The Templar Concordat

by Terrence O'Brien

  “What do you mean?” asked Hammid.

  “Well, suppose somebody forged a treaty in 1189, forged the names of Popes and kings, forged royal seals, and passed it as real? Suppose he got caught. And suppose there was a record? And suppose the Vatican has the record?”

  “But the histories say nothing about that.” Hammid aimed finger at Zahid. “You assured me.”

  “Correct. And would an attempted forgery by some conman be of any real historical significance, especially if the forger was caught and hanged? Nobody would care. It would all be forgotten in a few years. Things happen all the time that never make it into histories.”

  “How can you be sure of this?”

  “Sure? I can’t be sure. I’m just guessing about the Pope’s confidence.”

  “But the treaty passed all the tests,” Hammid protested.

  “Sure it did. If someone in 1189 had forged it, he would have used paper and ink from 1189, and seals from 1189, and names from 1189. Suppose I forged a letter from you today. I’d use paper from today, ink from today. In a thousand years it would pass all the tests saying it came from today. But it would still be a forgery.”

  Hammid stood up and leaned his elbows on the balcony railing. “Think the Pope might be setting a trap? Make us look like fools? He might be sitting on his own balcony laughing at us?”

  Zahid shrugged. “I’m not psychic. I’m just saying what is possible, and how it might be possible.”

  Hammid tossed the remains of his drink off the balcony, then threw the glass after them. “Well, he’s up to something. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so confident. He knows we have the treaty. He knows what it says. He knows it is real. Why all the insults and challenges if he knows he can’t back them up? That press conference was carefully planned. What’s wrong with him?”

  Zahid folded his arms, gazed up at the stars, then back at Hammid. “Listen, Hammid, you can never, ever underestimate the Vatican. They will do anything, and it’s no accident they have survived 2,000 years. They have records and archives nobody outside of their inner circle is even aware of. They are not cataloged, circulated, or subject to academic investigation. The secret Archives are just what the name says. Secret. This treaty probably comes from them, and just got shuffled along the wrong path and ended up in our hands when they reorganized. A mistake.”

  Zahid rolled his cold Coke between his palms. “On the other hand, maybe he’s just bluffing. The problem is we don’t know.”

  “Bluffing? That doesn’t make sense. He thinks we’re afraid of his bluster? How could anyone think that?”

  “I can’t tell you, my friend. I don’t know his mind. I deal with history and old documents. You deal with today’s politics.”

  “Hmmph. Don’t forget this old treaty is today’s politics.”

  Politics, thought Zahid, how could he ever get away from it? Its poisonous tentacles kept growing, entangling, and choking everything decent. He took a seat and watched Hammid’s back. The Pope had genuinely rattled him. He just wasn’t playing the part Hammid had written for him. Someone had once said the mark of a leader was how he dealt with uncertainty, and Hammid seemed to be wavering.

  “Something else.” Zahid waved a finger. “This is a different Pope. He grew up in the slums of Juarez in Mexico, slipped across the border every day for twelve years to go to American schools in El Paso, fought in the American Marine Corps during Viet Nam, and used the money the US military gave him to go to college. Only then did he join the Church. Then he fought corruption, drug cartels, and organized crime in Mexico and managed to stay alive. Never underestimate him.”

  “So what? I don’t care about his poor Mexican childhood.”

  “You should care because he’s the toughest enemy you have. The other recent Popes would try to pray with you. This guy will rip your throat out.” How far he could push Hammid, he wondered. The Pope was far tougher than Hammid, and Hammid probably knew it.

  Hammid spun and pointed a finger at Zahid. “Well, I’m not afraid of him. Continue as planned. I don’t care what the Pope does.”

  At least he had made a decision, thought Zahid. “Ok. You want to take it public in Cairo? At the university?”

  “Yes. Yes, we have no choice.”

  * * *

  And this just in to CNN… Hammid Al Dossary has responded to yesterday’s Vatican denial of the existence of the Treaty of Tuscany by pledging to allow scientists from around the world to examine the treaty at the University of Cairo. We go now to Greg Conrad in Cairo… Greg, what can you tell us?

