The Omega Scroll (16 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jerusalem

B
y the time Giovanni paid the cab fare the sun was setting over the Old City’s ramparts. Saint Joseph’s, the convent of the Sisters of Charity and home of the Catholic Bishop in Jerusalem, Bishop Patrick O’Hara, was in the Christian Quarter Road, not far from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which had been built over the site of Christ’s crucifixion. The narrow two-storey building was crammed between two shops and the flagstone street was still jammed with tourists looking for souvenirs. The rusty gate creaked in protest as Giovanni pushed it open. The white steps leading up to the front door were chipped and the windows were shuttered with broken wooden slats, paint peeling from the iron security bars. One of the Sisters opened the old door in answer to Giovanni’s pull on a weathered piece of rope.

‘Welcome, Father, I’m Sister Katherine.’ Sister Katherine was short with a cheerful, plump face, grey hair caught up in a bun and a habit that looked as if it had seen better days.

‘Thank you, Sister. Giovanni Donelli,’ he replied, shaking her outstretched hand.

‘Let me take your bag, Father,’ she said, reaching for his suitcase. Giovanni resisted unsuccessfully and followed her up another narrow flight of stairs.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said, showing him into a large room overlooking the street. ‘I’ll put your bag in your room and let Bishop O’Hara know you’ve arrived.’

Giovanni sat down in one of the big overstuffed chairs and looked around him. The walls were lined with bookcases that stretched to the ceiling. Works of Augustine juxtaposed with those of the later theologians: Barth, Bultmann, Niebuhr, Schleiermacher and Rahner. Surprisingly, there was also considerable space devoted to the three men condemned by the Vatican for their awkward questioning of accepted Church doctrine: Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Schillebeeckx and, perhaps the greatest living theologian of all, Hans Küng. There also seemed to be a copy of every book that had ever been written on the famed Dead Sea Scrolls: Hershel Shanks, Geza Vermes, Edmund Wilson – all the great scholars of the Scrolls. Even the controversial Australian author Barbara Thiering. Giovanni’s thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice from the doorway.

‘I hope it was a pleasant trip you’ve been having, Father?’ Nearly twelve years in the Middle East and six years before that spent in Washington had not diminished Bishop O’Hara’s lyrical Irish brogue. He was a big man with thinning hair, bushy grey eyebrows, a round, ruddy face and gentle green eyes. Patrick O’Hara’s sizeable stomach reflected a passion for good food and wine, and his greeting was full of warmth.

‘Yes thank you, Excellency, although security at Tel-Aviv seemed a little excessive,’ Giovanni replied honestly.

‘Welcome to the Promised Land. And please, it’s Patrick. You can call me Excellency when the Vatican’s coming to visit, which thankfully is not very often.’

‘I’ll try and get used to that,’ Giovanni replied, warming to his larger than life superior.

‘And I think you’d better be reserving judgement on being here until you see where I’m sending you,’ the Bishop replied. ‘A little town called Mar’Oth, about 25 kilometres from here, but it might as well be a thousand. The town is Palestinian, divided by both a road and a religion. On one side of the road the village folk are Palestinian Christians, our lot, and they’ve not had a priest there for many years. On the other side of the road they’re Palestinian Muslims. There’s only one school and the children from both sides of the road attend it. Diplomacy is in far greater demand here than theology, Giovanni.’ He shuffled over to a well-stocked sideboard. ‘Part of the sanity routine here.’ His green eyes danced as he passed Giovanni a large glass of Irish whiskey. ‘Shalom!’

‘Shalom.’ Giovanni raised his glass. He did not often drink whiskey but he had a feeling that whenever Bishop O’Hara was around he would get used to it, regardless of the time of day.

‘Strange, isn’t it.’ Patrick settled his vast bulk into one of the other overstuffed chairs. ‘A toast of peace in a country that is continually at war.’

‘Do you think there will ever be peace in this country?’

‘Not until they come to their senses and reach an agreement with the Palestinians.’

‘Is that likely?’

‘There are many on both sides who are longing for just that, and an end to the cycle of violence. Sometimes there’s a glimmer of hope and then just as quickly the hope is dashed. Usually on the egos of inept, incompetent and corrupt politicians, aided and abetted by a culture of fanaticism that is as misguided as it is intense.’

‘I suppose the clash of religions doesn’t help,’ Giovanni mused, a newcomer to Middle East politics and intrigue.

