The Omega Scroll (21 page)

‘Praise the name of the Lord!’ His voice echoed around the Temple Mount. ‘Trust in the Lord Israel, for He is thy strength and thy shield. He has heard thy supplication. He has become thy salvation. Give thanks to the Lord for He is good and His steadfast love endures for ever.’

The Israelis were back.

Brigadier General Kaufmann was in the Command Centre when the news was received. He had never witnessed anything like it. Loud cheers echoed around the room and generals and sergeants had tears streaming down their cheeks. It was a memorable day amongst the many in the long battle-scarred history of the Jewish nation.

Elsewhere the war was going better than any Israeli could ever have dreamed it would. Nearly half the Egyptian Air Force had been annihilated in the first few minutes of the war. The surprise had been complete and absolute. The news came in that David had captured the Scrolls and Yossi silently thanked his God for his son’s safety, adding a prayer for Michael.

En route to the navigation turning point the two Mirages were just passing through 3000 metres when Michael’s earphones crackled.

‘Ilyushin-14, 900 metres. Cover me!’ Benny yelled. The need for radio silence had long since disappeared. Without waiting for a reply, Major Benny Shapirah rolled into the attack and dived on the unsuspecting Russian Ilyushin-14 transport.

Michael scanned the skies and then he saw him, coming out of the sun at about 6000 metres.

‘MiG-21 on your tail,’ he reported quickly.

‘Got ’im. Let him come,’ Benny replied.

Michael watched, almost mesmerised as Major Shapirah broke off the attack on the Ilyushin and allowed the MiG-21 to close on his tail. Benny slowed his aircraft, forcing the Egyptian pilot to overshoot, a manoeuvre that would not be found in any textbook on dogfighting. It required nerves of steel and Benny, one of Israel’s aces, had spent many hours perfecting it. As the hapless Egyptian shot past Benny’s Mirage, Benny loosed off three short bursts of cannon fire. Seconds later the MiG-21 disintegrated in a ball of flame as the 30mm cannon found its mark.

Michael recovered his vigilance just in time to sight the second Russian-built MiG-21 ‘Fishbed’ coming in below him and lining up for an attack on Benny’s Mirage.

‘Second Fishbed on your tail, am engaging,’ he reported nonchalantly as he rolled into the attack behind the second Egyptian. The Egyptian had made the mistake of allowing his focus to remain on his target to the exclusion of everything else. By the time the Egyptian pilot realised he wasn’t ‘clean’ it was too late. Michael held his sights on the now twisting and turning MiG until he had closed to less than 200 metres. He depressed the trigger on the joystick repeatedly, slowly and deliberately, and short bursts of cannon ripped into the fleeing Egyptian. It exploded in front of him as the cannon found the high-octane starter fuel tank that the Russian aeronautical engineers had inexplicably positioned beside the pilot’s oxygen bottle. For a moment Michael was blinded as he flew straight through the black pall of smoke.

‘Michael! On your tail!’ A third MiG had joined the fight.

Instinctively Michael broke hard right, then left, but his aircraft was already shuddering as the Egyptian’s cannon found its mark. Michael rolled, broke left again and pulled up hard in a desperate bid to shake off his pursuer. Another burst of cannon shattered the canopy, shrapnel hitting Michael in the neck. As the Mirage spun out of control, throttle still fully forward, Michael tried to reach for the ejection handle, his arm strangely heavy and unresponsive.

‘Eject, Michael! You’re hit! Eject! Eject!’

Lieutenant Michael Kaufmann never heard the message. At close to the speed of sound the Mediterranean was like a concrete wall. One of Israel’s finest young pilots had flown his last sortie.

‘General Kaufmann, could I have a word?’ The young Israeli captain’s eyes were misty. Instinctively, Yossi knew what she was about to tell him.

Jerusalem

‘I’m very sorry about Michael. Such a senseless loss,’ Giovanni sympathised. ‘It must have been very hard to deal with.’

‘Yes, even though it was nearly twenty years ago, we still miss him every day,’ Yossi said with a sad look in his eyes. ‘It has made me very determined that his life and the lives of others will not be wasted, although we don’t seem to learn much from history,’ he added ruefully. ‘Unless we stop building settlements on Palestinian land and start genuine negotiations we’re all going to be on a very slippery slope,’ Yossi said. ‘Today it’s hijacking airliners, tomorrow it might be something far more sinister.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Giovanni asked.

‘I spent a long time in military intelligence, Giovanni. It’s common knowledge that several of Israel’s enemies are keen on acquiring nuclear technology, but there is something else. Have you ever seen any of the work I’ve done on the codes in the Dead Sea Scrolls?’

