Jerusalem
T he day of the peace ceremony had dawned fine and warm, and Cohatek’s chief sound engineer had spent the day supervising the preparations. It was late afternoon and Yusef leaned against one of the scaffoldings and looked around the sanitised Damascus Gate, now sealed off by the Israeli Army, minus the usual tanks and armoured vehicles. Much to the chagrin of some in the military, the Prime Minister had directed that ‘all life was to be respected’ and a new policy of absolute minimum force had been applied.
Despite this, not everyone was in favour of the peace agreement and the minimal presence was still visible. Every chair, table, box of equipment and even the outdoor toilets had been subjected to rigorous searches by hundreds of ordinary soldiers, bomb squads and sniffer dogs. Banks of magnetometers had been set up at all of the entrances and young Israeli soldiers guarded the checkpoints nervously. All but the prime ministerial parties and cleared VIPs would have to pass through these if they wanted to watch the ceremony. Lengthy queues were already forming.
Even with all those defences in place Yusef knew that a determined attack could still succeed and he nodded to the young Palestinian who had been put on the payroll. The false papers had passed scrutiny and Yusef watched as the young man slid behind the wheel of the forklift. Suddenly the forklift lurched backwards into the speaker’s lectern, the one with the specially constructed motifs on the front. The grinding crunch caught the attention of everyone in the area and Yusef rushed over to the hapless driver, shaking his fist.
‘You stupid fucking idiot!’ he swore. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ Yusef stared at the shattered remains of the lectern with a look of despair on his face. He was quickly joined by two Israeli officers, one of them Brigadier General Avrahim Mishal, the man tasked with the security for the peace ceremony.
‘Do you have another one?’ General Mishal asked.
‘Yes, but we don’t have much time. At least these haven’t been damaged,’ Yusef replied, running his hands over the symbols of Israel and Palestine. ‘Would it be possible to provide an escort, General?’ he asked. ‘Our warehouse is in West Jerusalem and I’m not sure we’ll get a replacement through the traffic in time.’
Brigadier General Mishal spoke to the young captain at his side. ‘Get this man a truck and an escort and get the replacement back here as soon as you can.’
An hour later Yusef watched as the soldiers at the checkpoint on Nablus Road stopped the Israeli Army truck with the replacement lectern strapped in the back. A short conversation followed between the captain in the front of the truck and the soldier manning the checkpoint and the truck was waved through.
It took Yusef twenty minutes to re-attach the national symbols and re-wire a new microphone to the system on the podium under the Damascus Gate. His voice boomed over the Old City of Jerusalem.
‘Testing… testing… testing…’ Satisfied, he switched the microphone off.
‘Everything OK?’ General Mishal asked, coming over from where he had been standing watching the crowd fill the area in front of the ancient gate.
‘Fine, thank you, and thank you for the escort. I don’t think we could have got the replacement here without it,’ Yusef replied.
‘Happy to help,’ General Mishal said with a smile.
Deciphering the Omega Scroll had taken two painstaking months, and now there were only ten pieces left. On the afternoon of the peace ceremony David and Allegra packed up their finery for the evening and headed over to Patrick’s.
‘Did you see the article in the Jerusalem Post on the safe murder a couple of days ago?’ Patrick asked. ‘Odd that it’s taken this long to reach the press.’
‘It probably had something to do with the American man. Tom tells me he was a CIA agent, and there was a suppression order on the media, which makes it all murkier still.’
‘It’s a pretty vague article,’ Allegra said. ‘They’ve yet to identify him, and after what happened to John Paul I, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Vatican’s gorillas have something to do with it.’
‘Trouble is it’s stirred up another bucket load of media interest in the Omega Scroll, so I hope whoever thinks they’ve grabbed it doesn’t look too closely at what they’ve got,’ David said, easing another fragment into place. Just four more to go. Already the messages on the Magdalene Numbers and DNA were very clear. The warning was almost complete.
‘And two revelations will ridicule a third,’ he said, translating the Koine, ‘though the revelations be from Abraham, all of them.’
‘It’s beginning to look like Yossi was right about the clash of civilisations,’ Patrick observed sombrely. ‘It’s nearly half past six though, perhaps we’d better be leaving this for tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ David said reluctantly. ‘By the time we walk down there and get through security the orchestra will be well and truly warmed up. This has waited two thousand years, it can wait another day.’
