The Omega Scroll (34 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Tel-Aviv

M
ike McKinnon had dinner on his own in a small restaurant near the US Embassy in Tel-Aviv and then went back to work. The Omega Scroll was proving more elusive than ever and he wearily punched a six-digit code into the keypad on a reinforced door in the basement, behind which worked the ‘declared’ and ‘undeclared’ agents of the CIA in Israel. It was the last of five security checks that had started with the guards on the entrance to the embassy and the magnetometer check. Sitting down at his desk he flicked on CCN to catch up on the Israeli election. The CCN anchor, Geraldine Rushmore, appeared on his screen.

‘Tonight on
International Correspondent
we look at the changing face of politics and the possibility of renewed hope for peace in the Middle East. Following a convincing win for President Ahmed Sartawi’s Democratic Islamic Party in the Palestinian elections, Professor Yossi Kaufmann has claimed victory in the Israeli poll. We now cross live to Jerusalem and our correspondent Tom Schweiker. Tom, a surprising result?’

‘Yes and no, Geraldine. Yes, in that Ariel Sharon’s Likud Party and Shimon Peres’ Labor Party have both suffered a major loss of support. No, in that Professor Yossi Kaufmann and his Liberal Justice Party have campaigned on only one issue – a just peace, which has struck a chord with ordinary Israelis in the same way Sartawi did with ordinary Palestinians. A lot of people on both sides are sick of the killing and the violence, and these two men represent a genuine hope for a peaceful co-existence. Here’s what Professor Kaufmann had to say when I interviewed him a few minutes ago.’

The vision cut to the Israeli who would soon be Israel’s next Prime Minister.

‘Israelis have had the chance to vote for peace, and they have done so in overwhelming numbers. It is time to end the killing, it is time to end the violence, and as I’ve said throughout this campaign, peace can only be achieved if there is justice for both sides. Neither side will get everything they want, but all of us, Israeli or Palestinian, Jewish or Muslim, all of us have the right to pursue our lives in a country that is peaceful and secure.’

‘And you’re serious about cutting defence spending?’ Tom asked.

‘Continual warfare and killing has devastating consequences,’ Yossi replied. ‘The Iraq war is costing a billion dollars a week, and here, we went into debt to the United States for over four billion dollars on defence last year. If we can achieve peace, and I am confident that together with the new Palestinian President, Ahmed Sartawi, we can, it will mean construction of the wall can be stopped and other defence expenditure can be lowered dramatically. That money can be channelled towards education, health and the environment so our children can live to realise their potential. President Sartawi has already rung to congratulate me and we have agreed to issue a draft peace plan in the very near future.’

Tom smiled. ‘Good luck and thank you for talking to CCN, Professor Kaufmann.’

‘That was Tom Schweiker speaking with the next Prime Minister of Israel. Now to the continuing war in Iraq …’

Mike McKinnon turned the TV off. Perhaps these two might bring an end to the bloodshed, he thought. He turned back to his computer and entered a series of codes. The first email headed ‘Top Secret – Omega’ was from the Director.

For McKinnon from DCI. The President is meeting with the Reverend Buffett tomorrow and has asked for an update on the search for the Omega Scroll. Please provide by 1700 hours.

‘Fuck me,’ Mike muttered grimly. ‘Osama bin Laden and his mad mullahs are running around with enough plutonium and deuterium to destroy the financial capitals of the Western World and the White House is still carrying on over a Dead Sea Scroll.’ He smiled to himself. At least the result of the Israeli and Palestinian elections would give them something else to think about. The State Department, Pentagon, Finance and a dozen other departments around the beltway would be cutting down another forest of trees to produce a flurry of ‘impact statements’ on how the elections might affect US interests. If Tom Schweiker was right about Kaufmann and Sartawi knowing each other well, and they were already drafting a peace plan, Washington would be reduced to observing the process from the sidelines. Probably not a bad thing, he thought as he opened the next report from Echelon.

