The Templar Concordat

by Terrence O'Brien

  But, more important, it meant Callahan could come and go as he pleased and wouldn’t be subjected to the security scrutiny at all the hotels. The Saudis didn’t care what happened inside the compounds.

  “Now that should work out just fine,” said Callahan. “Can you get me a car with a sticker for the camp?”

  “No problem. You can use a new Chevy Impala we have. Good car. It has all the Aramco stickers, so you just drive through the guard stations.”

  When they cleared the last of the Saudi causeway border checks, they were in Khobar, a town of about fifty thousand that shared the Dhahran Plateau with Aramco, the Dhahran Air Base, the US Consulate, and the King Fahd University of Mining and Petroleum.

  “Feel like home?” DuBois grinned.

  “Don’t even joke,” said Callahan.

  Dhahran - Friday, May 1

  Father Geraldo Berrera hurried down King Abdul Aziz Street in Khobar and turned up Fourth Street to the Taj Mahal restaurant. Indians and Filipinos dominated the area, and few Saudis dared to come there after dark. The last several days were the strangest of his life. How much stranger can it get?

  He had been an underground Catholic priest in Saudi for the past five years, working as a contract electrician for Aramco. The Saudis just saw another craftsman, and as long as he did his job well, he had a secure position.

  But his real job, his calling, was ministering to the largely Catholic Filipino population, and in Saudi Arabia that often went far beyond spiritual welfare. He joked the Church followed them everywhere, since God didn’t really care about borders, police, or visas.

  Saudi Arabia hosted five hundred thousand Filipinos, he thought, working as engineers, dental assistants, plumbers, unskilled laborers, electricians, carpenters, drivers, mechanics, accountants, and retail clerks. These were his people. The Saudis could do none of this work themselves, even if they wanted to, since their culture looked down on manual labor, and they never developed the skills themselves. The Filipinos and millions of Indians did all that for them.

  He went up the stairs of the Taj Mahal two at a time and asked the Indian waiter if Mr. Jones had arrived. The waiter shrugged and pointed him to Callahan’s table at the back of the restaurant, overlooking the street. He approached the table. “Excuse me, Sir. Are you the gentleman with the Land Cruiser for sale?”

  Callahan looked up. “No, no. It’s a Nissan, not a Land Cruiser.”

  With identities established, Berrera took a seat and studied the American. He was about forty, average size, and slimmer than most, like a runner. But he also looked like he regularly trained. He looked like a soldier without the buzz cut.

  “Thank you for coming, Father…”

  Berrera stopped him. “Just call me Berrera, please, I’d rather stay out of jail.” He gave a twisted smile and looked around. “It’s habit. You never let your guard down around here.”

  “My mistake, Berrera. I’m Sean Callahan.” He picked up a menu and flipped the pages. “So, just what did they tell you, Berrera?”

  Ah, now we probe to find out who knows what. “What did they tell me? A Filipino superior told me a very strange story and said I would be working with you on a mission.”

  Callahan nodded. “Go on.”

  “He said I cooperate, do whatever you want, help in any way I can, and consider your mission to be my mission and my only mission. He said we were under the personal orders of the Holy Father, and the Holy Father personally sanctioned whatever we have to do.”

  The waiter came over and Callahan ordered a chicken dish. Berrera went for the kabobs and yogurt.

  “Did your superior provide any details?” Callahan asked.

  “No, and I doubt he knows them. But he did say he had personally spoken to the Holy Father. Otherwise, I don’t think I would believe it.”

  “Do you have any military experience?”

  “Philippine Marine Corps… five years… mostly in the south… against the communists.”

  Callahan raised an eyebrow. “And then?”

  “And then I left and joined the Church. That was fifteen years ago.”

  “Have you been following the news about the Treaty of Tuscany?”

  “Yes. Of course. The last I heard, the Pope had selected his experts to sit on the panel that would evaluate the treaty.”

  “What do you think? About the treaty?”

