The Templar Concordat (49 page)

When Hammid disappeared into the shower, Zahid glanced at the treaty he had spent so many hours examining. It had survived the previous night’s gunfight without a scratch. Was that a message from God, or just dumb luck? Who knew how God operated?

He idly began to read the Latin that was visible without special lighting. It was all so familiar, he could almost recite it from memory. He couldn’t read it all, but it held his interest until he finished. Eight hundred years old, and now it had returned. God certainly did operate in mysterious ways.

When Hammid emerged from the shower, Zahid gave him the treaty. Hammid looked at it and spoke to it. “Do you know how much trouble you have caused me?” Then he glanced at Zahid. “This has to get to Cairo,” he laughed. “Now I’m even talking to it.”

Before Zahid left the room, Hammid told him to be ready to leave for King Fahd International in one hour. “The final leg of a very long journey for us, Professor, and an even longer journey for this treaty and our people. I think we can both be proud of what we have accomplished here.”

“Yes, I’m sure we can.”

Cairo - Friday, May 15

Patrick Mulroony, Chief Archivist of the Knights Templar, managing director of the Kruger Institute, and renowned medieval scholar, sat around the conference table in the Antiquities Building of the University of Cairo with the eight other scholars whose job it was to determine the authenticity of the Treaty of Tuscany.

Nobody mentioned the treaty. They had come to an unwritten and informal agreement that they did not discuss the treaty outside the formal meetings of the panel. Nobody had proposed such a rule, and nobody acknowledged it, but that’s how it was.

Ahmed Al Qatani looked at his watch. “Al Dossary should be here any minute now. He said eleven o’clock.”

“And when you have your own private jet, I suppose you can set whatever time you want,” laughed the man from Harvard.

“Let me ask you, John,” said Henry Green of Cambridge. “If you could do it over again, would you rather be a software mogul with a private jet, or a history professor at Harvard?”

“To tell you the truth, Henry, I’d rather be a history professor at Harvard… a history professor with a private jet.” They all laughed.

Mohamed Harketi from Karachi grinned at the Archivist and said, “Patrick, I hear the Kruger Institute has a private jet.”

“A private jet? At the Kruger? What wonderful fantasy you weave, Mohamed, and I do wish you were right. But I’m afraid my board of directors would find a good stout rope and hang me from the nearest oak tree if we did.” He cocked an eyebrow and looked down the table. “But I do have to confess we have a very generous patron who is equally generous with his jet from time to time.”

A technician from the university was setting up the overhead projectors and light filters that would allow them to examine a projection of the treaty on a large screen. 

Hammid had given them all multiple copies of the treaty made under different lighting, so they could make out all the words. But they had only seen the treaty itself once before, when they carefully snipped the samples for the laser analysis. But today they would actually take the treaty from its case and work with the original. Nothing else would do.

The technician was calibrating his equipment with a Tenth Century Mameluke manuscript that was in much the same condition as the treaty. Some of it was readable to the naked eye, while other areas of the page needed special lighting. By trying different combinations of filters, the technician was able to find one that allowed all the script to be easily read.

“That looks good,” said Al Qatani, looking at the projection of the Mameluke manuscript. “What number is it?”

“It’s filter 118 and 207, Sir,” said the technician.

“I see it pretty well. How about the rest of you?” When they all nodded, Al Qatani told the technician to start with those filters when the treaty arrived.

The Chief Archivist glanced at his Blackberry under the table. Nothing. No missed calls. No text messages. No voice messages. Nothing from Zurich about Callahan. Pity.

He figured Callahan was probably buried under a sand dune somewhere in the desert. They all knew their plan was a long shot, but one worth taking. Death in Battle. That’s the life, and that’s how it sometimes ends.

What could he do now? He knew the treaty would pass the textual analysis. He had already done it himself using the pictures Jean Randolph had taken. And the treaty had passed the laser analysis. Tomorrow the ink test would be consistent with the Twelfth Century, and the scroll work around the edges would match hundreds of other manuscripts from that century. The noose was slowly tightening around their necks, and he didn’t have a clue how to get out of it.

Once that happened, the Muslim world would screech like banshees demanding reparations and concessions from the West.  Europe would cave in, the Americans would have a great internal political battle and probably pull their troops back, and Israel would be alone, alone with a few hundred nukes. And that’s just what the politically correct West would give up without a fight. When that was over the real fight would begin as the Arabs and Muslims finally had a rallying point they all could unite around.

The Vatican would be under siege, the Pope would probably denounce the treaty and dump the whole notion of infallibility, the Church would split down doctrinal lines, and they would all be at each other’s throats again for a few hundred years.

Everything moves back to 1189 and starts over from there, with all the blood, bigots, bias, and superstition of the Middle Ages. Oh, the Templars would have their work cut out for them.

*     *     *

We’re here at the University of Cairo with Hammid Al Dossary, who just arrived from Saudi Arabia with the Treaty of Tuscany.

CNN: Mr. Al Dossary, can you tell us what you hope to accomplish today?

Al Dossary: Greg, I won’t be doing much. My job is to deliver the treaty to the eminent scholars assembled here. It is they who will determine the truth about the Treaty of Tuscany.

CNN: What do you expect they will find, Sir?

Al Dossary: What will they find? Why, they will find the truth. I’m sorry, no more questions.

There you have it, Peter. Our cameras are following Al Dossary up the stairs of the Antiquities Building, where he promises the panel of scholars will determine the truth about the treaty. Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, this eight hundred-year-old mystery that has so captivated the attention of the world may be solved.

This is Greg Howard, CNN, Cairo.

