The Templar Concordat

by Terrence O'Brien

  He was still looking at the guide when DeLarossa passed him. DeLarossa looked at the book, and cocked questioning eyebrow. The Watcher shrugged, DeLarossa shrugged, and they continued in opposite directions.

  The Watcher reported to control through the wireless Bluetooth earpiece he wore. He knew something had gone bad. Wrong target? Mistaken identity? He didn’t know, and continued slowly making his way down the street in the direction of the café. People were now running by him, but he was able to see the woman jump the fence and run. No way could he keep up with her on foot. Her feet hardly touched the ground. The Arab she was with slipped across the street with a briefcase and went up a cross street. Then control said the woman was the priority, so he dropped the walker, kept the camera bag, and hopped on his Vespa by the curb.

  The Watcher followed her down the avenue for half a block, then around a corner. He was about half a block back, with enough people on the street that he didn’t have any problem staying out of sight. He relayed his progress to the controller, and was told to watch for two men on a motorcycle and call them on his cell phone. When the motorcycle shot by he called the number control had given him.

  * * *

  Callahan sat on the back of a Ducati Hypomotard 1100 street racer being driven by a maniac. He hated motorcycles. A broken wrist from his first ride still ached in the cold. But the maniac managed to keep them alive every time Callahan saw death ahead. When they neared the area, they fell in behind a speeding police car and let it lead the way.

  The controller told him over his Bluetooth earpiece that the target was down, a Watcher on a Vespa was tailing the woman, and backup Templar cars were looking for the man. Callahan said he would take the woman, and left control to coordinate efforts on the Arab.

  The Watcher called a few seconds later and gave him the location of the woman. Callahan told him to maintain surveillance while he and the motorcycle driver came into position.

  The driver slowed when Callahan tapped on his helmet. They pulled into an alley while he explained the situation, then they went back the way they had come, spotted the Watcher, and saw the woman at the next intersection. They circled the block so he could fall in behind her as she entered the next intersection. He slipped off the motorcycle, told the driver to let the controller know he and his bike were available, and took up the chase on foot.

  The woman came to the intersection and waited patiently for the red light. He moved up behind her, got a good look at her, and looked at her ankle as he crossed the street with her. The frog tattoo looked back at him. She was probably in her late thirties, and in excellent shape. Runner? Gym rat? He dropped back so she didn’t get a good look at him, and called Mancini asking for more help so their quarry didn’t get away. They were not prepared to take her off a crowded street, and they would like to see where she went before taking the next steps. Callahan was walking behind the only lead they had in the bombing of St. Peter’s and the confusing library theft.

  Chapter Six

  Rome - Thursday, March 26

  Fifty euros to a hotel bell boy bought Jean’s name, Jean Randolph from London. Another fifty to the same bell boy determined she had checked in on Friday, March 20, two days before the Easter bombing and theft at the library.

  The Watcher at the café had about four good pictures of her at the table with the two Arabs. He gave the digital camera memory stick to the controller who had driven Callahan to the café area, and he ran it back to the warehouse.

  “Look like anyone we know? We know a Randolph in the business?” asked the Marshall.

  Six Templars gathered around the computer terminal looking at the picture of a healthy woman in her mid to late thirties. She had short brown hair, a narrow face, and an athlete’s slender build. Magnifying eyeglasses with square lenses sat on the tip of her nose, and she had a very serious expression.

  “Ok. Let’s find out who she is. We can’t make a decision about what to do with her until we know more.”

  A controller interrupted. “Sir, Callahan asked for backup at the hotel. I have two men and two women on the way.”

  “Ok. Get Callahan back here. I don’t want him hanging around there anymore.”

  He looked back at the picture of the woman on the screen. “Now that we have you, just who are you?”

  “Who, her?” said a new voice.

  The Marshall turned and saw a very attractive woman in an evening dress. Marie Curtis had come back from her successful mission. She had met her target at a casino the previous night, and made sure he never woke up the next morning.