  “It’s a fake. Al Dossary’s just trying to fool the Arabs so they will follow him. They love a conspiracy, and think the whole world is out to get them. He’s just stringing them along.”

  Callahan took a drink of iced tea. “Well, he’s not. Al Dossary is telling the truth, the treaty is real, and the experts will all agree it is real. Two Popes signed it in 1189. Believe it. The Pope does. That’s why we’re here. That’s why he spoke to your superior.”

  Callahan finished off a chicken leg and continued. “He did lie about finding it in a parking lot excavation. It was stolen from the Vatican Library when St. Peter’s was bombed on Easter.”

  Berrera was astonished. “They killed all those people to steal a treaty? Killed a thousand people?”

  “We’re not sure. Maybe. But it could also be two groups were at work. Maybe one planned the bombing, and the other just took advantage of it.” Callahan wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed his plate back. “I don’t care. They’re all the same to me.”

  Berrera said nothing, just carefully broke a cracker from a basket the waiter had left.

  “The treaty is sitting in a villa down the road here toward Abqaiq.” He hooked a thumb to the south. “About forty miles down the road, on the beach. Hammid Al Dossary’s place, or maybe his father’s. I don’t know. Big estate. Walls, garden, the works.”

  Now Berrera’s eyes widened and he stopped chewing. “And that means…”

  “That means we are going to that villa and we’re going to screw up Al Dossary’s plans. It means we go in, replace the treaty with another one I have with me, and get out without anyone shooting us. It means I need your help to do it, and,” he paused, “the Pope needs both of us.”

  Callahan watched a tight smile spread across Berrera’s face, and saw his fist tapping gently on the table top. “It means the Church is fighting back against these people? It has really decided to fight? For real?”

  Callahan leaned back. He had the right guy. He knew it. “For real, Berrera. Pope Dominic has had enough of their crap. He’s a tough guy from Mexico. He’s tired of bombs in churches, and he’s not going to let a bunch of terrorists use that treaty to rally their people against the Church.” He took another drink. “This is a different kind of Pope. He’s a fighter.”

  Now Berrera was grinning widely. “Thank God for that. That’s the best news I have heard in a very long time.” He lifted his glass of tea. “Let’s go get them, Callahan. Let’s go get them.” Callahan lifted his own iced tea in a toast.

  London - Saturday, May 2

  CNN has learned the teams of experts have now taken samples of the Treaty of Tuscany to three different sites where laser examination will determine its age. We go now to CNN’s Bear Donner in London.

  Thank you, Peter. I’m here outside the famed British Museum in London with Dr. Patrick Mulroony of the Kruger Institute. Dr. Mulroony is one of the experts selected by the Vatican to examine the treaty.

  CNN: Tell us, Dr. Mulroony, exactly what you hope to accomplish with the laser examination here at the museum?

  Mulroony: Quite simply, we will determine the age of the treaty parchment to within twenty years.

  CNN: And why is the age of the paper important?

  Mulroony: Well, it would be highly unlikely a treaty written in 1189 would use parchment produced after 1189. I know it’s a challenge, but think on it a bit.

  CNN: Then you’re saying this test will determine the age of the paper.

  Mulroony: Yes, yes. Very good.

  CNN: Now, can you tell us a bit about the make-up of your team?

  Mulroony: We have three
teams at three different laser testing sites. London, Geneva, and Tokyo where this technology was developed. Each team has three members. One member chosen by Mr. Al Dossary, one by the Vatican, and one by the joint selection.

  CNN: So, each team is equally weighted.

  Mulroony: Yes, yes.

  CNN: Now we also have heard each team member has his own sample for testing?

  Mulroony: Yes, yes. Each of us took a small bit of the treaty. We snipped them off ourselves. Testing doesn’t take that much. So, our team here will test three samples, and we expect the same results from all three samples.

  CNN: So, with three teams at three centers, will a total of nine samples be tested?

  Mulroony: Yes, yes. Nine samples in all, and the results for all nine should be very close, very close, indeed.