*     *     *

Four Egyptian plain clothes security men entered the conference room and took positions at the four corners of the room. Hammid Al Dossary followed in a Saville Row suit and burgundy tie, carrying an expensive leather briefcase.

The president of the University of Cairo trailed a few feet behind with a small man in the clerical garb of a Catholic priest. After welcoming the panel, the President introduced Bishop Gustuv as the official Vatican observer. Both Al Dossary and Gustuv would observe, but they would not participate in any discussions.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” an energetic Hammid rubbed his hands together.  “I apologize for my tardiness. And I welcome Bishop Gustuv to the proceedings.” Gustuv nodded to the panel and took a chair against the wall.

“This is the treaty,” Hammid said, “and I now turn it over to you gentlemen for your textual examination. As agreed earlier, when you complete your testing here, we will once again take samples for laser analysis so there is no doubt this manuscript is the treaty in question.” Hammid paused, then made a show of handing the case to Greene. Hammid bowed and walked to a chair on the opposite side of the room from Gustuv.

Greene put on white cotton gloves, placed the case on the table and carefully opened the clasps. Then he slid a stiff piece of plastic under the treaty, lifted it out of the case, and placed it on the viewing table of the overhead projector.

“Let’s start with the 118 and 207 filters you used before,” Greene told the technician. When the image appeared the words on the periphery were clear, but the center was still cloudy. The technician expertly switched filters several times until the script on the page was clearly visible.

“Thank you,” said Greene. “Let’s leave it there. And can we get some hard copies?”

The technician clicked a few keys and eleven clear and crisp copies of the treaty printed out. He distributed one to each man. Hammid glanced at his and sat back to watch victory unfold.

Oh, God, thought the Archivist, here’s Hammid looking bright and cheerful and all ready to go. Well, here we go. Falling straight down into the shitter.

Cairo - Friday, May 15

The nine men leaned forward and stared at the bright image of the treaty on the screen. The Papal insignia was at the top, the seals of the two Popes and three kings at the bottom, and the tight Papal Minuscule script layed out the provisions of the agreement.

Professor Zawari of Cambridge looked back and forth between the screen and his hard copy, then reached into a pocket and put on a pair of glasses. Again he peered intently at the screen.

Granville of Harvard consulted his briefcase and removed the copy of the treaty they had been given prior to the start of the initial laser testing, laid it next to the hard copy of the screen, and looked from both papers back to the screen.

Hammid watched Gustuv on the other side of the room. His head was bobbing from two pages in his hands to the image on the screen. Then they all began to whisper quietly and gesture at the screen and the pages they held. More briefcases snapped open and closed as they pulled out the previous copies of the treaty.

Hammid looked at Mulroony from the Kruger. Was the man smiling? He was holding his hand in front of his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The nine men huddled and spoke quietly at the table, then Greene turned to Hammid. “Ahh, Mr. Al Dossary, I think we have the wrong document here.” He gestured to the projector and Hammid felt ice-cold claws clutch his heart.

“This manuscript,” Greene pointed at the image on the screen, “it’s not the same one you showed us before.” Now Greene picked up the copy of the treaty he had received from Hammid before the laser testing, the same copy that had been released to the whole world. Green held both papers next to each other. “They are different. In fact, they are very different.”

“What are you talking about?” Hammid jumped up and rushed to the table. “They are the same. There is only one treaty, and that is it.” He pointed at the page on the screen.

“Excuse, me, Mr. Al Dossary,” Harketi from Karachi said quietly. “Do you read Latin?”

“No. No, I don’t, but I know what the treaty says.”

“Well,” said Harketi patiently, “I’m afraid these two documents say very different things.” Harketi took out a pen and circled several words on each page. “If you look here, you will see these words are not the same. The layout looks the same, and many of the words are the same, and the sentences are the same length and have the same spacing, but the words are different and completely change the meaning. The script even looks like it was done by the same hand.”

“That’s impossible.” Hammid shouted. “I guarded this treaty night and day. It hasn’t left my sight. This is the treaty that was tested under the laser and passed.” This wasn’t happening. He knew what the treaty said, but he could see the words that Harketi had circled were different.

“Please, Hammid, just listen.” Harketi took Hammid’s elbow. “The copy of the treaty you gave us before called for the elimination of Islam from the Earth. This treaty,” he pointed at the screen, “calls for love and cooperation, toleration and mutual respect. It calls for an end to war and a new era of progress for all humanity. It calls for an alliance between Christianity and Islam to further the welfare of all under the God of Abraham.”

Hammid’s mouth was too dry to speak, and his brain was too confused to think clearly. He sat in Greene’s chair and moved his finger along the words in the two copies of the treaty. He didn’t know what he was reading, but he could see the differences. There might be ten identical words, then there were a few different. The casual observer would look at both and say they were the same, but a detailed examination showed where they differed.

“Zahid. Get Zahid in here,” Hammid croaked.

Harketi nodded to one of the guards and he briefly stepped out of the room. When he returned, Zahid hurried to Hammid’s side.

Greene just showed Zahid the two copies of the treaty and pointed to the image on the screen. “Just read them,” he said.

Zahid knew what the two copies would say. He had known ever since Hammid had handed him the treaty to hold while he showered back in Saudi that morning. When Zahid had read it while Hammid showered, it was immediately obvious that the treaty had been switched. Even if he couldn’t read it all with the naked eye, the differences he could see were startling.  But that was when he made his decision. He could let the world march to death, destruction, and hatred, or he could remain quiet and let his own politics trump scholarship. He could let the haters run wild, or he could check them before they gained a foothold. Maybe it was the work of God.