David’s mobile rang and he picked it up from the table.
‘David Kaufmann.’
Allegra knew instinctively that something was not quite right and she waited anxiously for him to hang up.
‘That was Hafiz,’ David said, his mind racing. ‘He’s just got a message to say that Lonergan is due in from Europe later tonight. He’s going to the museum straight from the airport and the Director is meeting him at nine. Hafiz has been told to stay on duty in case he’s needed.’
‘He’s not due back for another month!’
‘He’s supposed to be speaking to the London Archaeological Society next week. Lonergan wouldn’t be missing a gig like that for the world,’ Patrick observed.
‘Not to mention working after hours. He’s normally at the bar by five,’ Allegra said, realising that time was running out.
‘It can only mean one thing,’ David said. ‘Someone’s ordered him back, and I’ll wager it’s because of that article on the Omega Scroll.’
‘Lonergan will be worried that the fragments might have come from his trunk and if he’s going straight to the museum he’ll be wanting to check it before he meets with the Director,’ Allegra said.
‘You’re right, I wish I’d put the Gospel of Thomas back when we got the three duplicates of the Omega fragments. A bit late now,’ David reflected ruefully, ‘but we can’t afford to take the risk. I’ll have to get the fragments of the Gospel of Thomas back into the vault now. Hopefully Lonergan won’t search his trunk too closely.’
‘What about the ceremony, David. We’ll miss it!’
‘You go with Patrick, I’ll join you both later.’
‘No you don’t, I’m coming with you. If we get to the vault in time, maybe we can still catch some of the ceremony later.’
‘What about the external security patrols?’ Allegra asked as they drove into the museum car park.
‘We’ll have to chance it,’ David said.
Allegra’s heart sank as the security patrol car drew into the car park behind them.
Roma
Cardinal Petroni flicked the television on. Two items were dominating the world’s media: the Pope’s failing health and the peace ceremony in Jerusalem. Petroni watched as the network recapped the events of the last month, showing a clip of the ambulance carrying the ailing Pontiff arriving at Rome’s Gemelli Clinic. The Pontiff waved feebly from his stretcher and Petroni sniffed derisively. When the Pope’s breathing had worsened, necessitating a tracheotomy, Petroni had approved the Vatican’s media releases that were designed to reassure the faithful. Now, in the Papal apartments directly above, the old Pope had suffered a heart attack and his kidneys were failing. Petroni had been angered when the Papal Physician had kept the true state of the Pope’s health to himself, but now the Pope’s condition was terminal and he had perhaps forty-eight hours left. Petroni allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. Given his legendary stubbornness, the Pontiff might hang on for a little longer, but seeking his resignation would not be necessary. Petroni had instructed a reluctant media office to prepare a media release ‘should he be called by the Lord’ and that was now ready for signature. Petroni leaned forward in his chair as the scenes of the lights in the Papal apartment windows faded, to be replaced with the Golden Cupola of the Dome of the Rock.
CCN, along with the world’s media, were covering the momentous peace ceremony in Jerusalem. The international journalists had been allocated an area on top of the old Wall, off to one side, and Tom Schweiker was giving a background brief on the lead up to the signing and the hope it held for the future. Not for you, Petroni mused. A contact in Washington had let him know that Schweiker’s investigation into Lonergan’s past had reached as far as the FBI and Petroni had told Felici to execute the next level. That would be done at the same time as the assassination of Donelli.
Jerusalem
Cameras, from which the feed was being pooled, were positioned at several points near the front of the podium. President Ahmed Sartawi would speak for the new State of Palestine, and as a cleric, he would also speak of the way ahead for Muslims in Palestine, supported by the presence of the Imam of Jerusalem on the dais. Prime Minister Yossi Kaufmann would speak for the State of Israel, and as a devout Jew, he would speak to the Jewish faith, supported by the presence of the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem. Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, the Patriarch of Venice, would add the support of Christianity, the third great faith of Abraham. Giovanni would speak first, followed by Ahmed and then Yossi. Three leaders, three statesmen, three men of vision. Once the speeches were over, they would move to the table beside the lectern where the Prime Minister of Israel and the President of Palestine would sign the agreements handed to them by Giovanni.