In the time he’d been in Tel-Aviv Mike McKinnon had made a little progress, particularly with the phone intercepts. ‘Cave One’ was almost certainly at Qumran and Tom had been more than happy to fill him in on Lonergan who, he had noted, was now overseas and headed for Florence, but ‘Free-standing Chubb circa 1950’ had him intrigued. Was it possible that there was something in a safe in the quiet surrounds of a biochemistry laboratory in the Hebrew University, something so sensitive that someone was going to extraordinary lengths to remove it? Safecracking and lock picking were just two of McKinnon’s many talents. The boys in the basements at Langley were among the best in the business and Mike had taken the trouble to hone his skills. He had also spent many hours on the indoor range before he had satisfied himself that he was back up to scratch with his weapon of choice. Rather than the .22 that most agents used, Mike preferred a Heckler-Koch Mark 23 .45 ACP calibre with a silencer and a laser aimer that had been developed for US Special Forces. He had a feeling he would need it.

Venezia

‘Giovanni here.’

‘The Prime Minister of Israel, Eminence,’ Vittorio announced.

‘Thank you.’

The line crackled and the distinctive voice of Yossi Kaufmann could be heard.

‘
Buongiorno
Giovanni, it’s Yossi.’

‘Yossi. Congratulations! How is it going? I’ve been praying for you.’

‘Thank you, Giovanni! It’s almost going too well. I’m meeting with Ahmed in a week’s time and our draft on the peace agreement is pretty well agreed, at least by us, although I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves,’ Yossi said. ‘There is still furious opposition from some of the settlers on our side, even though the compensation package is very generous. Where we can, we will let them stay and compensate the Palestinians with Israeli land, and I think they’re coming around.’

‘What about the fundamentalists?’ Giovanni asked.

‘The key to getting Hamas, Islamic Jihad and the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade on our side is the promise of a Palestinian State, Giovanni. Some of their members will never renounce terrorism, but if we can get the bulk of them on board, including the leadership, the fanatics can be marginalised. Ahmed and I are both confident we can pull this off and we’re going to strike while the mainstream enthusiasm is there. When we have a date, what would your reaction be to taking a small part in a peace ceremony? We don’t plan to mix religion with State here, so it would be a personal rather than an official invitation. When we’ve ironed out the details, the signing will take place underneath the Damascus Gate between a Jew and a Muslim. It seems to me that Abraham would not object if we got the support of Christianity as well?’

Giovanni laughed as he thought back to their fishing trip.

‘I’d be delighted,’ he said.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Jerusalem

Y
usef Sartawi opened the door of the safe house at the sound of the pre-arranged knock. Despite the mission that was being planned, Wasfiheh Khatib looked calm and untroubled, almost peaceful. Just nineteen, the striking young woman was studying sociology at the Palestinian Al-Quds University in Ramallah. To make ends meet she drove an ambulance on weekends and it was this that had pushed her to a state of utter despair. When her ambulance had been shot at by Israeli soldiers she had put it down to a mistake, but in the past few months it had happened repeatedly and she had been wounded twice. The Red Crescent uniform made no difference to the Israeli soldiers. Too many times Wasfiheh had cradled a dying child in her arms, and too many times she had tried to stem the lifeblood of many others who had lost a leg or an arm at the hands of the Israelis.

Yusef checked beyond the doorway and ushered Wasfiheh inside.

‘The restaurant is Numero Venti,’ he said, pointing to King George V Street and Ha Histradrut in a street directory. ‘It’s an upmarket restaurant and the targets often dine there. You have a booking to eat there next week,’ Yusef said, handing Wasfiheh an envelope. ‘Familiarise yourself with the layout and wear something stylish but nondescript. Once we are happy that you know the target and you are thoroughly familiar with wearing the explosives we will put you on standby. You will have to be able to respond quickly as we sometimes only get one or two hours’ notice of a booking.’

Wasfiheh nodded calmly.

Yusef pulled two photographs out of a folder. They were the standard Hebrew University mug shots that were taken of all lecturers and staff.

‘Memorise the faces of the infidels so that when the attack is finalised you can get as close to their table as possible before you detonate the belt.’

‘Mine will be the last face they will see.’ At last Wasfiheh felt empowered and the lives of the innocent would be avenged.