  “That’s Jean Randolph. She’s at the University in London. Medieval history, and lots of cutting-edge work in manuscript verification. Also quite an artist in pen and ink and engraving. Lots of work in medieval calligraphy and using it in validating manuscripts. I think she had a show last month. She’s at the top of her field.”

  “And how do you know all that?” asked Mancini.

  “I do the same thing, Sir.”

  “Yes, yes, Marie.” The Marshall frowned at Mancini. “You must forgive our Italian friend here. He doesn’t know scholars can look that good in a dress.”

  Marie gave him a cold look. “The dress is a tool, Sir, just like a gun is a tool, and it worked. If I can help with her…” she pointed at the screen, “I’ll do what I can. What’s she done?”

  Mancini shrugged. “Callahan thinks she was one of the thieves who hit the Vatican Library when the bomb went off Sunday.”

  Marie was instantly alert. “Vatican Library? What thieves? What are you talking about? What did they take?”

  “You know,” answered Mancini. “I sent a report up to Zurich. We haven’t had much time to look into it, but Callahan took a look and he smells a rat. Something about a room with papal stuff from the Twelfth Century. He can fill you in.”

  What report? Was this what Callahan wanted to talk to her about? Her mind was racing. The Treaty of Tuscany. Hashashin. Vatican Library. Bombs. Thieves. And nobody was sounding the alarm about the treaty? Of course they weren’t. Why should they? They didn’t know. Zurich didn’t tell anyone. All Callahan knew was what the Hashashin in Costa Rica said. He didn’t know anything more, and there was no reason to connect the treaty with the Vatican Library. For all Callahan knew, the treaty was from the Italian Civil War. The whole thing was falling apart.

  Now the Marshall was giving her a strange look. “Talk to me later,” he whispered.

  The Marshall didn’t say anything about the treaty, so she just played along. “Well, that all fits together,” she said. “If Callahan is worried about a Twelfth Century collection, and thinks she might have been with the thieves, it makes sense. That’s her specialty. If you wanted an expert in the area, she would be among… Oh, maybe the top ten in the world?”

  Mancini didn’t know Marie and asked, “Help me out, Marie. Are you a historian?”

  She extended her hand to Mancini. “Yes. Marie Curtis. I took my doctorate in Medieval European history at Cambridge and now I’m with the Kruger Institute in Geneva. That’s a major private library and research center.”

  The Marshall turned to Mancini. “Dr. Curtis is from a Templar family, and works for the Templar Archivist. The Kruger Institute is Templar. Her normal duties are as a curator and scholar in residence at the Kruger, which is open to researchers from all over the world. She also does work in the Templar Archives, which are open to nobody.”

  He looked back at Marie. “Do you know this Jean Randolph personally?”

  “I took a few seminars with her when she visited Cambridge. I don’t know if she would remember me.”

  The Marshall dropped back into a chair for the first time that day, motioned for Marie to sit beside him, and spoke softly. “I didn’t know anything about this library theft. Not sure anyone in Zurich does, with the bomb and all that. First I’ve heard of it. You think this might be connected with that Treaty of Tuscany?”

  Marie shrugged. “It sure fits the profile. The Popes signed
it, the Vatican Library has lots of old Church stuff nobody knows about. If the Hashashin want to get it, they have to take it from somewhere. We’re lucky we tumbled to it. I can see where a theft at the library wouldn’t have very high priority with a thousand people dead from the bomb.”

  “Ok.” The Marshall nodded a few times. “Callahan’s on the way back. We can handle that gal he suspects. You two get on the library thing. It’s Ok to tell him everything about the treaty, but don’t tell anyone else. And keep us informed in Zurich. We almost missed this. We need to do better. Not your fault, but I don’t like playing catch up.”

  The Marshall slapped his knees and stood. “I want Callahan back here now,” he said to the controller. “Keep the Watcher on the Vespa and a taxi driver around the hotel in case they have to move.”