Under the direction of the internationally renowned Israeli conductor Levi Meyer, the Peace Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir had been assembled in Jerusalem. The one hundred and forty piece orchestra boasted some of the best musicians, Jewish, Muslim and Christian, ever assembled in the history of music.
Marian was escorted to her seat beside the one reserved for Yossi on the official podium. The Peace Philharmonic, with the three hundred member choir behind, was seated 9 metres above her on a platform that had been constructed around the stone battlements of the Damascus Gate. Levi Meyer lifted his baton and the powerful light beams picked out the diminutive Israeli on his conductor’s podium. On Petroni’s television screen, the cameras panned in for a close-up of Levi, a light breeze ruffling his silver-grey hair, a look of concentration on his face. The cameras pulled back for a wide shot of the orchestra and choir. Like their conductor, the members of the orchestra were dressed in white dinner jackets and evening gowns, symbolic of peace. Behind them were the colours of the choir: on the left, a third of the choir were cassocked in the soft blue of the Israeli Star of David; on the right, brilliant green represented the universal colour of Islam; and between the two was the white of Christianity. The choir represented hope, peace and tolerance – the message of the great Prophets of history.
The sweeping strains of Beethoven’s Choral Mass in C Major reached into the darkness of the night, across the Valley of Kidron to the Mount of Olives, echoing around the souks and alleys of the Old City, and across the parks and gardens of the New City. The music floated across Golgotha where Christ had spent his last hours, bounced against the Western Wall of Nehemiah’s great second temple that had refused to succumb to the Romans, and splashed across the great Dome of the Rock where Muhammad had made his ascent to heaven.
Cardinal Donelli walked to his seat on the podium, his scarlet robes rustling in the breeze. He winked at Marian as he took his place beside her. She looked relaxed, calm and beautiful in the history of the moment.
Roma
‘Petroni!’ The irritation in the Cardinal Secretary of State’s voice was strident as he answered the buzz from his secretary.
‘I know you don’t wish to be disturbed, Eminence, but Ashton Lewis from the State Department in Washington is on line one. He said it was urgent.’ The long-suffering Father Thomas sounded nervous. Urgent messages from Knight Commanders of Malta were not to be ignored.
Cardinal Petroni snapped off the intercom without replying and composed himself.
‘Ashton, good to hear your voice. How can I help?’ Petroni asked, keeping his eye on the coverage of events in Jerusalem.
‘I thought you ought to know, Lorenzo, that the Administration is treating the peace process in Jerusalem with some caution. Kaufmann has made far too many concessions to the Muslims, and the Jewish lobby here is outraged at the support for the removal of the settlers, especially from the West Bank. The next election is still a long way out, but a lot of the Republican senators are nervous.’
As Cardinal Petroni listened, his agile mind formulated a plan.
‘I agree completely, Ashton, the Muslims can’t be allowed to gain the upper hand and I’m much obliged. When are you coming to Rome? We must have dinner.’
Cardinal Petroni put the phone down and got up from behind his desk, deep in thought. Ever since that impostor Muhammad had tried to usurp the role of Christ in the world and proclaimed himself the messenger of God, the evil followers of Islam had tried to extinguish the one true Faith. Now they were trying it again and the peace process in Jerusalem was a clear danger. In reality it was an accommodation with Islam that must never be allowed to gather strength. His mind made up, Petroni punched the preprogrammed number for the Knight Commander of Malta in the CCN studios in New York.
‘Daniel, it’s Lorenzo. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Lorenzo, although we are all praying for Il Papa. It sounds very serious?’
‘I’m afraid so, Daniel. He has been a wonderful leader and he will be very hard to replace. The good fight must go on though, which is the real purpose for this call. This peace process in Jerusalem has us all very worried here.’
‘I couldn’t agree more, Lorenzo. We seem to be making a lot of concessions to the evil of Islam.’
Ten minutes later Petroni was confident the story would get a run. Anything that kept the Muslims and the Jews at each other’s throats could only be to the benefit of the one true path. Satisfied, he sat back to watch the progress of his intervention in the ceremony. Petroni was back in control, or so he thought.