‘Patrick was kind enough to give me one of your papers. I found it fascinating.’

‘Then you will have seen my analysis on the horrifying warning that is in the Omega Scroll.’

Giovanni was tempted to lay his cards on the table. He felt sure he could trust Patrick and Yossi but he held back. The Vatican would deny it all emphatically.

‘The Essenes were a very advanced and thoughtful scientific community,’ Yossi said, ‘and I believe if they saw fit to record this warning, we should take notice.’

Long after Patrick’s guests had left, Giovanni lay awake in his room overlooking the Old City’s Christian Quarter Road. Could it be that when the Romans destroyed the Essenes at Qumran, an ancient seat of scientific learning had been lost? Giovanni knew that many people would be sceptical, but he also knew many ancient civilisations were far more advanced than at first thought. The dry cell battery, he recalled, had been invented over two thousand years before it had appeared in Western civilisation. The ancient versions had been made out of a copper cylinder set in pitch with an iron rod inside and there was an example of one in the Baghdad museum, but when the Greeks and Romans developed a preference for oil, the technology had been lost. Was it possible there was a lot more to the Essenes than modern scholarship had allowed? The answer lay hidden in the Judaean desert.

BOOK FOUR

1990

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Milano

A
llegra was quietly confident. She had gained her Masters with Distinction and enjoyed some notable successes assisting Professor Rosselli researching archaeological DNA. The Professor had persuaded her to take her doctorate and the moment of truth had arrived. It was now two months since she’d handed in her doctoral thesis and it seemed that a little piece of her had gone with it. Three long years of painstaking research. She had been confident during the two hour grilling by the Examination Board, although Professor Rosselli had not looked at her when she left, so she was in a bit of a quandary as to how the oral exam might have gone. When she went over her responses, she realised that perhaps a different emphasis might have been given to the mitochondrial DNA, or to the links to dendrochronology, but it was too late for that and she knocked on Professor Rosselli’s door.

‘
Avanti! S’accomodi
.’

Allegra had grown used to the smell of the Professor’s pipe and it no longer bothered her, which was just as well. Somewhere in amongst the smoke and the piles of books on philosophy and science there was a desk and a person. Her mentor had his back to her, busy at the smaller computer at his side desk, trademark white hair as untidy as ever, smoke spiralling above it. He swivelled back behind his main desk to face her, a look of puzzlement in his normally mischievous eyes.

‘Sit down, Allegra, he said, offering her the old ‘Captain’s Chair’ that leaned lopsidedly in front of the academic chaos on his desk.

‘So, how do you think your doctoral thesis might have been received by the Board?’ Rosselli was frowning now.

Allegra felt a small twinge of doubt. ‘I gave it my best shot, Antonio,’ she said.

‘Hmm,’ he responded with uncharacteristic haughtiness, and Allegra’s doubts gained ground.

Professor Rosselli rummaged in what passed for an in-tray, retrieving a letter from the pile, his quizzical look more evident now. ‘In your case the Board have reached an interesting conclusion, Dr Bassetti.’

Allegra braced herself for bad news.

‘You seem nervous?’

‘I am a bit.’

‘Not happy with the title?’

‘Of my thesis?’ she asked, puzzled now.

‘Doctor?’

Allegra looked at him uncomprehendingly and then realised what he’d called her. Her hand went to her mouth.

‘Oh. You mean I’ve been accepted?’

‘If you have a fault that needs correction, young lady,’ Professor Rosselli said, his frown replaced by a broad smile, his old eyes dancing with delight at the success of his subterfuge, ‘it is that you underestimate your abilities. You are confident enough on the outside, but I would like to see more from within.’ Professor Rosselli glanced at the letter.

‘The Board was unanimous. We thought it was one of the most outstanding doctoral theses on DNA that we have seen for a very long time. The Vatican will turn itself inside out to discredit your work, but we particularly liked your linkages to carbon dating and the Dead Sea Scrolls. Your theory that some of these scrolls date from around the time of Christ will no doubt stir up a hornet’s nest. My congratulations. An amazing piece of work, Dr Bassetti. I think the title suits you.’

‘I’ll try and get used to it,’ Allegra replied, her feelings a mixture of relief and exhilaration.

‘We intend to publish it widely, if that’s all right with you.’

‘I would take it as a compliment, Antonio.’

‘Good, because I am under some pressure from church groups to justify my views on the usefulness of scientific techniques in dating archaeological artefacts such as the Dead Sea Scrolls. I would like you to give a lecture on carbon dating, primarily for our students, but one that will also be open to the public. We’ve already put out some feelers and a lot of people want to come, including one group from the Buffett Evangelical Centre for Christ. As you might gather, they’re fundamentalist Christian and they want equal time to present proof from the Bible that the Earth is only a few thousand years old and that carbon dating is fatally flawed.’

