The Vatican Knights

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Shari was frustrated beyond belief. Her meeting with Abraham Obadiah didn’t go as planned, and she was no closer to decoding the CD than when she first received it.

As she left the building, she examined the CD and let out a guttural moan of annoyance that drew the attention of those within ten feet of her.

After picking up her weapon from the gatekeeper armory, she drove back to the JEH Building and parked the car. For a moment she fought back tears, overwhelmed with frustration. When she finally gained her composure, she grabbed her purse, got out of the car and made her way to the elevator.

After speaking with Obadiah, Shari felt uncertain of the affinity between Mossad and the American government. With Mossad being the proxy eyes and ears of American espionage in the Middle East, Obadiah could have enough pull to reclaim the disc. In case she did have to turn over the original, she had to secure the backup CD.

Obadiah may get one disc, but not both. Shari was determined not to relinquish the data unless a direct order from the Chief Commander required her to surrender all forms of data contained on the disc for the sake of political camaraderie.

Before heading to her desk, Shari went to the vault and quickly punched in her PIN code. When the bolts pulled back and the door opened, she zeroed in on the correct aisle and shelf and retrieved the backup CD.

The jewel case felt good in her hands; the disc shined like a newly minted coin. Even if Obadiah filed a grievance, she still had this.

When she returned to her desk she immediately loaded the CD. What came up on the monitor caused her heart to hitch in her chest.

The data was gone.

“No, no, no…” She tapped furiously on the keyboard, trying to pull something up, anything. And then the realization set in that the CD held no data to recover. It was simply blank. It was possible that the disc was improperly burned, but she highly doubted that. And with these discs bearing embedded codes that cannot be duplicated, she was down to the original disc, which she would somehow have to safeguard before it ended up being appropriated.

Apparently, Abraham Obadiah’s influence ran deep within the American government, she thought. He was capable of getting results, and quickly.

More than ever, Shari was suspect.

For a long time she sat there staring at the blank screen, stewing over the possibility that the American government was involved in a cover-up.

Abraham Obadiah sat in the embassy’s conference room with captains of industry from Russia, Venezuela and Israel. Under normal circumstances, collaboration amongst this group would be a geopolitical impossibility, given the anti-American sentiments of the Russians and Venezuelans and their open disdain for American allies. But on this day, commerce took precedence over prejudice.

The conference room was designed to be impervious to information appropriation, devoid of any listening devices.

There were three representatives from Russia, two from Venezuela, and four from Israel. All held an air of self-importance.

“Gentlemen, please, the news is good,” said Obadiah. “We’re on track with the cause, and everything is running smoothly.”

Vladimir Ostrosky, a reigning member of the Russian Parliament, examined Obadiah, with studious eyes, trying to penetrate his veneer. He found the man enigmatic and difficult to read. “According to our sources,” Ostrosky said, “that is not entirely true.”

“Really? And what exactly are your sources telling you?”

Ostrosky leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. Slowly and deliberately, he clasped his hands and interlocked his fingers. “I’m told, Mr. Obadiah, that a certain agent from the FBI is looking into corners where she should not be looking.”

Obadiah nodded in affirmation. “There’s no need to concern yourselves with Ms. Cohen,” he stated. “She will be dealt with and the problem will be quashed.”

“If I may ask, how so?” This came from Hector Guerra of Venezuela, a man with soft, doughy features and a pencil-thin mustache that complemented a set of equally thin lips. His collar was so tight around his neck, folds of flesh curled over its edges.

Obadiah hesitated, seeking a politically correct response that would allay these inquisitive concerns. Apparently the Russian and Venezuelan sources were quick and accurate. And these men were well-armed with damaging information.

“It’s true that Ms. Cohen is looking beyond the box, but that’s her job.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Guerra insisted.

“Let me finish,” Obadiah said, raising a hand. “I assure you, I assure all of you, that Ms. Cohen will be factored out of the equation by the American principals.”

“And the CD?”

Obadiah was startled by this question but tried not to show it. Apparently their sources produced as well and as quickly as Mossad, who was the best in the business. To know about the CD was impressive. “We’ll have the CD in our possession soon,” he said.

“And the copies?”

“There are no copies. Our people at the CIA intercepted all incoming data from the Mossad leak and destroyed it. And the leaks themselves have been dispatched. The backup copy within the vault of the FBI has also been destroyed. The only disc in existence is the one Ms. Cohen possesses.”

Ostrosky measured Obadiah with eyes so black they were seemingly without pupils.

“Gentlemen, please relax,” said Obadiah. “Everything I tell you is the truth. Within a year there will be no more economic hardships for our countries and no more dependency upon Arab states. Our industries will flourish and enjoy the full support of the international community. ”

“And Yahweh?”

“He continues to be the forerunner in the cause and will use the United States to spearhead the change, since alternative fuels are still fifteen to twenty years away.”

Ostrosky leaned back in his chair. “And you can guarantee our anonymity?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s good,” said Ostrosky, “because I would hate for history to remember me as a monster rather than a prognosticator of a better future.”

“The pope’s death will not be tied to any man in this room. I assure you.”

“You better, Mr. Obadiah, because our political reputations, if not our lives, would be in jeopardy if the truth of our participation was known.”

“I agree.”

“If that CD is worth the life of the woman who possesses it,” said Ostrosky, “then it must hold damaging evidence, a record of what we are doing.” Suddenly his brows dipped sharply over the bridge of his nose, punctuating his point. “You must not fail to repossess the CD before she has a chance to turn her battle into a crusade.”

“Trust me,” Obadiah said. “Ms. Cohen will never get that opportunity.”

“Make sure that she doesn’t.”

Hector Guerra reclined in his seat. “There is also the matter of a Venezuelan leader who is quite anti-American. Bringing him into the circle will be impossible.”

Obadiah was quick to respond. “Our American constituencies will see to it that a Venezuelan leader who is pro-American will be in place within ninety days of the pope’s assassination.”

The Venezuelan nodded. “I don’t think I want to know how that’s going to happen.”

“Let’s just say that everything has been examined from every possible angle. Any more questions?”

There were none.

“Then let’s talk about the future of our countries.”