  CNN: Why is this the first test being conducted?

  Mulroony: Well, there’s no point in doing anything if the age isn’t right. If the samples fail this test, the treaty is a hoax. If they pass, then we have reason to conduct further examination of content, ink, scrollwork, wording, calligraphy… so many other indicators of authenticity.

  CNN: If the samples pass the laser testing, what will the next step be?

  Mulroony: Then it’s back to Cairo for a more detailed look at the actual treaty. You see, if the samples pass the laser testing, we are well on our way to authentication. This test here is the first and highest hurdle. No room for subjective judgment here. It’s all physics.

  CNN: Do you, Dr. Mulroony, think the treaty is authentic?

  Mulroony: Now, how on Earth would I know? That’s what we are here to determine.

  CNN: And what if the samples differ from each other by say, a few hundred years?

  Mulroony: Oh, then we have a problem, a very big problem. But let’s not worry about that unless we have to.

  There you have it, Peter. With the world watching, the tests begin tomorrow, and we should have results in three days. This is Bear Donner, CNN International, London.

  * * *

  The Marshall stopped the Templar Master outside a meeting room in the second sublevel of the bank. “How did you get the Archivist on that committee?” he asked.

  The Master shrugged. “I didn’t. It’s an act of God. The Vatican polled the best historians at the best universities, and half of them nominated our own beloved Archivist.”

  The Marshall frowned. “Well, it smells like something you’d fix.”

  “I swear to God.” The Master mocked, placing a hand over his heart. “I thought about it. I admit that, but couldn’t figure how to do it. If I got the Pope to do it, the Vatican selection committee would know there was a fix, and somebody would surely leak it.”

  “Does the Pope know Patrick’s a Templar?”

  “No. He thinks he’s a renowned scholar who heads up the renowned Kruger Institute.”

  “He’s really that good?”

  The Master shook his head. “I’m afraid he is. Remember, we know Patrick from our Templar operations, the acrobat with the knives who knows everything. But the rest of the world knows him as a historian. God knows it’ll be living hell when he gets back here and rubs our nose in it.”

  “What’s he going to do? Can he fix the test?”

  “We talked about that. There’s not much chance he can fix the test, with nine experts, nine samples, and three locations. He’s just going to play it by the book. Make sure the tests for his team are accurate and done properly. If some chance comes up to nudge things our way, well, he’s there.”

  “I suppose our scheme will have maximum impact if the treaty does pass the tests.”

  “You’re right about that. We have a low probability of success, but a high impact if we succeed. What do you hear from Callahan?”

  “He’s down there, in place,” said the Marshall, “recruiting the Filipino help you and the Pope arranged. We’re arranging for guns and other hardware.”

  “Hmph. Well, give him anything he wants.”

  “Pray for luck,” said the Marshall. “Pray for luck.”

  * * *

  The Pope leaned back and looked at names of the three scholars the Vatican had chosen to examine the treaty. He didn’t recognize any of the three names, but did recognize Harvard and Cambridge. But what was the Kruger Institute? He Googled it and got thousands of hits, and its own website was impressive.

  Zurich, he thought. Is it possible? Templars? Was he seeing Templars everywhere now? Snap out of it, Pedro. Paranoia is not attractive.

  “Carlos, put out a directive that nobody from the Vatican has any contact with these three guys. Not even a wave in the street. If they call, hang up. Nothing. I want this done right.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dhahran - Friday, May 3

  Fixing the broken Triad software at Aramco was easy since it wasn’t broken, but Callahan and DuBois tinkered and checked screens to make it look good. Callahan left Dubois at the office and told him he was off to see about securing the contract with Saad Al Gamdi. Dubois just shook his head.

  He drove south from Dhahran along the Riyadh highway, then turned east toward the gulf, moving at normal speed past Hammid Al Dossary’s villa. Some new developments had sprung up along the shore since his last drive down here a few years before, but there was still only one road leading in there from the main highway.