  Thanks, Tom… We’re here as you can see behind me, at the sprawling campus of one of the Islamic world’s largest universities, and it is here that Hammid Al Dossary announced today that he will allow a select group of scientists to examine the Treaty of Tuscany to determine its authenticity.

  Now, this is a big departure from his other recent statements when he would not commit to when or where he would allow access to the treaty. Sources tell us that he has proposed an international committee composed of nine experts, three to be chosen by Al Dossary, three to be chosen by the Vatican, and another three to be chosen by the first six. So, Al Dossary’s choices would get together with the Vatican choices, and select another three. That would be a committee of nine, Tom.

  We can’t help but wonder if the strong denunciation of the treaty and Al Dossary yesterday by the Vatican has prompted this latest move by Al Dossary. Also, we have no indication yet about whether the Vatican will participate in the investigation. This is Greg Conrad in Cairo.

  Philippines - Tuesday, April 28

  The Templar Master picked up the phone and called Carlos Perez. “Carlos? Pierre LeBlanc here. Is he available?”

  “No, but I bet he’ll make an exception. Hold a minute.”

  The Pope came on the line. “Pierre, what can I do for you?”

  “Remember the remedial treaty plan we talked about?”

  “Yes,” answered the Pope, “of course I remember.”

  “We need your help.”

  After the Master explained what he wanted, the Pope said, “I think you’re crazy, but I sure don’t have a better idea. Carlos will let you know who to contact when it’s set up.”

  * * *

  Bishop Reyes put the phone back in its cradle and scratched his head. The Pope? Calling him? He wasn’t a cardinal. He wasn’t an archbishop. He wasn’t really anyone important. When he looked at the hundred Filipino bishops, he ranked so far down he looked up at everyone.

  The Pope asked him for a favor, asked him to trust him, and asked that he never mention it to a soul. And he said he would be sure to remember the favor. Remember? Favor? Hmm. Archbishop Reyes? Cardinal Ryes? He liked the sound of that.

  But Reyes did control the priests who slipped into Saudi Arabia with the hundreds of thousands Filipino construction, technical, and professional workers who kept the Kingdom running. He sent electricians, engineers, carpenters, drivers, and heavy equipment workers to the labor contractors who supplied the Saudis with workers. They were all good workers, but were also priests, and their primary mission was ministering to the Filipino workers in the Kingdom. And these priests knew everything that went on in the Filipino community in Saudi Arabia.

  “Where’s Father Berrera?” he asked his assistant. “He was in here this morning. When does he return to Saudi?”

  “Tomorrow,” said his assistant. “He’s running around doing visas, tickets, family, cars, banks, clothes, doctor. All that good stuff.”

  “Well, find him. That’s your number one priority. Call him, hunt him down if you have to, get everyone here after him, call out the dogs, call the police, do whatever you have to, but get him in here. I don’t care what time of the day or night. Get him in here. Go.”

  Vatican - Thursday, April 30

  “I want the best.” Agretti cringed as the predator came out in the pacing Pope again. “If we pick three experts for the panel, then we pick the best, the very best. I don’t care if the
y are Catholics, Jews, Hindus, Atheists, or rodeo clowns. I don’t care where they come from, as long as they are the best.”

  The president of the Vatican Pontifical College frowned. ”Holiness, we have an excellent group of scholars here, in the College and library.”

  The Pope glared at him. “I know that. Did you hear what I said? I said I want the best. Are they better than anyone else in the world?”

  “Holiness,” said Agretti, “have you decided to send three experts to Al Dossary’s treaty circus? Is it really dignified for you to nominate a panel of experts to sit with Muslims and secularists?”

  The Pope stopped pacing and leaned on the table facing Agretti. This was the worm who had betrayed him, but there was no reason to let him know he had been caught. Better to pretend he was still ignorant of the treaty. “No, I haven’t decided. And no, there is no loss of dignity involved in speaking either to Muslims or secularists. But if I do decide to nominate them, I want them ready. I want to know who they are.”