‘A lot of people see Islam as a violent religion, when in fact it’s just the opposite. Islam means “surrender” and a Muslim is one who surrenders completely to Allah and observes Allah’s requirement that people behave towards one another with justice and compassion. The fundamentalist Muslims don’t represent the true Islam, any more than the Jerry Buffetts of this world represent the true Christianity.’

‘Unfortunately a lot of people believe the fundamentalists’ view that there should only be one religion – theirs,’ Giovanni observed ruefully.

‘It is an interesting question, isn’t it. What sort of perverse God would create human beings whose search for meaning in religion generates so much intolerance towards one another?’

Giovanni was a little taken aback. It was unusual for a bishop to refer to God as perverse.

‘You’re looking surprised, Giovanni.’

‘I am a little,’ Giovanni admitted.

‘Don’t be. When you get to my age you tend to question a great deal.’

‘Your faith?’

‘Especially my faith. Have you been reading any of Teilhard de Chardin?’

‘I thought the Vatican had banned his work, although I couldn’t help noticing you have several of his books.’

‘Cardinal Petroni and his ilk wouldn’t be amused,’ Patrick replied darkly. ‘But as there’s as much likelihood of him coming to Jerusalem as there is an agreement on peace, I think I’m pretty safe,’ he chuckled, his humour returning as he got out of his chair and moved to fossick through the shelves, returning with a much-thumbed book and an equally dog-eared
Journal of Mathematics
.

‘
Comment Je Crois – How I Believe
,’ he said, handing Giovanni the book. ‘It’s in French but I gather you speak that language fluently, along with English, German, Spanish and Latin?’

‘Someone has kept you informed,’ Giovanni said with a grin.

‘Oddly enough it was the Vatican. They’re not renowned for including us peasants in their debates but they did send me your biographical notes.’ Patrick poured himself another whiskey. ‘Chardin was a very interesting man. After he was ordained as a Jesuit priest, he served in WWI as a stretcher bearer. Among other things he won the Military Medal and the Legion of Honour. Like you, he was also a scientist.’

‘It is sometimes difficult being a priest and a scientist. There are times when I wish I was one or the other, not both.’

‘Chardin would agree with you, but he also had the courage to disagree with the Vatican, which got right up their Eminences’ nostrils and they did what they always do.’

Giovanni nodded. ‘Excommunication.’

‘It is their standard response to anyone with the intellect and temerity to question their power base. Anyway, you may have both of these,’ he said. ‘The second one is a paper by the Israeli archaeologist and mathematician Yossi Kaufmann. He’s convinced there are codes in the Dead Sea Scrolls that contain a warning. Have you heard of the Omega Scroll?’

Giovanni felt a chill and nodded, measuring his response. His instinct was to trust this bishop of the people, but it was too soon to divulge what he knew. ‘It’s had quite a bit of press from time to time but I thought it was mostly speculation,’ he replied carefully.

Bishop O’Hara shook his head. ‘Yossi Kaufmann doesn’t think so. Yossi’s a man of many contacts, quite a few of whom reside in the back alleys of this Holy City. Not only is he convinced it exists, he thinks the Vatican bought a copy of it in 1978, and he’s equally certain the original is still out there, but you can ask him yourself. You’ll need to come back here once a month or so, more frequently if I have the need of company,’ Patrick added. ‘I’ll arrange for you to meet him over dinner. Sister Katherine is an excellent cook.’

It was after ten before Giovanni managed to escape to his room. He propped himself up in bed and turned to Yossi Kaufmann’s paper published in
The Journal of Mathematics
. As another distinguished Israeli, Dr Eliyahu Rips, was doing with the Torah, Professor Kaufmann had applied a computerised analysis to the Hebrew and Aramaic of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and he had discovered a similar problem to Rips. Words like ‘terror’ and ‘end of days’ were found by the program, but Kaufmann had been unable to determine what the hidden warning was. Professor Kaufmann’s paper had been written for a professional audience but Giovanni grasped the underlying permutations and progression theorems with ease. He blinked at Kaufmann’s conclusion. The codes that were in the Dead Sea Scrolls all pointed to the message being found in a particular scroll, the Omega Scroll. The words ‘revelation’ and ‘end of mankind’ kept coming up.

