a diagram that was unearthed from the Qumran library. They certainly had a strong interest in astronomy,’ David said, indicating an ancient telescope in the display case.

‘I thought the telescope wasn’t invented until the seventeenth century?’

‘Galileo,’ David agreed, ‘but archaeologists have long been puzzled by crystal lenses that pre-date even this one. One is in the British Museum and was found in a tomb in Egypt and the other is dated at 7 BC from Assyria. Both were mechanically ground to a complex mathematical formula. There is a theory that the Essenes discovered the telescope well before Galileo. The second Essene model is more interesting still,’ he said, moving past the orrery and the telescope.

‘It looks like a DNA helix,’ Allegra said, her thoughts going back to the theories of Francis Crick and Antonio Rosselli.

‘It is. That model is also based on a diagram found in the Qumran library. The Romans may have destroyed one of the most advanced civilisations of the ancient world when they sacked Qumran, but we’ll see the ruins tomorrow morning. By the way, is nine too early?’

‘Ish?’ Allegra asked.

‘Definitely “ish”,’ David answered. He could hardly believe he’d known Allegra for only a couple of days. She was definitely someone quite special and he felt his heart skip a beat. His instinct was to move closer to her, but instead he took a breath and moved quickly towards the entrance of the main room. Allegra, surprised by David’s slight change of mood, followed him.

They emerged from the passageway into a huge chamber. The dome was bathed in a stunning green and soft orange light and beneath it a large circular podium dominated the room with what looked to Allegra like one end of a huge rolling pin protruding through the centre. As they entered, a tall, distinguished looking man detached himself from the group of senators.

‘Almost on time, Dr Kaufmann, you can’t be feeling well.’ Yossi Kaufmann winked at Allegra and held out his hand. ‘You must be Allegra. Welcome to Israel. You have my sympathies for whatever you might experience at the hands of David and Onslow,’ Yossi said with a smile that reminded Allegra of David; the same confidence, the same laughter lines around the eyes. Like father like son.

‘David has been most kind, Professor Kaufmann. It’s an honour to meet you.’

‘Please, call me Yossi because I intend to call you Allegra. Now, if it’s OK by Dr Kaufmann here,’ he said putting his arm around David, ‘I will introduce you to our American friends and we’ll start. But first, there are a couple of people here. Tom Schweiker from CCN, who I think you’ve met already?’

‘Good to see you again, Allegra.’

‘Bishop Patrick O’Hara,’ Yossi continued, ‘who is insisting that we all go back to his place after this for a drink, which I can warn you from personal experience can be a hazardous undertaking.’

‘Patrick,’ Allegra said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you from Giovanni, I feel I know you already.’ Patrick was just as Giovanni described him: thinning grey hair, twinkling green eyes, a cheerful face, his large Bishop’s sash encompassing a body that reflected a love of people, food and whiskey. Allegra reflected on Giovanni’s assessment that Patrick O’Hara also possessed one of the great intellects of Catholicism; a man who was prepared to question and debate.

‘Welcome to the Promised Land, Allegra. And I wouldn’t be believing all you’ve been told either. It’s a lot worse than that,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘And last but by no means least, my wife, Marian.’

‘Congratulations on your scholarship, Allegra. Yossi has told me a lot about you.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Kaufmann…’ Allegra got no further.

‘Marian. You are part of the family now.’

‘Steady on.’ David protested. ‘We’re not even married.’

‘David Kaufmann.’

Allegra smiled at the warmth in Marian’s rebuke.

‘I gather you got acquainted with Monsignor Lonergan today?’ Yossi Kaufmann said.

‘David assures me they’re not all like that,’ Allegra replied diplomatically.

‘Don’t be too certain. They may not all be as full of booze and bad manners,’ Yossi said, giving Allegra some inkling as to where David might have learnt his colourful language, ‘but collectively they’re dangerously out of touch with reality. They still haven’t approved your access or office space, but we’ll keep at them. In the meantime the Hebrew University has allocated you a laboratory in the biochemistry complex. It’s small but the equipment is state of the art. Some things are outside the control of the Vatican,’ he added with a whisper of conspiracy. He excused himself to take his place on the steps of the podium. The dark-haired Cohatek technician signalled to Yossi that the sound system was ready to go.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ Professor Kaufmann began. ‘Welcome to the Shrine of the Book. Behind me in the display cases is the Great Isaiah Scroll, all sixty-six chapters and 7 metres of it.’

Recovered from the library of the mysterious Essenes in Qumran, the priceless document had been written over five centuries before Christ. The senators listened attentively while Yossi described how the scrolls had been discovered, and how some of them had eventually found their way into Israeli hands.

