The Simeon Scroll

by Neil Howarth

  “Sir,” An attendant leaned over him. “All cell phones must be switched off at this time.”

  The man held up a hand. “I have an urgent call I must make. It will only take a moment.”

  The attendant swiftly grabbed the phone from his hand. “Sir, these regulations are backed by international law.”

  “Give me that back.”

  “You may have your phone back when we land in Dubai.” The attendant turned and walked back down the plane.

  Fagan sipped his water as the aircraft moved out of sight. “That’s much better,” he said.

  He handed back the water bottle and pushed himself to his feet. The ground attendant grabbed his arm to help.

  “Can I get you a wheelchair?”

  “No,” Fagan smiled and shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  The waiting area was deserted as he emerged from the jetway, there was no sign of the cleaner. First objective achieved.

  He made his way back out into the main terminal and found the toilet he had used on the way in. He locked himself inside one of the stalls and quickly stripped out of his priestly garb, then opened his backpack and put on the jeans, tee shirt, and leather jacket he had worn earlier. He put on the hat and the dark glasses and emerged out into the terminal building.

  He made his way swiftly to the exit. Taxis lined the sidewalk as he stepped out. The roar of a motorcycle made him turn as a taxi pulled away and the bike swept in beside him. The cab behind honked its horn as Frankie pulled up her visor.

  “Any problems?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Come on,” she indicated with her thumb behind her.

  Fagan climbed on behind her and Frankie opened the throttle, and the bike roared off down the road.

  31

  The Vatican, Rome.

  Cardinal Vogler sat in the sunshine at a small table on the balcony outside his office, a silver coffee pot and a newly filled cup in front of him. He held his cellphone to his ear.

  “Monsieur De Vaux, you have to understand the Holy Father’s position on this. This is an extremely sensitive subject and needs to be handled with great delicacy.” Vogler tapped an elegantly manicured finger on the table. De Vaux had wasted no time in showing his displeasure at the Holy Father’s decision. The Cardinal had informed Father Muller barely an hour ago.

  De Vaux’s voice was calm on the other end of the line. “Of course your Eminence. But as you can understand, I just want this amazing discovery to be given its true prominence. I understand that the Holy Father is reaching out to other faiths and may see this as something of a barrier. But our faith and the truth must take priority.”

  “Monsieur De Vaux, the Holy Father is well aware of that. I can assure you I will do all I can to ensure that your discovery is afforded the prominence it deserves.”

  “Your Eminence, can we speak frankly? The Vatican can sit on this, suppress it, while the Holy Father pursues his impossible dream. Is this what the Curia wants? Is this what the Church wants? What will the Christian world say when they know this suppression is going on? Is this the ultimate politically correct action to satisfy an ever demanding Islam?”

  Vogler was well aware that De Vaux was pushing all the right buttons. He waited for De Vaux to finish. “I will speak to him. At least get him to agree to send a team of experts to begin the analysis.”

  “Your Eminence, I am afraid I cannot allow that. I am part of the congregation of the Church. I have dedicated my life to protecting it. Forgive me, but this is too important. I have to insist on behalf of the Foundation, first and foremost, we must have the Holy Father’s blessing, and the scroll’s acceptance into the Vatican. I will not see it sneaked in by the back door then buried in the Vatican archives. Secondly, no one will examine the scroll until we have the rules agreed on free access, there will be no lock-down on information. As a gesture to the Holy Father and his Reach-out program, the examination will be carried out by a multi-faith team of experts.”

  “Monsieur De Vaux, you put me in an extremely difficult position.”

  “I am sorry, your Eminence, but unfortunately I have no choice. The Foundation may bear my name, but I am not the only person who makes its decisions. I am under extreme pressure on this. Consider if the scroll was given to another Christian group, the Anglicans, or even the Evangelists? What would they do?”

  Vogler gripped the phone even tighter. “No, no. This document belongs to the Catholic Church.”