Jerusalem
Marian looked at her watch, less relaxed now. ‘I wonder what’s keeping David and Allegra,’ she whispered to Giovanni.
‘They’ll be here,’ he whispered back. ‘Patrick told me they had some very urgent business to attend to, but they’d be back as soon as they could. The music is telling you not to worry,’ he added reassuringly.
‘Isn’t it magnificent.’
Giovanni smiled. ‘God knew what He was doing when He gave Levi Meyer a baton,’ he said, as the voice of one of the world’s truly great sopranos, Michelle Ortega, carried clearly over the Damascus Gate. As the orchestra and the choir reached their finale, and to a growing applause from those seated, as well as from the thousands crowded into Nablus Road, Prime Minister Yossi Kaufmann and President Ahmed Sartawi came in from the Old City side of the Damascus Gate. They walked side by side towards their seats on the podium.
‘In the one hundred and fifty thousand years or so that we have inhabited this planet,’ Giovanni began when the applause had died down, ‘we have fought and killed each other, only to have one war finish and another one begin. Sometimes it seems that we have not taken the slightest notice of the lessons of history, but I am here tonight to tell you that there are two great leaders behind me who understand the futility of killing your brother or sister.’
Yusef shivered as he fingered the small transmitter hidden in his pocket. From the shadows of the control marquee next to the podium that was located to one side of the Damascus Gate, he stared at the brother he no longer knew. The two had not spoken since that fateful day they had buried their family.
‘Too often these wars have been fought in the name of religion and culture,’ Giovanni said. ‘As a Christian I can tell you that is not what Christ had in mind. He didn’t believe that one man’s faith and culture is better than another’s and that we should all fight to the death to prove it. The Prophet Muhammad was also a man of great tolerance and justice,’ Giovanni continued. ‘He is credited with saying “if you wish for others what you wish for yourself, you become a Muslim”, which has given rise to the Golden Rule. Sadly though, the Muslim is often portrayed in the media as a terrorist or a fanatic. I have come to know the true Muslim as a man and woman of peace and prayer. I have also had the privilege of meeting many marvellous men and women of the Jewish faith, a faith that alongside Islam and Christianity shares the one father, Abraham. So often we seem to behave like a bad family, arguing over his will, over what we think belongs to us. There are some within the Jewish religion who claim Abraham for their own, maintaining that God’s blessings and the land are only for the Jewish people. There are some Muslims who claim Abraham as the model for Islam alone; and there are some of my own faith who would claim that the promises given to Abraham have only ever been fulfilled by Christ.’ Giovanni smiled. ‘Abraham is entitled to be a little confused.’ Laughter reverberated off the ancient walls. ‘Like all good fathers, Abraham has been all of those things to all his children. It would be a very strange God who, having created a Muslim child in Baghdad, or a Christian child in Bogota, or a Jewish child in Berlin, would then turn around and close the gates of the Kingdom to two thirds of those children because they were not born into the correct culture.’ Giovanni was being characteristically bold in his quest for greater peace and tolerance. This comment, he knew, would be greeted with quiet fury in the Vatican, but it was a stunning public admission from a cardinal that there was more than one path to the Omega, to eternity.
Yusef Sartawi listened. He was sceptical, but he was also touched by this man. Yusef felt the safety catch for the hundredth time, instinctively trusting this Christian priest, which made it more puzzling as to why the infidel would want him assassinated.
‘I know,’ Giovanni concluded, ‘that Abraham, Muhammad and Christ would all applaud this peace agreement as a turning point in the history of civilisation. A turning away from the killing and the bloodshed, a turning towards tolerance and recognition of the values of different cultures and religions. A move towards justice and peace.’ As the lights shone on the smiling Italian cardinal, the crowd rose to their feet in a standing ovation.
The tension in the CCN news room in New York was rising.
‘We can’t run that, Daniel! It will derail the peace process before it even gets off the ground,’ Geraldine argued passionately. She glared at the Head of News and wondered how such a detestable little man managed to be so well informed.
