The Omega scroll

CHAPTER FORTY

Jerusalem

T he biochemistry laboratory that the Hebrew University had made available was equipped with the latest technology for DNA analysis.

‘Fire away, Teach.’ David’s grin was irrepressible.

‘Twenty years ago we couldn’t have done this,’ Allegra said, standing in front of a whiteboard. David had asked for an explanation of how DNA analysis might help unlock the secrets of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

‘DNA or deoxyribonucleic acid looks like this,’ she said. Allegra then drew the long spiralling ladder-like helix on the board. ‘The goatskin parchment the Essenes used to prepare their documents is so old that any DNA has deteriorated to the point where there are only very short sequences and not enough to analyse,’ she said. ‘But in 1983, an American biochemist, Kary Mullus, developed a technique called polymerase chain reaction which makes copies of DNA so that we have enough to test.’

‘So even though the fragments in the trunk don’t contain much DNA, you can manufacture more from what’s left?’

‘Precisely. And it may not be as difficult as I first thought. If you’re right and there are only three scrolls, one of which is Isaiah, one the Gospel of Thomas and the third being the Omega Scroll, the chances are there will only be three sets of goat DNA. And that will separate the thousand-piece nightmare into three much smaller puzzles.’

‘Always assuming they’ve only used three separate goatskins,’ David observed.

Allegra looked thoughtful. ‘Even if we turn up a fourth or a fifth skin and we can identify what scroll it comes from, we will only have to worry about it if it’s part of the Omega Scroll. And we already have a great start because we’ve got the DNA of the Omega Scroll from the envelope inside the lid of the trunk.’

‘Lonergan will be back in a bit over four months. Are we going to have enough time?’ David asked.

‘Because there are so many fragments, we’re going to have to put in some long hours in here, but four months should be enough. With the equipment in the lab we can process nearly four hundred samples simultaneously. That will generate nearly three million bases a day and we’re only talking picogram amounts here.’

David pulled another face.

‘To give you peasants an idea,’ Allegra said with a smile, ‘there’s enough DNA in one-tenth of one-millionth of a litre of human saliva to identify a genetic sequence as human. So we won’t need to damage any of the script on the fragments. We’ll only need microscopic amounts for copying the sequences and analysing them.’

Allegra took David through the process step by step, explaining how the samples were cooled so that the paired strands would form again with the help of primers and how enzymes were added that could read the sequences and extend them in a chain reaction replication.

Even with David acting as the junior lab assistant, it was going to take time. Time they might not have.

Mike McKinnon walked into the Cellar Bar as Tom Schweiker was ordering a beer.

‘Mike! Welcome back,’ Tom said, stretching out his hand. ‘Make that two beers, thanks Abdullah.’

Beers in hand, the two men headed towards one of the vacant booths, neither missing the two striking women chatting at the end of the bar.

‘Nice legs,’ Mike said, glancing back towards the bar. ‘Wonder what time they open.’

‘You haven’t changed. Looks as if they’re on their own, too.’

‘Let’s hope so. Cheers!’

‘Good health!’

‘Have you got any contacts in the FBI, Mike?’ Tom asked when he’d taken a swig of his beer.

‘A barnful. Depends what you want them for,’ Mike replied.

‘I need a favour. Some fingerprints need checking. I’ve got a suspicion they belong to someone I’ve known in a previous life.’

‘That shouldn’t be too hard,’ Mike said. ‘Give me the prints and I’ll send them back in the black bag to a buddy of mine.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate it. How’s Washington?’ Tom asked.

Giorgio Felici slid into the bar and, keeping a large pillar between himself and his targets, he unobtrusively manoeuvred himself into the next booth.

‘Every bit as bad as I remember it,’ Mike replied ruefully, and he brought Tom up to date. ‘I’ve never seen the Agency in worse shape in all the years I’ve been part of it. Intelligence has become irrelevant to the politicians. The “Baghdad or Bust” brigade over at the Pentagon changed anything I came up with to fit the decision to invade that they’d already made.’

Over the years the two men had built up a trust that was highly unusual between a CIA agent and a journalist, and it was as valuable to both men as it was curious. Tom could check the information that he had from other sources, as well as getting the inside running on what was really going on inside the CIA, and Mike gained equally valuable information from Tom. Neither had any time for self-serving politicians, and neither would ever disclose their source.

‘A bit like the Brits and their “forty-five minutes until an attack on Harrods”, which turned out to be the time it would take for Saddam to get his fucking mortars into action,’ Tom said with a grin. ‘The military operation in Iraq’s been such a ham-fisted, club-footed cock-up that we’ve managed to kill more than a hundred thousand civilians. Most Iraqis will be glad to see the back of us and the Islamic fundamentalists are having a field day,’ he added more grimly.

‘I saw your piece on the Omega Scroll. Do you think there’s any connection between the fundamentalists operating in the Middle East and the scroll?’ Mike asked.

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, and not only in the Middle East. There are a couple of mathematicians here who have been doing some work decoding biblical manuscripts. Rips has been working on the Torah and Yossi Kaufmann has been working on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Kaufmann thinks that the rise in Islamic fundamentalism and the Omega Scroll are definitely connected.’

‘You think these codes are real?’

‘I think so. The technique involves isolating every third or fourth letter of the old text, what Rips calls a skip code. I used to think you could do a skip code on the dictionary and get the same result, but these guys are nobody’s fools and Kaufmann thinks there is a catastrophic warning in the Omega Scroll that involves fundamentalist Islam,’ said Mike.

‘Any word on that Russian scientist?’

‘Tretyakov?’ Mike shook his head. ‘Last we heard he was in Peshawar. We’ve also had reports that one of bin Laden’s top lieutenants, Abdul Basheer, has been sighted on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan, so if Tretyakov’s linked up with al-Qaeda he could be well into the Hindu Kush by now.’

‘Basheer is a master strategist. Kaufmann might be closer to the truth than he realises,’ Tom reflected.

‘Kaufmann’s the guy who is running against Sharon and Peres with a new platform. What’s it called – the Liberal Justice Party?’

‘That’s the one. For a politician, he’s very different and between you and me, his Liberal Justice Party has got a pretty good chance of getting up. Sharon’s approach borders on thuggery, and ultimately this wall he’s built will do more harm than good. Ordinary Israelis are starting to realise this and they’re looking for someone who can give them some hope.’

Mike nodded. ‘Yeah. You can’t go round ripping up hundreds of olive groves and expect to win the hearts and minds campaign. The election’s coming up soon?’

‘Yes, in early January. There is some hope on the Palestinian front as well. Ahmed Sartawi who won the Palestinian election knows Kaufmann pretty well and their peace plans are already well advanced. Between the two of them they might just make it in the peace stakes. Even the militants might come onside if these two can achieve a Palestinian State, although I’m not holding my breath.’ The sceptical journalist in Tom had seen it all before.

‘What do you think the chances are of finding this scroll?’ Mike asked, nonchalantly turning the conversation back to his mission.

Tom shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Yossi’s son David is an archaeologist and he seems keen on finding it, as does his partner, Dr Allegra Bassetti. They were down at Qumran a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know what she’s like as a sleuth, but she’s an absolute stunner to look at, lucky bastard.’

Mike got up to order more beers. The trip had already been worthwhile. The ‘ruins’ were more than likely Qumran and the Omega Scroll was more than likely real, and if he played his cards right his visit to the Holy City might be even more worthwhile, he thought, as the two women at the bar returned his smile.

‘Staying in Jerusalem long?’ he asked.