Allegra rolled her eyes.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to let a scientific discussion be taken over by a bunch of fruit loops. I’ve given them a polite no to equal time, although of course they’re entitled to their wacky views and I’ve told them they are welcome to come.’

‘And are they?’ Allegra asked, suddenly concerned that she was being dragged back into a world of dogma from which she had long freed herself.

‘Welcome? On a par with your mother-in-law announcing she’s coming to live with you. Will they come? On a par with the sun rising tomorrow. They’re talking about sending one or two of their heavies over from their Atlanta headquarters, but you needn’t worry. I’ll be there to chair so they won’t be able to hijack question time.’

Allegra breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t be giving this lecture, Antonio?’

The old maestro could have given the lecture with practised ease but he knew that the beautiful young woman on his staff possessed a very fine mind, and he was determined she should be given the opportunity to stretch her wings. Outside the University of Milano Dr Allegra Bassetti was still unknown but Rosselli knew that would change.

‘I could,’ he said, ‘but I won’t be here for ever. Sooner or later someone has to be around to take the place of old badgers like me. Besides, you’re just as qualified and a little easier on the eye. They can put up with me for the other half of the lecture, one which I have named “The lost civilisation of the Essenes, DNA and the Omega Scroll”.’

Allegra felt a chill. The Omega Scroll. The speculation had died down long ago and other than a passing reference Professor Rosselli hadn’t brought it up. Why now, she wondered.

‘Do you think that’s wise, Antonio. The Omega Scroll seems to be the Essene’s version of the curse of the Pharaohs.’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m convinced Professor Fiorini was murdered, but I’m equally convinced that was because he was about to link the Vatican to the Omega Scroll.’

‘You spoke to him before he disappeared?’

‘Only a brief phone call. He didn’t want to say too much over the phone but he told me he had some exciting news about the Omega Scroll. He disappeared before we could talk.’

‘Why are you including it in your lecture?’

‘Firstly, I’m not going to mention the Vatican and secondly, my friend Professor Kaufmann, who I would like you to meet one day, has unearthed some interesting links between DNA and the Essenes. Don’t worry, I doubt the Vatican will show the slightest interest.’

Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni saw the last but one of his dinner guests to the door. The Minister for Finance, the editor of the influential
Milano Finanza
and Milano’s Il Capo di Guardia di Finanza. The guest list for dinner had also included three merchant bankers and the CEO of Cologne Constructions, one of Europe’s largest property developers. Petroni’s remaining guest, Giorgio Felici, was enjoying a Rémy Martin Louis XIII Cognac by the fire in the Cardinal’s study.

‘
Allora
, I think that went fairly well, Giorgio?’ Petroni said on his return.

‘Some useful contacts, Lorenzo, for when you become Cardinal Secretary of State,
non è vero
?’

Lorenzo Petroni eyed the little Sicilian without expression. Giorgio Felici had his uses, and when Petroni had last been at the helm of the Vatican Bank he had persuaded the Holy Father that he should appoint Giorgio Felici as his financial adviser. The Pope had agreed and the Vatican award of ‘Gentleman of His Holiness’ had been promptly bestowed on the merchant banker from Milano. In the years that he’d been out of the Vatican as Cardinal Archbishop of Milano, Petroni had come to regret the arrangement intensely. The Vatican Bank holdings had become so large that Felici had acquired direct access to the Papal Apartments. Petroni had been trying to find a way to restore his own control and have Felici report through him, and now, he reflected with more than a little satisfaction, that could be done. The previous day, His Holiness had announced that Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni would take over as the Vatican’s Cardinal Secretary of State. Petroni had received the news calmly. It was, he thought, part of the natural progression and he was finally within striking distance of his ultimate goal. The Pope, Petroni had noted, kept a gruelling schedule and his health seemed unusually robust, but time would tell.

‘When do you plan to take up your appointment?’ Giorgio asked.

‘I leave for Rome next Tuesday.’

‘Perhaps it is not a moment too soon, Lorenzo.’

‘Oh?’ Petroni replied off-handedly, but he was instantly alert.

‘The new Director of the Bank, Monsignor Pasquale Garibaldi, will need to be replaced.’

Petroni’s expression gave nothing away. When Garibaldi had been first mooted as a candidate he had tried to have his appointment stopped. Garibaldi had a reputation for scrupulous honesty and transparency.

‘Monsignor Garibaldi has confided in me that he has found some irregularities in the accounts. It seems he may have twigged to our double invoicing scheme,’ Giorgio Felici said quietly.