‘It may have escaped your notice, Ms Rushmore, but you do not decide what goes to air at this station. I do,’ he said icily, his eyes more piercing than usual. ‘The public has a right to know and we will run it. Now. Does Schweiker have the copy?’ he asked, turning to his secretary. She nodded, alarmed at the ferocity of the meeting. In Jerusalem President Ahmed Sartawi was beginning his address.
‘I am indebted to the vision and wisdom of His Eminence Cardinal Giovanni Donelli and to that of my friend, Prime Minister Kaufmann,’ Ahmed began.
Yusef watched as his brother endorsed the sentiment of peaceful co-existence as the only alternative to the killing. His brother urged the West to get behind Yossi Kaufmann’s broad-sweeping vision and to provide the support and investment for a Middle Eastern Economic Union. This and Giovanni’s words on the futility of killing your brother brought back a long-forgotten memory, a memory of picking olives and of dreams for the future. Torn and confused, Yusef took his hand out of his pocket.
‘For Palestine and Palestinians,’ Ahmed concluded, ‘it will mean equality and justice. Palestine will be a country that is characterised by neither a godless secularism, or a fanatical adherence to religion, but one that is based on justice and freedom of choice. I would remind those who might seek to impose their will to the exclusion of any other,’ he said, in a clear warning to those at the militant end of the spectrum, ‘that in countries where extremists have sought to impose their will, the results for Islam have been catastrophic. I am reminded of what the Great Prophet Muhammed, peace be upon Him, had to say about violence. For those of you who might not be familiar with it, let me quote from the Qu’ran: Do not argue with the followers of earlier revelation otherwise than in a most kindly manner – unless it be such of them as are bent on evildoing – and say: ‘We believe in that which has been bestowed on high upon us, as well as that which has been bestowed upon you; for our God and your God is one and the same, and it is unto Him that we all surrender ourselves.
As the applause died down, Prime Minister Yossi Kaufmann rose to speak.
‘I have shared a great friendship with Cardinal Donelli, over many years, and I am indebted to him for his leadership, his insight and his wisdom. I am also indebted to my friend and neighbour, President Ahmed Sartawi, for his leadership and patience during these past few weeks. It reminds me of a day some years ago when the three of us went fishing, and Cardinal Donelli, who was then a priest in the little village of Mar’Oth, remarked that there was a Christian, a Jew and a Muslim on a small boat and the only ones in danger were the fish.’
As Yossi’s speech gathered pace, the crowd caught the mood and the message that finally there might be a real opportunity for peace. ‘I am also reminded of the words of another Israeli, Prime Minister Golda Meir,’ Yossi continued. ‘Some fifty years ago, on the night the United Nations approved the new State of Israel, she was a minister in David Ben Gurion’s first Cabinet. Not very far from here she addressed a crowd not dissimilar to the one we have tonight and she said, “It is not all that you wanted. And it is not all that we wanted, but let us go forward in a spirit of compromise and peace.” Back then, as we do tonight, Israelis and Palestinians faced a stark choice. The choice of recognising the strengths and achievements of both cultures and the right to exist peacefully as good neighbours, or a decision to continue killing our children and our families. Sadly, back then, we all went to war and we have been killing each other ever since. Tonight we choose peace.’
Yusef Sartawi listened to the tall, distinguished Israeli and he was struck by the integrity of this prime minister. He wondered whether this time the Israelis and their US backers might mean what they said; perhaps this time there might be a chance for Palestinians to lead normal lives. Maybe after all these years of hating the Israelis, he could begin to let go and forgive. Maybe Ahmed had been right after all to adopt a peaceful path. He turned, and saw that the coverage on the Arab Channel on the banks of televisions in the control room was being interrupted by a live telecast from CCN.
‘Even before the peace agreement has been signed in Jerusalem tonight, and as the ceremony behind me continues, pressure is mounting on the White House to step back from the commitment to support the removal of the Jewish settlers from what, at least in name, is now the country of Palestine.’
Yusef watched, his anger rising as Tom Schweiker’s authoritative delivery was dubbed in Arabic and subtitles rolled across the bottom of the screen.
‘The Jewish lobby,’ Tom continued, ‘has objected to any American tax payers’ dollars being used for Arab development and has called for the United States to continue to provide the billions of dollars Israel is seeking to spend on American arms and military equipment to fight Palestinian militants in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. A spokesman for the White House has said the US Government is committed to a just peace in the Middle East, but has refused to comment on the provision of the large amount of military aid requested by Israel.’
