The Templar Heresy

26

To say Khaled was unhappy barely even hinted at the degree of his irritation.

What should have been a simple operation had gone disastrously wrong. The woman and a man he now knew to be her former husband had escaped the best efforts of Farooq and his men, along with another archaeologist who Khaled hadn’t even known wasn’t at the camp.

The only piece of good news was that the contract he had placed with the Italian had been completed, and Taverner had been taken care of in Milan. But where Lewis and her husband were at that precise moment, he had only the vaguest idea. If Taverner had been telling the truth, they were probably somewhere in the middle of France driving towards the channel ports in a hire car, and trying to locate them in that vast country would be a complete waste of time. A hit at the channel ports would also be too problematic because of the security measures in place at border control. About the only option he had left, Khaled realized, was for a contractor in Britain to find out where the Lewis woman lived and then eliminate her. But that couldn’t be done for at least a couple of days. A wait, even that short, seemed interminable.

There was one piece of good news, though. At least the inscription that had been carved on the stone wall of the underground temple appeared to be precisely what he had expected and hoped for. He still hadn’t managed to decipher the encrypted text, but he was certain that he would soon work out the very basic cipher that had been used the better part of one millennium earlier by an unknown scribe.

And then, he would have all the clues that he needed to commence his search.

Khaled walked across his spacious office to the wall opposite his desk, where a large safe stood. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, selected a butterfly key which he used to undo the main lock, then inserted another key into a different lock and gave it a half turn to the right. The door remained firmly closed, and he then entered a six-digit code on the keypad beside the locks. As he entered the final number, the internal bolts slid back and the door swung open.

Inside were four shelves, three of them containing boxes and packets holding particularly precious relics, while the top shelf held a number of ancient books and much more modern folders. It was one of those, the cardboard a dull greenish colour, that he selected and carried back to his desk.

He released the elasticated bands that held the cover closed. Inside were several colour photographs showing dead bodies, men, women and children, the corpses twisted in the agony of their dying, the limbs and abdomens bloated and distended. But Khaled barely gave the pictures a second glance. What Saddam Hussein had done to the Marsh Arabs was old news, his bombing raids and the use of various lethal concoctions from his chemical warfare armoury just another fading memory in the consciousness of the world.

He put the photographs to one side and then slid out from the folder a sheet of parchment that was almost entirely covered in Arabic script. The ancient document was encased in a specially designed plastic folder that was fitted with a hermetic seal, allowing air to be sucked out of the interior and effectively store the parchment in a vacuum. He picked up the plastic folder and for a few moments just stared at the old leather and the faded script, then placed it reverently to one side. He picked up a high-resolution photocopy of the parchment text and studied that for a second or two.

But it was the next sheet in the green folder that he spent the longest time looking at, although he knew most of what was written there by heart. This was a page of modern writing paper on which he had carefully transcribed the writing from the parchment, allowing double spacing so that any ambiguities could be addressed in the blanks between the lines. There had been a few places where the meaning of the Arabic text was less than completely clear, and he had written alternative possible explanations for some of the words and phrases.

But no matter which interpretation of details of the text he considered, the meaning and thrust of the basic information was perfectly clear. The fact that the temple and the inscription had been found was sufficient proof of that. In fact, once he had read and understood the Arabic text on the parchment, which had come into his possession almost twenty years earlier, he had known beyond doubt that the structure existed, buried somewhere under the sands in the trackless wastes of the southern Iraqi desert. He’d also known it was inevitable that sooner or later somebody would find it.

It had turned out to be later, and obviously it would have been better if a smaller group of people had been involved in its discovery, but ultimately the death of a handful of archaeologists, several of them not even Iraqis, was insignificant compared to the importance of the find. The downside was going to be the very obvious publicity generated by the massacre when news about it finally broke internationally. That would make any activity in the southern part of Iraq difficult to achieve without coming under the unwelcome scrutiny of the media, but Khaled both hoped and expected that the trail he would be following would start a considerable distance away from the underground temple. Very probably, in fact, it would actually begin in a different country.

He spent a few more minutes looking at the contents of the folder, refreshing his memory, then replaced all the papers and photographs within the cover and put the document back in the safe.

He had barely sat down again at his desk when his private mobile phone, the number known to only a handful of people, rang. He glanced at the screen but saw only that the originator was a withheld number.

‘Hello,’ he said cautiously in English.

‘This is Filippo,’ the heavily accented voice at the other end said, and Khaled immediately recognized the codename the Italian contractor had selected. ‘The electronic equipment you asked us to source for you is already on its way by courier. It should arrive tomorrow.’

That, Khaled knew, was simply a reference to the laptop computer, camera and any other electronic gizmos that might have been in Taverner’s possession. Another loose end had been tied.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Any news on the other matter?’

The Italian sounded quite pleased with himself when he replied.

‘I have been in contact with a colleague in Britain and he has already discovered the home address of the woman. As soon as you decide the action you want to take I can issue him with appropriate instructions. Her companion’s address is proving more difficult to determine, but he is still investigating that and should have a result by the end of the day. Do you wish to issue any instructions at this stage?’

Khaled thought for a second or two before replying.

‘No, not yet,’ he said. ‘It is important that both are dealt with simultaneously, if possible at the same location and ideally in what appears to be an accident. The electronic equipment must be recovered at the same time. Call me when your contact has not only identified both addresses, but also knows where these two people are.’

‘As you wish. Our contract is now complete. Can you ensure the agreed funds will be sent as soon as you receive the goods?’

‘I’ve already prepared the transfer,’ Khaled replied.

‘Excellent. I will call you with news as soon as I have it.’