The Omega Scroll (32 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Jerusalem

‘
W
elcome to the Rockefeller Museum. Or should I say welcome back.’ Derek Lonergan had a habit of smiling without exposing his teeth.

‘We’ve been a little bemused by all the fuss in the media but that’s politics, I suppose,’ he said over his shoulder as David and Allegra followed ‘the waddling cassock’ down the corridor to his office.

‘Don’t,’ Allegra mouthed at David, who wore a look of innocence. She instinctively knew he was going to come up with another of his ‘nice arse’ comments that would bring her undone.

‘As I understand it you will be working with us for the next six months or so.’

‘It’s a four-year research project,’ David said.

‘Is it really? That’s even better, I hadn’t realised you would be here that long,’ Lonergan lied. ‘We’re still finalising your tasking so we can take that into account.’

‘What scrolls do we have access to?’ David asked abruptly, determined to nail Lonergan to something concrete.

‘As it happens, I’m due to leave this week for a five-month lecture tour of Europe,’ Lonergan replied evasively. ‘Blasted nuisance but as I’m the acknowledged expert on these things it’s only natural that the great universities of this world are going to want a fair slice of my time. That should provide plenty of opportunity for you to settle in and start reading up and we can discuss the details of your task on my return.’ Lonergan looked at his watch. It was twenty to five. ‘If you’ll excuse me I have another appointment. I’ll get someone to show you to your office space.’

Derek Lonergan had the trip to the nearby Cellar Bar down to a fine art. Within fifteen minutes of leaving the Rockefeller he had launched himself into the vaults of the American Colony Hotel.

‘Another whiskey, Dr Lonergan?’ Abdullah asked politely as Derek Lonergan threw the first one down.

‘Certainly, Abdullah. I thought you’d never ask.’ Derek Lonergan was in high spirits. The great academic halls of Europe were awaiting his presence.

‘A fresh glass,’ Abdullah said, replacing the empty one and pouring a generous shot of Tullamore Dew.

In the room behind the bar Abdullah carefully put Lonergan’s first glass on a shelf out of reach. He had no idea why the American journalist wanted a glass used by Lonergan but he had long ago learned not to ask questions and had simply pocketed the 200 shekels with a polite smile.

A week later, after Lonergan had left for Europe, David decided to try to find out what Lonergan might be hiding in the vaults of the Rockefeller. It was high risk, and would mean his career if he was caught, but he had faced higher risks in the past and he had a strong feeling that whatever Lonergan had, it was important.

David greeted the security guard with a smile as he headed out to join Allegra in the museum’s courtyard for lunch.

‘Morning, Hafiz!’

‘Morning, Dr Kaufmann.’

‘How are the children?’ David asked.

Hafiz had been working at the museum for twenty years and David had a genuine affection for the old Palestinian. Hafiz had four children and for all of those years he had pulled double shifts to get the money together for their education. From eight until three he did duty at the front desk, and on top of that, three nights a week he drove a security car on mobile patrol, a routine he still followed. Hafiz considered himself to be one of the lucky ones, as not many Palestinians in Israel had jobs.

‘Fine thanks, Dr Kaufmann. Abdul has been accepted for university,’ he said with a proud smile.

Allegra watched as David chatted amiably with the old guard, oblivious to the tourists streaming in and out of the museum’s exhibitions. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was falling in love with David. They had become so close in such a short amount of time, it seemed that they often knew exactly what the other was thinking.

‘I’m very fond of Hafiz and you can sometimes find out a great deal from security guards,’ he said, answering her question before she could even ask what he was up to. He leaned over, making a show of nuzzling her neck while he outlined the plan he had in mind.

‘David,’ Allegra replied in a soft whisper. ‘Do you think we can pull it off?’

‘I’m not going to put you to that sort of risk,’ David said, ‘but I’ve got to get to the truth here.’

‘Point one,’ Allegra said. ‘We do this together, so start talking in terms of “we”. Point two. How do we avoid all the security cameras?’

‘We work back and do it after the security desk is closed for the night and the external patrols take over. There’s only one camera down there and that can be disabled. Talking with security guards is not all idle chat you know.’