Overtired, Giovanni couldn’t sleep so he flicked the bedside lamp back on and reached for Teilhard de Chardin’s banned
Comment Je Crois
. Chardin had a gift for writing and the French came easily, and when Giovanni next checked his watch it was two in the morning. Reluctantly he closed the book and turned out the light. No wonder the Vatican had banned Teilhard de Chardin. The great French theologian and scientist had dared to suggest that God was not some all-powerful and vengeful Being, but a spiritual force within creation itself; in the rivers, mountains, mists, elephants, microbes and within every human being. For Chardin, God was not the God of Wrath of the Church but rather the ‘spirit within’, and he was daring to challenge the Cardinals’ powerful claim that God could only be reached through the priests of the Church.

Giovanni finally fell into an uneasy sleep. Chardin had left an indelible mark on Giovanni, colouring his approach to his faith and helping him in his never-ending search for true meaning.

The Spirit smiled as revelation dawned
.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Milano

T
he trip took less than five minutes and the door to Cardinal Petroni’s apartments was promptly opened by a petite, attractive Sister on the Cardinal’s personal staff.

‘You may hang your coat on that hook, Sister Bassetti,’ Sister Carmela said icily.

‘
Grazie. È molto gentile
,’ Allegra responded with a gracious smile. Perhaps the dark-haired nun had had a bad day, she thought.

‘His Eminence is waiting for you in the drawing room, Sister Bassetti, if you will follow me.’

Allegra trailed behind as Sister Carmela set a brisk pace down the sumptuously carpeted hallway, where priceless artworks on loan from the Vatican hung from high picture railings on either side. The heavy gold frames were beautifully set against the deep blue wallpaper. There were paintings by Margaritone d’Arezzo and Vitale da Bologna, Lorenzo Monaco and Guido Reni, and at the entrance to the drawing room, a fresco by none other than Raphael, the master himself.

‘Sister Bassetti, Eminence.’ Sister Carmela announced Allegra and then withdrew.

‘Sister Bassetti. How good of you to come.’

The first thing Allegra noticed was the voice, perfectly modulated with a cultured resonance that reinforced the charm of the Cardinal.

She took his outstretched hand and felt him almost caress her palm. ‘It’s a pleasure to be here, Eminence,’ she replied diplomatically.

‘Quite the contrary, the pleasure is all mine,’ he said, directing her to a lounge chair with a sweep of his hand. ‘It is not often that we cardinals get the opportunity to dine with the people who really matter. Usually it’s politicians and industrialists. Very boring.’ He smiled urbanely. ‘I have taken the liberty of opening a bottle of Krug.’ Petroni did not have to ask whether or not his guest drank wine; he already had a report on Allegra and Giovanni’s Friday night activities from his secretary. ‘Nineteen sixty-four, I think you will find it was a very good year.’

Allegra would have given anything to trade the fine crystal flute for the heavy glasses and carafe of equally rough wine La Pizzeria Milano reserved for impoverished students, and she wished Giovanni were here. He would have handled these irritating formalities with ease.

‘Salute!’

‘
Salute
, Eminence,’ Allegra responded.

‘Have you been given your results yet?’

‘Not yet, Eminence. I expect we will know in the next day or so.’

‘Well, I’m probably not supposed to tell you, but I have an advance copy. You have done very well, Allegra.’ He used her first name easily, as if they had known each other for a very long time. ‘But I will keep you in suspense until after dinner.’

Allegra followed him into the sumptuous dining room. The wallpaper here was crimson. A large gold and crystal chandelier hung from a ceiling covered in frescos of various scenes of the historic centre of Milano. Just two places were set on either side of the huge mahogany dining table. The other chairs that Allegra assumed often seated politicians and captains of industry lined the walls, all of them richly embroidered in gold and red with the Cardinal’s coat of arms. Petroni graciously held her chair out so she could sit.

Petroni’s chef, who appeared to Allegra to be rather more agreeable than the nun who had greeted her, appeared with the entrée.
Baccalà con i ceci
– salt cod with chickpeas.

‘I hope you don’t mind but I’ve kept the meal simple. Sister Maria is preparing one of her oldest recipes.
Cotolette alla Pontremolese
– veal cutlets with garlic and capers.’

Allegra found herself wondering what the Cardinal might eat when the menu wasn’t simple.

‘And to go with it, a 1966 Château Margaux. I think one of the more elegant of the Appellation Médoc,’ he said, pouring from the crystal decanter in which the rare vintage had been allowed to breathe.