Tel-Aviv

Mike McKinnon waited for the encryptions to boot up on his computer and for the latest report from Echelon to appear on his screen. Two days before he’d had a breakthrough. An Echelon report had provided a printout on a mobile that had been tracked by satellite to a laneway off Yehuda ha-Yamit, not far from Tel-Aviv’s port of Old Yafo. Armed with the necessary diplomatic clearances for any roadblocks, Mike had found the laneway and an old garage under an ancient stone building, but his reconnaissance had yielded nothing more. Now, as the most recent intercept appeared, it looked as if he’d hit paydirt.

Operation Omega. Echelon Intercept Tel-Aviv. 261200Z hours. ‘Repair of safe approved and clearances in place. Proceed 1500 tomorrow.’

Mike checked the date/time group and then the number of the mobile. It matched the ‘Yes, I am in position – they are at the entrance to Cave One’ intercept. It seemed that whatever was in the safe was associated with the surveillance on Dr David Kaufmann and Dr Allegra Bassetti. Might that mean, he wondered, that the pair had found something quite significant, significant enough for Hamas to dispatch someone to retrieve it?

The next day, just after 2.30 p.m. Mike parked his beige Renault Clio sedan where he could see down the laneway and waited. He was on his own, acutely aware that he was making decisions that the Director of the CIA would rightfully deny. Worse still, with the intercepts posing more questions than they answered, there were gaping holes in the intelligence. Mossad would not take too kindly to any attempt to steal a scroll and without their help Mike had been forced to put together a plan that was based on instinct – follow the Hamas operative and wait for an opportunity.

A little further along the road Giorgio Felici put down his binoculars and wondered why the CIA would have an interest in a Dead Sea Scroll. Hamas might need a little help, he mused, absentmindedly feeling for his Beretta Cougar hidden under his Armani jacket.

At 1500 hours, a swarthy-faced Arab emerged from a side gate. The garage doors underneath the old stone house were not the usual tilta-door or roller variety. They were big, heavy wooden doors that opened like a concertina and Mike watched as the stocky Arab began, with some difficulty, to force them apart. Shortly afterwards the Arab drove out in a dark green van, its sides painted with gold lettering: Leibzoll Safes and Security, 84 Ben Yehuda Street, Tel-Aviv.

The lane was quite a distance from Ben Yehuda Street and Mike McKinnon concluded that although Leibzoll Safes and Security were probably a legitimate company, this van was one they didn’t know they owned.

The van driver didn’t seem in any hurry as they negotiated the traffic in Tel-Aviv but once they got onto Route 1 and the freeway to Jerusalem the van sped up with Mike following at a distance. Three roadblocks, which the van took far more time to get through than he did, and an hour later, the ‘safe man’ reached the Mount Scopus campus of the Hebrew University. After a brief discussion where the guard on the entrance appeared to be giving directions, the Arab was waved through. Sometimes the Israelis could be very cooperative Mike thought grimly, wondering whether he should follow the van onto the campus. That, he thought, would only attract attention and he settled down to wait in a side road where he could watch the entrance.

Jerusalem

David called in to see Bishop O’Hara and then headed off to meet Allegra at Numero Venti, reflecting on Allegra’s stunning results. The carbon dating had been easy – 20 to 40
AD
– but even with David helping out, it had taken Allegra nearly two months to complete the initial task of analysing two thousand fragments into parcels of DNA. At least the Essenes had only used three goatskins, David thought. Allegra’s analysis had enabled fragments of the Gospel of Thomas, the Great Isaiah Scroll and the Omega Scroll to be separated into three large plastic bags but the extraordinarily difficult task of piecing together the fragments of the Omega Scroll still lay ahead of them.

‘Congratulations, David!’ Allegra raised her champagne glass in a toast to the country’s newest member of the Knesset just as Elie appeared with the menus.

‘Congratulations on your election, Dr Kaufmann,’ Elie said, adding his own best wishes to those of Allegra. ‘At last there seems to be an opportunity for peace.’

‘I hope so, Elie, I really hope so, and thank you.’

A short distance away in the Muslim quarter of the Old City, Yusef Sartawi made the final adjustments to the thin explosives belt that he had packed with ammonium nitrate. To maximise the casualties, more than three hundred nails and steel bearings had been packed in with the explosive. Wasfiheh raised the top of her elegant jacket and he strapped the belt firmly around her slender waist.