Allegra’s dark eyes flashed with excitement. ‘Do you really think we can crack the vault?’

‘If Private Silberman were around that wouldn’t be an issue, but like all good students I’ve been practising.’

The red movement sensor high on the far wall clicked on as David checked the lobby to see that Hafiz had left. Satisfied, he returned to collect Allegra and the small bag he had brought into the office that morning.

‘Got your gloves?’

Allegra nodded, her initial excitement giving way to nervousness.

‘They’ve put the security camera in a really dumb position,’ David said when they stepped into the same corridor he had headed down with a gun in his hands all those years before. ‘We can approach it from behind and I can reach it quite easily.’ David took a piece of black cloth from his bag and climbed onto one of the wide ledges directly beneath the camera and threw the cloth over the lens.

‘Won’t they suspect something?’

‘They might, but what if they do? They’ll check the vault, find nothing missing and assume it’s malfunctioned. They haven’t changed this vault since 1938,’ he said. ‘I don’t think security is their long suit.’

Allegra watched as David pulled a stethoscope out of his black bag. Joseph Silberman had given David the stethoscope, along with a set of lock picks, as a memento when he had left the Army to join Mossad. David spun the dial to the left to clear the tumblers and rolled it one revolution to the right until he picked up the click of the cam and lever mechanism, just as Silberman had shown him.

‘Twenty-five is still the last number,’ he said, ‘and it’s only got three tumblers.’ It took David about twenty minutes until he picked up the soft ‘nikt’ of the last tumbler slot being lined up. Twice the time that Joseph Silberman had taken but David was pretty pleased with himself as he turned the wheel and the big retaining bolts slid aside. Allegra’s heart was pounding. David was calm but the excitement of discovery was reflected in his eyes as he clicked on the lights and looked around.

‘Look! In the far corner,’ he said, pointing towards a battered red trunk marked ‘Lonergan’ and ‘Personal’, secured with an old brass padlock. David chose a torque wrench and a small half-diamond shaped shallow angle lock pick from his bag. He inserted both and without applying any torque on the lock’s plug, pulled the pick out to get a feel for the stiffness of the pin springs. Satisfied, he applied a light torque and using Silberman’s scrubbing technique, moved the pick backwards and forwards, gradually increasing the torque so that each of the driver pins set on the sheer line. One by one the pins set until he was able to turn the plug and the ‘U’ of the lock popped free.

‘I’m getting better at this,’ he said, grinning as he swung the trunk lid open.

Allegra just shook her head and smiled. Inside the trunk was the olive wood box Lonergan had secured as his ‘commission’ for arranging the Vatican’s fifty million dollar purchase of the intact copy of the Omega Scroll.

David let out a low whistle. ‘Fragments,’ he said. ‘Hundreds of them.’

‘What are they?’ Allegra asked, pointing to the three fragments in the small plastic bag taped to the inside of the lid.

‘Don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out.’ David took a pair of tweezers from his bag and put the three fragments on top of a trunk nearby.

David recognised the ancient Koiné immediately. ‘Allegra! The Omega Scroll. It’s here!’ he said, staring at the three fragments. ‘These are in Koiné and the Omega was the only Dead Sea Scroll to be written in that language. The Omega’s messages were meant for the wider world,’ David said. ‘Koiné was the dialect of Greek spoken in the Roman Empire in the East.’

The three fragments were a clear indication that the rest of the scroll was to be found in amongst the others, but they could only be pieced together by someone with extraordinary skill, and time.

‘That bastard Lonergan has known about this all along,’ David said, deep in thought.

‘Trouble is,’ Allegra said, ‘how do we get this box out of here?’

‘We don’t,’ David replied finally, taking out some large plastic envelopes from his bag. ‘We leave the box in the trunk. We put the fragments in the safe in our office tonight and tomorrow we get them out in broad daylight.’

‘Isn’t that a bit risky?’

‘Not as risky as being stopped by the night security patrol.’

David carefully transferred the fragments into the envelopes, re-locked the trunk and closed the big vault door. He removed the black cloth from the camera and they slipped back up the corridor.