  He was heading back to Dhahran when Berrera called. “I have someone we should talk to. Better set aside a few hours tonight.” If Berrera didn’t know everyone in the Filipino community, he knew someone who did, and Callahan hoped he had some good intelligence.

  When he arrived at the cramped third floor Khobar walk up Berrera shared, Berrera introduced him to another Filipino who sat at the small table drawing with a pencil and ruler.

  “This is a friend,” said Berrera, “who worked on the construction of the villa we talked about. No names. You can trust him.”

  The other man barely glanced up, and kept his head down working on the drawing. “He’s drawing a layout of the house from memory. Three floors, courtyard, utilities, water.” Callahan pulled up a stool and silently watched the work.

  “Did he ever work there after it was occupied?” Callahan asked. Berrera asked a quick question in Filipino.

  The man looked at Callahan. “Work building only. Nobody live house when I work. Sorry.”

  Callahan leaned over and traced his finger around the outside of the walls on the drawing. “What is out here? Trees? Dunes?”

  “Small hills. Hills soft sand.” He waved his hand from left to right indicating a wavy terrain. “Between hill hard sand.” He knocked his knuckles on the table.

  “And here.” He drew a line from north to south on the east side of the house. “Here wadi. One meter… two meter deep. Maybe three meter across.”

  “Windows?” Callahan asked.

  The man sat back and studied the drawings for each floor. He darkened sections of the walls where he remembered windows, then cross-hatched some of them. “These.” He pointed to the hatched areas. “Big window door. Move to side.”

  “Sliding glass doors,” Callahan mumbled.

  “Anything else?” Berrera looked at Callahan.

  “No.” Callahan moved the three pages next to each other. “No. This is very good.” He extended his hand to the man who had risen from the table. “Thank you very much, Sir. This is a great help.”

  Berrera walked the man to the door speaking quietly in Filipino. Berrera laid his hand on his shoulder and the man crossed himself quickly before sliding out the door.

  “Nervous?” Callahan nodded to the door.

  “Sure he’s nervous. He could lose his job, go to jail, or worse. Asians don’t have the privileges Americans have in the Kingdom. You guys get a slap on the wrist, letter to the file. At worst, you get deported. But us? We get our asses kicked in the basement of the police station, a year in jail, and then we get deported.”

  “Can he keep quiet?”

  “Oh, he’ll
keep quiet. Don’t worry.”

  Callahan decided not to pursue it. He stared at the drawings. If I had the treaty, he thought, where would I keep it? Where would Hammid keep it?

  “Trying to figure out where the treaty is?” asked Berrera.

  “Yeah, but it’s just a guessing game. We need better intel. We need to go down there and do a recon.”

  Berrera sat down at the table with Callahan. “I’m trying to find who does the gardening, maintenance, cooking… all that stuff. It’s either Filipinos or Indians. Maids or cooks would probably live there and be harder to get to, but the outside people would be driven in every day. I’ve called another priest who works in Abqaiq. He said he’d ask around quietly.”

  “Think you can find someone?”

  “Oh, yeah. We’ll find them. That’s how we survive. Sticking together.”

  Callahan kept looking at the drawings and the Google Earth printout he had brought with him. “You know, I think we’ll need three people. Two to go in and one on the outside for cover and recon.”

  Berrera drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah.” Callahan thought he seemed uneasy. “I have a man. Take my word that he’s good, very, very good. And he’d be perfect for this.”

  Tread softly on this, thought Callahan. A priest had all kinds of confidences he couldn’t reveal. Confession? Counseling? Third party? “I’ll respect your judgment, Berrera. Perhaps he and I could have a private talk? He could tell me what he chooses?”

  Berrera nodded. “That’s reasonable. Like I said, he’s very good, but I doubt he’d do it unless he knows what I know. He’s not only good, but he’s very smart. He won’t go as a hired gun.” He looked up at Callahan. “That’s a decision you have to make.”

  “And one I couldn’t make until we met.”

  “Agreed. Do I set it up?”

  “Set it up.”