‘Keep the detonator in your pocket until you have to use it,’ Yusef instructed, making sure Wasfiheh’s top covered the wire running from the belt. ‘And here is 100 shekels. Make sure you catch a taxi, clients of Numero Venti don’t travel by bus.’

Mike McKinnon weighed up his options. The freeway was unlikely to provide an interception opportunity, he mused – too much traffic and too many Israeli patrols. It would be better to follow the Arab driver back to Tel-Aviv. Any further consideration was cut short by the re-appearance of the van at the university entrance. Mike McKinnon started his car and eased out of the side street.

Just before they reached Nablus Road they encountered the first of what would be a number of random checkpoints and Mike waited uneasily while the van driver handed over his papers. If his suspicions were correct, and the Omega Scroll was in the safe and the Israeli soldiers found it, it would spell disaster. The Hamas paperwork must have been very professional, Mike thought as he watched the Uzi-wielding Israeli soldiers let the van pass.

By the time they reached the freeway to Tel-Aviv, Mike realised that his earlier assessment had been correct. Interception on the freeway was out of the question. The traffic, apart from two more checkpoints, was free flowing and the van’s tyres could have been shot out easily enough but the Israeli patrols were everywhere and he forced himself to remain calm as he followed. When the traffic slowed on the outskirts of Tel-Aviv and darkness descended, Mike closed on the van, not wanting to lose his quarry in the traffic snarls of Tel-Aviv. Thirty minutes later Mike watched the van turn off into the lane and he parked as close as he dared. Normally Mike didn’t wear driving gloves but this time they served another purpose and leaving them on he retrieved his Heckler-Koch from the glove box. Glancing up and down he was relieved to find that the road was empty and he was grateful for the sparseness of street lighting in this part of Tel-Aviv. Moving quickly, he melted into the shadows, keeping the parked cars between him and his target as he moved silently down the lane.

The van had pulled up in front of the garage and his quarry was once again having trouble forcing the heavy doors apart. Using the van as cover, Mike moved silently along the side until he was only two steps away from the Arab who was now cursing loudly. Judging that he would not have a better chance, Mike reversed his grip on his Heckler-Koch to bring the butt down hard on the Arab’s head, but as he did so the Arab lost his footing in the dirt and slipped forwards. Mike’s pistol butt cracked against the Arab’s back instead of his head. The Hamas man had been trained to deal with a surprise attack from behind and dropped to his knees. With a powerful backward thrust he flung Mike into the air. Instinctively Mike hit the dirt entrance of the garage and rolled, weapon in hand, in time to see the Arab draw his own weapon.

Pfunk. Pfunk. Pfunk. The silenced .45 sounded incredibly loud as Mike squeezed off three quick shots in succession. The Langley training had not been wasted. The Arab clutched his chest, his gun tumbling harmlessly underneath the van. Mike watched his quarry sink in what seemed like slow motion to the garage floor, his lifeblood ebbing away, hatred visible in his eyes, but fading. Calmly, Mike McKinnon dragged the body into the back of the garage and drove the van inside. He picked up the three spent cartridges and pocketed them.

With the aid of the small microphone and earpiece that the boys in the basement had provided, Mike listened to the final tumbler fall into position. After he opened the door of the old Chubb safe he scanned the contents. There was one envelope, and the only outside marking was in thick black pen: Ω.

Giorgio Felici had followed Mike McKinnon on the opposite side of the lane. The Hamas operative would be more than a match for the American, he thought, but he would get in close, just in case.

For a brief moment Felici lost sight of the other two men behind the van. Then he heard three shots from a silenced .45 and knew he’d lost his Hamas man. Deciding against taking on the American in a confined space, Felici waited. As the CIA agent drove the van into the garage, Felici crouched low. Moving past the garage he took cover behind a parked car.

Fifteen minutes later the CIA agent emerged carrying a plastic envelope. Felici watched as his target looked around quickly before moving up the lane towards his car. Felici drew his Beretta and silently followed.

Mike McKinnon heard a noise and immediately reached for his gun as he spun around towards the sound. A single bullet hit him between the eyes and he crumpled silently to the footpath.