‘I’m not used to such fine wine, Eminence. We students in Milano tend to appreciate the cheap and cheerful,’ Allegra said, her remarks designed to needle Petroni’s arrogance, although she knew she would have to be careful. He was a dangerous man.

‘Consolations of office, and please, it’s Lorenzo. When we are alone there is no need for titles.’ Giovanni had said a similar thing but Petroni’s nuance was very different. He was smiling but his eyes remained cold, dark and expressionless. Allegra felt chilled, as if she was looking into the eyes of a snake. Even the warming alcohol could not help her shake the ice in the pit of her stomach. Allegra’s senses were in overdrive, warning her to stay on guard.

Petroni continued smiling and his tongue briefly licked his lips.

‘
Salute
,’ he offered again and moved to clink glasses with her. ‘Have you enjoyed your time at university?’

‘Very much,’ Allegra said, determined to match Petroni in the conversation. She knew her remark would put Petroni off balance. Something was instinctively telling her that he wouldn’t be prepared for honesty.

Apart from the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes, Petroni gave nothing away.

‘Of course. So what aspects of your degree have you found most rewarding?’ His anger at this nun’s defiance and lack of subservience was rising, as was his excitement for the game ahead. He probed for the slightest weakness in Allegra’s armour. He was strangely aggravated by both her beauty and her intellect. He knew now that he wanted to crush her, totally.

‘That’s a difficult question,’ Allegra replied with a disarming smile. ‘I suppose my time in the laboratory and the promise that the study of archaeological DNA holds for the future would be one of the highlights.’ Allegra sensed the mention of DNA had found its target.

‘Are there any aspects that you have found disturbing?’ Petroni asked, his frustration rising.

‘Not so much disturbing, more profoundly interesting,’ Allegra replied, almost insolently. Petroni remained expressionless but Allegra sensed his discomfort and was determined to enjoy it. ‘Professor Rosselli has a theory about the origin of DNA, that it might be too intricate – exquisite is the word he uses – too complex in its design to have evolved in the relatively short time between our planet becoming habitable and life appearing. He is convinced that DNA arrived from a higher civilisation, and I think he has a point. Given that scientists have confirmed there are billions of galaxies like our own, it seems virtually impossible that some of them would not contain life, and that at least one or two of those civilisations might be considerably more advanced than our own.’ Allegra paused, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly.

‘Please. Go on. This is very interesting,’ Petroni prompted, suppressing an inner fury.

‘His theory seems to be somewhat at odds with the Vatican’s teaching but it seems that Francis Crick, who discovered DNA’s structure, held a similar view.’

‘That old nonsense again.’ Petroni’s laugh was strangely hollow. ‘Don’t even worry about it, Allegra. That’s the trouble with some of these old professors in secular universities. They have no training in the Canon but keep peddling all sorts of conspiracy theories.’

‘Professor Rosselli seems to think there is a connection with Crick’s theory and the Omega Scroll.’ Let’s see what your response is to that one, she thought, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction.

Petroni’s eyes hardened perceptibly. ‘What did your professor have to say about that?’ It took a supreme effort, but Petroni kept a smooth modulation in his voice.

‘Just that if it could be found, the Omega Scroll might confirm the theory.’

Cardinal Petroni’s laugh now sounded slightly hysterical.

‘That mythology has been around for years, Allegra,’ he said, coldness entering his voice. ‘The Omega Scroll and the Loch Ness Monster have a lot in common – total fantasy. I see that as well as your degree in Theology you have also achieved Honours in Chemistry,’ he said, adroitly turning the conversation back to Allegra and away from any further mention of the Omega Scroll. ‘An impressive achievement by any standards. Science is one of the great seats of learning, but some might be intrigued by your choice.’

Petroni had recovered his charm and it masked both the nature of his question and his anger at discovering the Vatican had not exercised more care in preventing study in areas that threatened established doctrine. It seemed that his usually impeccable intelligence network had failed. It was bad enough that normal priests should study science but for a nun to be allowed near a laboratory was something he would not allow to be repeated.

‘I found science interesting at school, I suppose,’ Allegra answered carefully.

Allegra’s response was interrupted by the Cardinal’s chef bringing in the main course.

‘Thank you, Sister Maria, and please, you needn’t bother to stay tonight. The entrée was superb and the main looks equally so.’

‘Coffee, Eminence?’ Sister Maria protested but Petroni was not to be dissuaded.

‘I haven’t totally lost my skills in that area,’ he said, smiling. ‘I insist, you work far too hard.’