As they walked to the car park a figure loomed out of the shadows.

‘Working late, Dr Kaufmann?’

Allegra felt her blood freeze.

‘No rest for the wicked, Hafiz,’ David replied with a smile.

‘I’m sorry to have to ask, Sir, but do you mind if I have a quick look in your briefcase. We’ve had some petty theft in the museum lately and, while I’m sure you’re not stealing the biros and paperclips, they are insisting we make random checks of all people leaving the building.’ Hafiz was clearly embarrassed, torn between doing his duty and loyalty to David.

‘Not at all, Hafiz, not at all,’ David replied, opening his briefcase on Onslow’s bonnet.

CHAPTER FORTY

Jerusalem

T
he biochemistry laboratory that the Hebrew University had made available was equipped with the latest technology for DNA analysis.

‘Fire away, Teach.’ David’s grin was irrepressible.

‘Twenty years ago we couldn’t have done this,’ Allegra said, standing in front of a whiteboard. David had asked for an explanation of how DNA analysis might help unlock the secrets of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

‘DNA or deoxyribonucleic acid looks like this,’ she said. Allegra then drew the long spiralling ladder-like helix on the board. ‘The goatskin parchment the Essenes used to prepare their documents is so old that any DNA has deteriorated to the point where there are only very short sequences and not enough to analyse,’ she said. ‘But in 1983, an American biochemist, Kary Mullus, developed a technique called polymerase chain reaction which makes copies of DNA so that we have enough to test.’

‘So even though the fragments in the trunk don’t contain much DNA, you can manufacture more from what’s left?’

‘Precisely. And it may not be as difficult as I first thought. If you’re right and there are only three scrolls, one of which is Isaiah, one the Gospel of Thomas and the third being the Omega Scroll, the chances are there will only be three sets of goat DNA. And that will separate the thousand-piece nightmare into three much smaller puzzles.’

‘Always assuming they’ve only used three separate goatskins,’ David observed.

Allegra looked thoughtful. ‘Even if we turn up a fourth or a fifth skin and we can identify what scroll it comes from, we will only have to worry about it if it’s part of the Omega Scroll. And we already have a great start because we’ve got the DNA of the Omega Scroll from the envelope inside the lid of the trunk.’

‘Lonergan will be back in a bit over four months. Are we going to have enough time?’ David asked.

‘Because there are so many fragments, we’re going to have to put in some long hours in here, but four months should be enough. With the equipment in the lab we can process nearly four hundred samples simultaneously. That will generate nearly three million bases a day and we’re only talking picogram amounts here.’

David pulled another face.

‘To give you peasants an idea,’ Allegra said with a smile, ‘there’s enough DNA in one-tenth of one-millionth of a litre of human saliva to identify a genetic sequence as human. So we won’t need to damage any of the script on the fragments. We’ll only need microscopic amounts for copying the sequences and analysing them.’

Allegra took David through the process step by step, explaining how the samples were cooled so that the paired strands would form again with the help of primers and how enzymes were added that could read the sequences and extend them in a chain reaction replication.

Even with David acting as the junior lab assistant, it was going to take time. Time they might not have.

Mike McKinnon walked into the Cellar Bar as Tom Schweiker was ordering a beer.

‘Mike! Welcome back,’ Tom said, stretching out his hand. ‘Make that two beers, thanks Abdullah.’

Beers in hand, the two men headed towards one of the vacant booths, neither missing the two striking women chatting at the end of the bar.

‘Nice legs,’ Mike said, glancing back towards the bar. ‘Wonder what time they open.’

‘You haven’t changed. Looks as if they’re on their own, too.’

‘Let’s hope so. Cheers!’

‘Good health!’

‘Have you got any contacts in the FBI, Mike?’ Tom asked when he’d taken a swig of his beer.

‘A barnful. Depends what you want them for,’ Mike replied.

‘I need a favour. Some fingerprints need checking. I’ve got a suspicion they belong to someone I’ve known in a previous life.’

‘That shouldn’t be too hard,’ Mike said. ‘Give me the prints and I’ll send them back in the black bag to a buddy of mine.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate it. How’s Washington?’ Tom asked.