‘Many of the scrolls were not acquired by Israel until the Rockefeller Museum was liberated by Israeli forces during the 1967 Six Day War. For anyone who is interested, Dr David Kaufmann can give you far more information than I can. He was personally involved in their capture.’ Yossi nodded towards his son with an unmistakable look of ‘well done’.

‘Isaiah contains a dire warning for civilisation,’ Yossi continued. ‘It’s perhaps best summed up by Isaiah when he says, “The earth shall be utterly laid waste and utterly despoiled.” Isaiah, Daniel, Enoch and Revelations and the more recent prophecies of Nostradamus and Edgar Cayce all point to an increase in wars, a growing gap between rich and poor, a change in weather patterns and problems with water, and a striking increase in the number and severity of earthquakes. My own research on the codes contained in the Dead Sea Scrolls is giving clues to the final countdown, the key to which is in a scroll known as the Omega Scroll.’

‘I thought that was a myth?’ the Republican senator from Alabama suggested.

‘And you would not be alone in thinking that,’ Yossi answered with a smile, ‘but there is irrefutable evidence in the War Scroll, the Manual of Discipline, the Temple Scroll, Isaiah and others that points to its existence and within it, the key to ours. We have become immune to the prophecies of the ancients, but my hope, Senator, is that we can find the warning contained in the Omega Scroll before it is too late. If you would like to follow me, we can examine these prophecies close up.’

‘Did you actually capture the Rockefeller Museum?’ Allegra whispered, realising there were many things about David that she knew nothing about. Her interest was piqued and she wanted to find out more, much more, about him.

‘I wish he wouldn’t say things like that. We’ll be here all night.’

Roma

Cardinal Petroni answered the intercom.

‘Petroni!’

Monsignor Thomas had grown used to his cardinal’s irritability and complete lack of telephone manner. It came with the territory. Nor did he question the frequency of calls from the CCN studios in New York. There were some things about his cardinal’s rituals and habits that were not discussed.

‘Daniel Kirkpatrick from CCN is on line four, Eminence.’

Impatiently Cardinal Petroni clicked off the intercom.

‘Daniel. Good to hear from you. How are things in New York?’

‘Very well, Lorenzo, and you?’

‘Can’t complain. How can I help?’

‘It’s more the other way round this time. I just wanted you to be aware that there will be a program on the Dead Sea Scrolls next week. The reporter is one of our news journalists and I’ve tried to have it canned, but International Correspondent is not really in my area and they’re sticking to their guns.’

‘Schweiker?’

‘Got it in one. I’d get rid of him if I had my way, but it’s not that easy to shift the big guns. I don’t have your weight to throw around, though I wish I did! Things would be a lot different around here.’

‘That will come, Daniel, that will come. In the meantime, do we know the contents of the program?’

‘I’ve sent you an email. Essentially it’s the old line of questioning the dates. Nothing new and I wonder why they bother, although there seems to be a bit of pressure from the Israeli side. A Professor Kaufmann?’

‘I know him. Jewish, which is enough said. I’ll get our man in Jerusalem primed. Stay well.’

For a long while after he had hung up the phone Cardinal Petroni stared out of the window at the lights of Rome. Know your enemy. Was it just Kaufmann or did Dr Bassetti have something to do with this renewed pressure on the dates of the scrolls, he wondered. Tomorrow he would put a call in to Lonergan.

Jerusalem

‘Get fucked,’ Derek Lonergan muttered as he used his free hand to reach for the red phone, supporting his aching head with the other.

‘Good morning, Eminence.’

‘I have had a call from CCN in New York,’ Cardinal Petroni said, dispensing with the need for any greetings. ‘International Correspondent have put a program together that will raise the usual allegations over the dates of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Vatican involvement. Do you have any idea where this might be coming from?’

‘No, Eminence, although as I have explained, there may be some pressure being applied from Professor Kaufmann’s office.’

‘We don’t deal in “maybe’s” here, Monsignor. Find out.’

Up yours, Lonergan thought, but he said nothing.

‘They’ll want to interview you, so stick to the usual consensus. To avoid any embarrassing questions on access for the two academics, you can finalise their secondment but make sure what they see is perfectly innocuous.’

‘Do we know who the journalist is, Eminence?’

‘Schweiker. Their Middle East correspondent. At times he can be useful, but for the most part he is a thorn in our side.’

Lonergan took a deep breath. Schweiker had seen him often enough in the Cellar Bar but Lonergan had always avoided talking to him. Schweiker, he felt sure, had been none the wiser, but an interview would be an entirely different matter. The name Schweiker was a reasonably common one in the United States and clearly the Cardinal had not put two and two together. Lonergan’s ego kicked in. It had been over forty years ago and he didn’t look anything remotely like he did back then.

‘I expect an answer on where this pressure is coming from, Monsignor. The Holy Church is to be protected with something better than “maybe”.’

The line went dead.