  The Marshall looked around the warehouse. “How long do we have this place, Mancini?”

  “We have a year lease, Sir. With an option for two more years.”

  “It’s a real dump, but I like it,” said the Marshall. “When I get back to Zurich, I’ll get the Master to have one of our companies buy it. But right now, let’s clear all this stuff out. We’re done with this mission. And it’s been a damn good one.”

  He waved an arm around the room. “All this stuff has to go. You computer geeks, destroy all the hard drives. Put brand new drives in. I don’t want any traces of anything. Then get all this stuff out of here. Clean up all these cables. Do whatever you have to do. I want it looking like the deserted, decrepit dump it is by the end of the day. No signs of life.”

  Rome - Friday, March 27

  Callahan came into room H21 in the Vatican Library and found Marie hunched over a table spread with brown manuscripts. She stuck a pencil in her hair when he entered and beamed at him.

  He closed the door and took a seat on a stool. “Just talked to Mancini. Your friend Jean Randolph is on a train back to London. They have two people tailing her, and they’ll switch tails a few times when the train stops at major stations.” He shrugged. “Her ticket is to London, but that doesn’t mean she’s going there.”

  “I bet she goes right back, Callahan. I mean, what’s to connect her to the bombing or the library? She doesn’t know we’re on her.”

  “I suppose, but Mancini says the Marshall wants to be sure she doesn’t jump on another train bound for God-knows-where.”

  He waved at the documents spread around the table. “How’s this going?”

  “This stuff is wonderful. I love it. I’ve talked to Bishop Santini about collaboration with the Kruger Institute. We have some materials that are complimentary, and I think we can do some first-class scholarship together.”

  Like a kid in a candy shop, thought Callahan. He picked up one of the papers on the table and looked it over.

  “Don’t touch that,” she snapped. “There’s no telling where your hands have been, and you can transfer oils to the page that will just accelerate its decay.”

  He dropped the page.

  “Here,” she reached over to a shelf and tossed him a pair of white cotton gloves. “And don’t pick up the pages. They can crack, they’re so old. I’ve been checking the drawers against the computer records.”

  “So you and Santini are getting along pretty well?”

  “Yes. He thinks you’re an ass. I didn’t argue. I think he called you an American policeman. Nothing to be gained there. The man is dedicated to this library, and I hope they make him Cardinal Librarian when they get a new Pope. He’s bringing it into the modern world.”

  “Well, good for him. I think you know what I think of him. How about that Treaty of Tuscany. Anything?”

  “Ah,” she said. “Watch and before your very eyes, the past will come alive.”

  She pushed her glasses up on her head and spun around on the stool to face him.

  “Well, first, there’s no entry in the system for Treaty of Tuscany. And none of the drawers have anything under that name. We don’t know. Maybe the thieves don’t even care about it, so we have to look at everything.

  “So, I looked, but I haven’t found anything here that would have that much value on the market. Also, there’s nothing I see that might be used as blackmail if it got out. Rumors are always swirling around about strange stuff hidden away in the Vatican. Anything from UFOs to Jesus’ wife and kids.”

  “So we got zilch.”

  “Not so fast.” She held up a hand. “They have the same library management system we use at the Kruger. Like any of these systems, it has all kinds of options. Each can be turned on or off for individual collections within the library. That makes sense because different areas have different needs.”

  Computers. This was Callahan’s area so he paid attention. “So what did you find here?”

  “Well, you gave me the timeline for Easter Sunday. When the bomb blew, when Santini used his card key to get in the door, when the Carabinieri found Santini handcuffed…”

  She got up and spun the computer screen around to face him. “Look at this. I did an inquiry for any computer entries for this collection on Sunday. It doesn’t track lookups, but it can track and timestamp any changes… any actual entries.”

  “A log file for new entries and updates?” asked Callahan.

  “Yes. But it’s turned off for this collection. Usually people wait until things get sorted out before tracking changes. There’s just so many at the beginning, that a log loses any meaning.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing at all. The log shows no entries.”