‘What about the Jewish settlers, Tom?’ Geraldine asked, reading from the script Daniel had given her.
‘There are reports, Geraldine,’ Tom replied, quoting his News Director’s sources, ‘that the White House is under fire from the strong Jewish lobby and the Christian right in the United States to pressure the Israeli Government into allowing the settlers to continue living on Palestinian land, especially those in the West Bank.’
‘Wouldn’t that derail the peace agreement, Tom?’
‘In all likelihood, yes. It would mean a Palestinian State in name only. In reality, the country of Palestine would consist of a series of isolated Palestinian towns and cantonments overlaid with dozens of Jewish settlements and roads.’
‘And the investment for the region?’
‘Despite the support from European countries, the United States has yet to indicate it will provide any funding, but analysts here are suggesting that unless the United States provides strong support for the Kaufmann/Sartawi Peace Plan, resentment against the West will simply resurface.’
‘Tom, thanks for joining us. We now return to our live coverage of the peace ceremony.’
Yusef Sartawi looked at the Israeli Prime Minister who was coming to the end of his speech and his hatred for the infidels and his brother’s treachery reignited.
‘This is a new beginning,’ Yossi said, ‘but it is only the beginning. Neither I nor President Sartawi underestimate the difficulties of the road ahead. There will be disagreements. When we negotiated the terms of this agreement there were some on our side who maintained that we’d given up too much. There were others on President Sartawi’s side who believed Israel had not given up enough. The choice is clear. For there to be an equitable peace there has to be compromise on both sides.’
Deafened by his rage, Yusef didn’t hear any of it. He didn’t see his brother sitting between Marian and Giovanni. All he saw was a president who had sold out to the infidels who had demonstrated their treachery yet again. For once Yusef’s calculating calm was overcome with emotion. He forgot to dial the encryption on Tom Schweiker’s mobile and he didn’t wait for the three targets to gather at the table. He raised his fist defiantly.
‘Allah be praised,’ he shouted, pushing the button on the transmitter. Yusef Sartawi died convinced of his place in heaven.
The production crew in CCN watched in shock and disbelief as an apocalyptic blast engulfed the official dais. Body parts and chairs were thrown into the air. The colours of the orchestra and choir were scattered across the back of the dais as metal and glass rained down on what was left of the audience. After the massive boom of the explosion the eerie silence of death fell over the gathering, and only the sound of spot fires and sparking electrical equipment could be heard. Then the crying and calls for help started – children sobbed, people called on their God for mercy. People horrifically burnt and injured dragged themselves upright and were starting to run, panicking, trying to escape the scene of devastation. Bodies were trodden underfoot as the chilling cry of wounded humanity was pierced by the shrill wailing of sirens. Convoys of ambulances were racing towards the carnage at the Damascus Gate. The Semtex and the five thousand ball bearings hidden in the panels of the lectern had created total devastation.
Cardinal Petroni watched dispassionately as the cameras took in what looked like a battlefield. He was searching for evidence that Donelli and Bassetti were dead. The cameras captured the frantic ambulance crews working desperately around the official dais. One of the crews raced a stretcher to the ambulance and Petroni saw the blood-spattered form of Donelli. He smiled thinly until there was a movement on the stretcher. Donelli was obviously not dead yet and Petroni’s smile was replaced by a seething snarl.
The news commentators were speechless as the grinding of metal on cobblestones signalled the arrival of lumbering tanks. The air was filled with the menacing sounds of combat helicopters. After so many years of practice the Israeli Command swung immediately into gear.
‘Good evening, Hafiz,’ David had said earlier as the old security guard got out of his car.
‘Oh it’s you, Dr Kaufmann. Evening Dr Bassetti,’ he said, tipping his cap.
‘Evening Hafiz,’ Allegra said, keeping her voice steady.
‘Would you like to look in the briefcase?’ David asked.
Allegra stifled a gasp. Had he gone mad?
‘We could be taking those biros and paperclips back in you know!’ David grinned at Hafiz mischievously.
‘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.