Giorgio Felici slid into the bar and, keeping a large pillar between himself and his targets, he unobtrusively manoeuvred himself into the next booth.

‘Every bit as bad as I remember it,’ Mike replied ruefully, and he brought Tom up to date. ‘I’ve never seen the Agency in worse shape in all the years I’ve been part of it. Intelligence has become irrelevant to the politicians. The “Baghdad or Bust” brigade over at the Pentagon changed anything I came up with to fit the decision to invade that they’d already made.’

Over the years the two men had built up a trust that was highly unusual between a CIA agent and a journalist, and it was as valuable to both men as it was curious. Tom could check the information that he had from other sources, as well as getting the inside running on what was really going on inside the CIA, and Mike gained equally valuable information from Tom. Neither had any time for self-serving politicians, and neither would ever disclose their source.

‘A bit like the Brits and their “forty-five minutes until an attack on Harrods”, which turned out to be the time it would take for Saddam to get his fucking mortars into action,’ Tom said with a grin. ‘The military operation in Iraq’s been such a ham-fisted, club-footed cock-up that we’ve managed to kill more than a hundred thousand civilians. Most Iraqis will be glad to see the back of us and the Islamic fundamentalists are having a field day,’ he added more grimly.

‘I saw your piece on the Omega Scroll. Do you think there’s any connection between the fundamentalists operating in the Middle East and the scroll?’ Mike asked.

Tom nodded. ‘Yes, and not only in the Middle East. There are a couple of mathematicians here who have been doing some work decoding biblical manuscripts. Rips has been working on the Torah and Yossi Kaufmann has been working on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Kaufmann thinks that the rise in Islamic fundamentalism and the Omega Scroll are definitely connected.’

‘You think these codes are real?’

‘I think so. The technique involves isolating every third or fourth letter of the old text, what Rips calls a skip code. I used to think you could do a skip code on the dictionary and get the same result, but these guys are nobody’s fools and Kaufmann thinks there is a catastrophic warning in the Omega Scroll that involves fundamentalist Islam,’ said Mike.

‘Any word on that Russian scientist?’

‘Tretyakov?’ Mike shook his head. ‘Last we heard he was in Peshawar. We’ve also had reports that one of bin Laden’s top lieutenants, Abdul Basheer, has been sighted on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan, so if Tretyakov’s linked up with al-Qaeda he could be well into the Hindu Kush by now.’

‘Basheer is a master strategist. Kaufmann might be closer to the truth than he realises,’ Tom reflected.

‘Kaufmann’s the guy who is running against Sharon and Peres with a new platform. What’s it called – the Liberal Justice Party?’

‘That’s the one. For a politician, he’s very different and between you and me, his Liberal Justice Party has got a pretty good chance of getting up. Sharon’s approach borders on thuggery, and ultimately this wall he’s built will do more harm than good. Ordinary Israelis are starting to realise this and they’re looking for someone who can give them some hope.’

Mike nodded. ‘Yeah. You can’t go round ripping up hundreds of olive groves and expect to win the hearts and minds campaign. The election’s coming up soon?’

‘Yes, in early January. There is some hope on the Palestinian front as well. Ahmed Sartawi who won the Palestinian election knows Kaufmann pretty well and their peace plans are already well advanced. Between the two of them they might just make it in the peace stakes. Even the militants might come onside if these two can achieve a Palestinian State, although I’m not holding my breath.’ The sceptical journalist in Tom had seen it all before.

‘What do you think the chances are of finding this scroll?’ Mike asked, nonchalantly turning the conversation back to his mission.

Tom shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Yossi’s son David is an archaeologist and he seems keen on finding it, as does his partner, Dr Allegra Bassetti. They were down at Qumran a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know what she’s like as a sleuth, but she’s an absolute stunner to look at, lucky bastard.’

Mike got up to order more beers. The trip had already been worthwhile. The ‘ruins’ were more than likely Qumran and the Omega Scroll was more than likely real, and if he played his cards right his visit to the Holy City might be even more worthwhile, he thought, as the two women at the bar returned his smile.

‘Staying in Jerusalem long?’ he asked.