  He looked at the five faces in the room. “I don’t want the three best Catholic experts in the world. I don’t want the three best Christian experts in the world. I want the three best experts. Period. Is that too hard to understand?”

  “I think we understand, Holiness,” said Bishop Gustuv. “You have a gift for direct communication that is refreshing around here.” He gave a sideways glance at Agretti. “I suggest we poll the history departments at major European and American universities. Ask each for three nominations from outside their own institutions, and see if there is an emerging consensus on a few.”

  “Of course,” said Agretti, “some people might not want to serve on such a panel.”

  “I don’t give a damn!” The Pope turned on Agretti. “Get the best.”

  “We understand, Holiness,” said Gustuv. “If that’s all, we should get to work. I would estimate we can have a list of nominations in two days.” He looked at the others. “That sound reasonable?”

  They all nodded.

  “Good. So, let’s get it done,” said the Pope.

  After they left, Carlos said, “You think you’re really going to do it?”

  The Pope grabbed a Coke from a cooler he had installed in a cherry wood cabinet. “If I had to bet my own money, I’d say yes. I’m not sure we have an alternative. We challenge him and he accepts. We can’t scurry off now and concede to Al Dossary.”

  “And what happens when you get these three best experts and then all nine say the treaty is real? You know that’s going to happen.”

  The Pope popped the top of the Coke and held it aside as it overflowed on the magnificent carpet. He jumped up and grabbed a towel from the adjacent bathroom. “I’ll probably get billed for this rug if I ruin it.” He dropped to his knees and started sopping up the Coke.

  “I’ve thought a lot about your question, Carlos.” He looked up from the floor. “If everyone says the thing is real, then we stand up and face the music. We denounce the treaty, denounce the two Popes who made it, denounce the kings who signed it, and denounce the doctrine of papal infallibility. We stand and refuse to be dominated by ancient hatreds, superstition, and stubborn pride.”

  Carlos brought another towel and took the wet one away. “I’m not sure they can dock your pay. I don’t even know if you get paid.”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t got a check yet.”

  “You know,” said Carlos, “dumping infallibility will probably cause a split in the Church. The modernists will all line up with you, and the traditionalists and conservatives will be on the other side.”

  The Pope got up and threw the towel through the bathroom door. “Yeah, I know. Maybe they’ll elect Agretti for their Pope. Won’t be the first time there have been two. Anyway, there are only two other alternatives. One, I stand up in the face of all modern science and scholarship, hold my breath until I turn blue, and insists the treaty is a hoax because I say so and I can’t be wrong. That will destroy what little credibility we have. The other alternative is to say those two idiot Popes were right and God wants Muslims wiped out. And that’s just plain stupid. And either of those alternatives will drive away anyone with half a brain.”

  “I wonder if the building holding the treaty might have an unfortunate fire. Someone smoking in bed? Gas leak? Earthquake? Asteroid?”

  “Good idea. But then the world would pin it on us in a heartbeat.”

  “Boss, if we can’t win playing by the rules, then we just have to change the rules. You taught me that.”

  The Pope laughed for the first time that day. “I sure can’t argue with that.” And if the Templars’ harebrained scheme works, we just might. But you don’t need to know that, Carlos. Nobody does.

  “I think,” said Carlos, “that’s what the Americans call Hobson’s Choice. All your choices suck, and you have to pick one.”

  * * *

  CNN has learned the Vatican has accepted Hammid Al Dossary’s offer to select three experts to examine the Treaty of Tuscany. Today Vatican spokesman Father Luc Girard announced three scholars had been selected. They are Harvard Professor John Granville, Cambridge Professor Henry Greene, and Dr. Patrick Mulroony of the Kruger Institute in Zurich.

  Sources tell CNN all three men are preeminent historians and recognized experts in paleography, which is the study of historical documents and manuscripts.

  These three will join three selected by Al Dossary, and then those six will select three more, for a total of nine. Al Dossary has selected Cairo University Professor Ahmed Al Qatani, Cambridge Professor Abdul Zawari, and University of Karachi Professor Mohamed Harketi.