Petroni felt his pulse quicken but he said nothing. An earlier scheme had come perilously close to landing Petroni in gaol, but after the death of Pope John Paul I, Felici and Petroni had resurrected the scheme. Petroni had retained control of the Vatican Bank, and he had not been able to resist the thrill of millions of dollars pouring into the Papal coffers through a subsidiary bank that was jointly owned by Felici and the Vatican. Thousands of false and artificially low invoices from Felici’s trading companies were sent to the Tax Office through the Bank of Italy. The false invoices attracted much less tax and the difference on the real invoices would be paid in cash by the receiving companies overseas and channelled back to Felici and the Vatican Bank. For the scheme to succeed the necessary bribes were being paid to government officials, but the Vatican Bank also had to be watertight.

‘I have told Monsignor Garibaldi he is to continue his investigation, and that I am very keen for the Vatican Bank to overcome its earlier, shall we say, difficulties and that he is to report directly to me. I have bought us some time, but he will need to be dealt with quickly.’ Giorgio’s smile was humourless.

‘You can leave that problem with me,’ Petroni said, irritated by the Sicilian’s superior manner. ‘In the meantime, there is a more pressing issue. Professor Antonio Rosselli is planning to give a lecture next week on the Omega Scroll. I have an advance copy of the text.’

‘Not provided by him,’ Felici observed with a touch of sarcasm.

‘You are not the only one who is well connected in Milano, Georgio,’ Petroni replied. ‘It is not only his lecture. I have received word that Rosselli has been in contact with an Israeli mathematician and as a result, Rosselli’s investigation into the Omega Scroll is gathering pace. Rosselli has to be stopped.’

‘That will attract a lot of heat, Lorenzo,’ Felici said. ‘It’s likely to focus attention back on the Vatican and the death of Pope John Paul I, and that might be awkward.’

‘These things are always temporary, Giorgio, and as Secretary of State I will be well positioned to handle any upstarts from the media. Rosselli’s theories are one thing, but connecting them with the Omega Scroll is quite another. The Holy Church must be protected, and I suggest you leave the theology to me. You do your job, and I’ll do mine.’

Felici smiled.

‘It will be expensive,’ he said, not caring too much about the reasons behind Petroni’s burning desire to rid himself of the troublesome Professor at Ca’ Granda. Felici’s voice held a faint hint of admiration for a cold-blooded ruthlessness that matched his own.

The same day that Lorenzo Petroni took up his appointment as Cardinal Secretary of State, Giorgio Felici dressed in a pair of dirty overalls and a paint-spattered cap and headed for the University of Milano. The students and faculty at Ca’ Granda took no notice as he walked into the grounds through the rear car park and up some narrow steps that led past the Faculty of Philosophy towards the main quadrangles. Felici had memorised the map of the university grounds and he made his way unerringly down the corridor that housed the offices of Professor Rosselli and Dr Bassetti. Satisfied, he made his way across to the faculty theatre where Bassetti’s and Rosselli’s lectures were scheduled to be held. Given the choice he decided on the theatre. The office block was too confined whereas the external fire escape from the mezzanine floor that housed the theatre projection facilities provided direct access to the car park below. The locks on the doors to the projector room were standard and Giorgio’s third key fitted perfectly.

Roma

The Holy Father’s first meeting with his new Secretary of State had gone well until Petroni was surprised and annoyed over a trivial matter exercising the Holy Father’s mind.

‘I understand that Father Donelli is presently serving in the Middle East, Lorenzo.’

‘A most promising priest, Holiness. He was sent there to broaden his experience.’

‘How long has he been there?’ the Pope asked.

Lorenzo Petroni was on guard, but not quickly enough, and he instantly regretted the tactical slip of acknowledging the ability of the dangerously competent Donelli.

‘I’m not sure, Holiness,’ Petroni lied easily. ‘Perhaps eighteen months.’

‘I think you will find it is longer than that, if my sources are accurate.’

Inwardly Cardinal Petroni was fuming; outwardly he maintained his practised calm and said nothing, waiting for the old Pope’s next move. The first Vatican Council might have agreed in 1870 that the Holy Father was infallible but the new Cardinal Secretary of State was determined to curb the Holy Father’s power if it wasn’t being used correctly. When it suited Petroni there could be a degree of fallibility in the infallible.

‘More than five years, in fact,’ the old Pope said. ‘I’m not sure why we sent him to the Middle East for such a long period but I understand he’s been serving in a small village that is part Christian and part Muslim. We may be able to use, as you put it, his “broader experience” here in the Vatican.’