  “Ok, what’s your point?”

  “Remember, this isn’t just one system here. The tracking system is text based, and entries are logged to it. Then we have the imaging system… pictures… which is linked to it. They didn’t build a new imaging system when they put this together. They just licensed an existing imaging system that’s used by all sorts of industries for images and pictures, and linked it to the text based system. The users don’t see any difference. To them, it’s all one seamless system. Text and images all together.”

  Callahan saw where she was going. The text based system might have logging turned off, but that didn’t mean the automatic logging for the separate imaging system was turned off.

  Callahan pointed at the screen. “Unless you’re a computer geek, someone might look at this system, not realize it is really two independent systems linked together, two systems pretending to be one, and think logging is turned off for everything.”

  “Yes,” she said. “So I…”

  He cut her off. “Yeah, you accessed the imaging log. Right. You went straight to the image log.”

  “Right again, and guess what I found?” She turned to the computer and clicked the mouse a few times. “Treaty of Tuscany” appeared at the top of the screen. The image area below it contained a diagonal strip of letters that said, “Image Deleted.” “This image was deleted fifteen minutes after the Carabinieri found Santini.”

  “So, Santini came up here, deleted the entry for the Treaty of Tuscany, and he thought the log was turned off. But he didn’t know the image log was recording what he did. He’s handcuffed to a table, gets rescued, the Vatican just got bombed, dead and wounded people are all over the place, and the first thing the guy does is run up here and delete an entry for an old treaty?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “What’s he trying to hide?” asked Callahan. “Is the treaty so bad he wants to keep anyone from knowing it ever existed? Or is he too proud to acknowledge anything at all can be lost?”

  “From what the Templar Archivist told us in Zurich,” said Marie, “it probably is that bad. What’s he going to do? Tell the police two Popes, not one but two, infallibly said God wants Islam wiped out, and someone came in and stole their decree? How do you think that would play on the TV news?”

  “If it’s that bad, why keep the thing around?” Callahan waved at the drawers of manuscripts. “Why not just get rid of it if it’s that bad? I mean, what’s the good of keep
ing something in a library if nobody can look at it?”

  Marie looked around the room. “You know much about library management? I mean, how they run a place like this?”

  “I understand the software, but I don’t know anything about how they really utilize it or how they manage a collection.”

  “This is a sorting room here. Isn’t that what your security system called it, too? Anyway, this is where they take things when they have to figure out what to do with them. They usually bring the stuff in, sort it all out, then move it in one shot. So it’s all here for a while. The stuff in here has to be looked at to see how and where it fits. Maybe some of it doesn’t even belong in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Century Papal collection. They might…”

  “Are you trying to say,” Callahan interrupted, “that they might not know what they had?”

  “I don’t know. It happens in libraries all the time. And this is probably the oldest library in the world, oldest in the West at least.”

  “But someone put it in the computer and took an image.”

  “Sure they did. But the technicians’ job is to take pictures, enter the manuscripts into the computer, then put the originals in these drawers. They work much too fast to take the time to read everything. Much of what they deal with takes a long time for even an expert to get through.”

  “Bottom line,” said Callahan, “is we don’t know if they knew what they had. Maybe they didn’t.”

  “Right.”

  Marie punched the air. “But damn it, Callahan. We found this thing. Well, maybe we didn’t find it, but at least we know where it was. I’m going to call my boss, the Templar Chief Archivist.”

  “Ok. I’ll call the Marshall. Jean Randolph just got a lot more important, I think.”

  “We could always ask Santini about the treaty,” Marie said.

  “Sure we could, but if he’s trying to cover up, I’d rather know more than we do now before approaching him. Santini is smart, but like almost everyone in the world, he doesn’t really suspect how much he can be tracked by these computers. He thinks logging is turned off here, so there is no record. Right now, there’s no reason to let him know he’s wrong.”