  Dhahran - Friday, May 1

  “I never do get used to it. It’s welcome back to the Tenth Century.” Callahan watched the flat waters of the Arabian Gulf under the twenty mile causeway connecting the small island of Bahrain to Saudi Arabia.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Claude DuBois, the Triad International manager for the Aramco contract in Saudi Arabia. “Like we are falling down a time tunnel, and keep falling.” DuBois had met Callahan’s flight from Paris at the Manama airport.

  “Yeah, that’s a good way to put it.” They had passed through the three Bahraini border checks, and now faced the seven Saudi checks on the causeway.

  “Your multiple reentry visa for Saudi is Ok?” asked Dubois.

  “It’s good. Paris insists I keep it up to date so I can get in here whenever they need me to.” Only workers and their dependents were allowed into the country. No tourists.

  “Well, on that subject,” said DuBois, “can you tell me why Paris ordered me to sabotage our own Triad software so you can fix it? Everything was working perfectly.”

  Callahan laughed. “Let’s say it’s their new business development program. It’s kind of strange, really.” DuBois stopped for the first Saudi check where he handed both passports to the guard at the window.

  When they proceeded on, Callahan continued. “They want to land a contract with ALK, the big Saudi construction outfit. They’re doing a lot of the stuff in Dubai.”

  “So they think breaking our software in Aramco will help that? Screw up the biggest contract in the country to get a new one?”

  “No, they just wanted an excuse to get me in here quickly. I know the owner’s son from London, a guy named Saad Al Gamdi. They think I can get to him in their Dammam headquarters, and push the contract toward us and screw the Americans.”

  Dubois swore in French. “It was your idea to break the system?”

  “My idea? Hell, no. They just told me they screwed the system so I could bring the ‘updated software’ down here and fix it. Then I hang around and pretend I’m babysitting it while I work on the ALK contract.” He snorted. “If you have a problem with Paris, take it up with Paris. I’m not even French. I don’t think that way.”

  Dubois shook his head. “Idiots. What software did you bring? There is no update.”

  “I know. It’s the same stuff you already have. We just load it up, loo
k concerned, and watch it perform perfectly, just like it used to.”

  Callahan liked DuBois and didn’t like lying to him, but DuBois wasn’t a Templar. He was a highly skilled systems engineer and manager in Triad’s legitimate software business, and Callahan understood he didn’t like people messing with his contract. Callahan sure didn’t want anyone messing with his legitimate software jobs.

  He also neglected to tell DuBois about the forged treaty sandwiched between sample pages of different colored fonts in one of his software documentation notebooks.

  “Ok.” DuBois sighed. “What do I know?”

  “Where are you putting me this time, Claude? Hotel in Khobar?”

  “No. No. We’ve moved up. There’s empty space on the Dhahran Aramco camp and you’re in bachelor quarters. I told them we needed you near the computers. They don’t care. With so many Americans gone, there’s lots of space on camp.” Now they had progressed to the fourth Saudi checkpoint on the causeway where a van was being taken apart by Indian mechanics because a guard thought it might be hiding drugs.

  “I don’t know if you remember,” Claude continued, “but there’s a four story apartment building right across from the baseball field. Inside the camp. You can walk to the office. The rest of us are a few blocks away.”

  That should work just fine, Callahan thought. The sprawling Aramco compound was headquarters for the biggest oil company in the world, and once housed ten thousand expatriate workers and their families. The Americans had built it before the Saudis bought the company from them in 1987. It actually looked like a transplanted Southern California housing development. It had single-family houses, schools, golf course, movie theater, grocery store, flower shop, snack bars, bowling alley, and post office. It was a sanctuary where the Westerners could live their own lifestyle without colliding with the far stricter Wahabbi Muslim customs in the rest of the country.

  Almost all expatriates lived in one or another compound. Dhahran Aramco was the largest, but the country was dotted with many smaller walled compounds where the Westerners lived. The Saudis were happy since they didn’t have to deal with the cultural pollution of the West, and the Westerners were happy because the last thing they cared about was Muslim mores and dress codes.