‘You are most kind, Eminence.’ Sister Maria withdrew, grateful for an early night.

‘The problem is, Allegra,’ Petroni continued, ‘as I shall explain to you shortly, you have done so well that I now need to find a way to put your new-found knowledge to the best effect. Do you have any suggestions?’

Allegra paused before deciding to follow the freedom she had found at Ca’ Granda.

‘If I were given a choice, I think there is considerable scope for research into the Dead Sea Scrolls.’

Lorenzo Petroni smiled. A cold, hard, humourless smile. His eyes glittered and he could hear a drumming of blood in his ears. Inwardly he thought, How dare she. Outwardly he replied, ‘We shall have to take that into account. Shall we?’

Petroni served coffee and a late-picked dessert wine in his private lounge off to one side of his study. Allegra admired the fine art and delicate sculptures scattered around the room although she was surprised and a little concerned when Petroni chose to sit next to her, very closely, on one of three plush crimson lounges that were arranged in an open square around the fire. Allegra was very aware that she was feeling a little light-headed. It seemed that during dinner her glass had never been allowed to get below half-full. She sipped on the dessert wine sparingly.

‘I have here a letter from the Vice Chancellor of Ca’ Granda,’ Petroni said, opening a red folder that had been pre-positioned on the coffee table. ‘You are to be awarded not one university medal but two. The first for Biblical Archaeology and the second for Chemistry.’

Allegra was stunned. She thought she had done well, but never imagined she’d won two university medals. Petroni put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘My congratulations.’ When he didn’t remove his arm, Allegra’s delight at her results changed to concern.

‘How would you feel if I offered you a position on my personal staff?’ he asked.

Allegra turned her head towards him. His face was only centimetres from hers and his smooth, urbane voice gave way to a quiet whisper, unnerving her.

‘Oh, Eminence …’ she stammered, suddenly very uncertain of what was happening. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Please, it’s Lorenzo,’ he responded, taking her hand in his. ‘We need the brightest and best around here and your appointment will not be without its compensations.’

Allegra’s heart began to beat faster as the Cardinal placed her hand between his legs. She could feel his erection through his soutane.

‘Relax, Allegra.
Rilarssasi
. It is God’s will.’ For a bizarre moment Allegra thought of Giovanni urging her to relax in the water. Petroni was closer now, whispering in her ear. So close she could smell the wine on his breath. Now Allegra felt pure fear and she tried to work out a way to escape from this man, this room.

‘Our Lord has always had a very high regard for the women around him. Even those like the adulteress. It was always his wish that his disciples provide one another with love and affection,’ Petroni whispered, using Allegra’s hand to stroke his erection. ‘There is a secret codex in the vault of the Vatican, Allegra, to which only the Curia have access. It outlines a sacred communion between a cardinal and his chosen nun.’

Allegra lost her power of speech as Petroni undid the middle buttons on his soutane. He moved his arm from around her shoulders and massaged her neck roughly. Allegra tried to move away but Petroni held her neck with a steel-like grip. She fought and kicked at his legs but the deadly mixture of physical strength and the dark power of the Church played on her fear, draining her and causing a mind-numbing paralysis. Just as Allegra was about to scream, Petroni forced her head into his lap and she gagged as a burst of warm liquid hit the back of her throat.

‘A secret communion and a sharing of affection with a cardinal must never be disclosed,’ he warned, buttoning himself perfunctorily and assuming a tone of formality. ‘God’s will is sometimes hard to understand, but think about my suggestion for an appointment here. I’m sure you will find it worthwhile.’

Shocked and betrayed, Allegra angrily refused Petroni’s offer of the car and she stumbled back to the college, stopping more than once to vomit in the gutter. As she closed the door to her room she leaned back against it, weak and shaking, her faith shattered and spent. This time there was no prayer for forgiveness, only numbness as she looked out of her small window at the stars and thought about an unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling God. Mechanically she made her way to the bathroom and scrubbed herself until her skin was red and raw, but it wasn’t enough to bring any feeling back. She climbed into her narrow single bed. For a long while she stared at the ceiling until emotional and physical exhaustion took over and she finally fell asleep. Before dawn she awoke to find herself crying uncontrollably. Her numbness had been replaced by anger, a deep anger that pulsed through her very being. She realised that it was not God and His Cardinal she had let down but the reverse, and the Cardinal and God could go to hell.