  “Then we are in agreement, and we are both aware that the Church’s very future is at stake. Look out there, scandal after scandal, crisis upon crisis, the congregation leaving in droves, and we are even struggling to find young men to enter into our seminaries. It is time to make a stand. But what are we doing? Frankly, I am not surprised by the Holy Father’s position, but I expected more from the Curia, more fight.

  I had put plans in place to get us at least to the analysis phase. I thought that is where the resistance would be. But - complete rejection. This causes me no little embarrassment, not that my personal feelings matter a jot in all this, but I am concerned for the reputation of the Foundation. We have arranged for grants to support the analysis team, and a set of special scholarships to allow a few of our most gifted students to participate. We even commissioned a master craftsman to hand carve a special cabinet to house and honor the scroll. In itself, it is a precious masterpiece, a work of art, the Foundation’s gift to honor an even greater gift. Even now it is on its way to you. What will I have them do, ship it back when it arrives at the Vatican? The Church is not accepting gifts this week.” De Vaux paused and took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Your Eminence. I allowed my emotions to take over for a moment.”

  That will be the day, Dominic, Vogler wanted to say, but instead, he said simply. “No matter. I understand, and I share your frustration. Just give me some time. And don’t worry, we will store the Foundation’s generous gift safely until we can work this out, which I’m sure we will.”

  “Your Eminence, forgive me again. I am sure I can depend upon you.”

  Cardinal Vogler hung up the phone. He knew that De Vaux was putting pressure on him, gently turning the screws. Everything that De Vaux had said would have been carefully thought out, even the emotional outburst. There were times when the De Vaux Foundation, and all its spin off organizations, acted as if they were the Church. The problem was, in this instance De Vaux was right. This was a problem that he, as the Protector of the Doctrine of the Faith, had to deal with, or some evangelistic preacher, with viewing figures in the millions, would be announcing the scroll’s discovery on live TV. And that could spell the beginning of the end for the Church he loved.

  He looked up as Father Mengen appeared at the door.

  “Your Eminence, Father Paul is here to see you.”

  Vogler waved a hand. “Send him in.”

  Mengen disappeared, and moments later Father Paul Brennan stepped out on to the balcony.

  “Paul, take a seat.”

  Brennan pulled out an ornate chair and sat down.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Thank you, no, Your Eminence. I just wanted to take a few moments of your time. As you know, I’m leaving at the end of the week. I just wanted a chance to say thank you for your generosity, and for giving me the experience of working here.”

  “I hope you learned something while you were here.”

  Brennan smiled. “Thank you, Your Eminence, I learned so much.”

  Vogler searched Brennan’s face, trying to look beyond the words, but Brennan was giving nothing away. “As you know, this is a busy time. I may not get the chance to see you again before you leave.” Vogler got to his feet and held out a hand. “I will wish you a safe journey, and may God go with you.”

  Brennan stood and took the Cardinal’s hand. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

  “I do have a final favor to ask,” Vogler said. “It seems the De Vaux Foundation is shipping us a gift. A delicate, hand carved ca
binet. I have a slight problem with their timing, but nevertheless, we must not offend the Church’s largest patron. Please arrange with the warehouse to store it somewhere, safely.”

  “Of course, your Eminence. I’ll deal with it immediately. And once again thank you.” Father Brennan leaned forward and lifted the Cardinal’s ruby ring to his lips, then turned and left.

  Vogler rubbed thoughtfully at his ring as he watched him go. What was it about this priest, this high flyer, this symbol of the new church? Whatever it was, he knew he would have to be careful with him.

  32

  Tivoli, Tiburtini Hills, Rome.

  They found Walter sitting at a table in the sunshine, with his face buried in a large chunk of Italian ciabatta. He had to struggle to chew it down before he could speak. “Sorry, I missed breakfast. So, how did it go?”

  “It all seemed pretty smooth.”

  “Good, now that we’ve got them looking in the other direction it’s time to make our move.”

  “And what move is that?”

  Walter picked up an iPad from the table. “I’ve been having a little cyberspace conversation with the travel agent at Brest Airport.”

  “You mean you hacked into it.”

  Walter shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “What did you find?” Frankie cut in.

  “I found air tickets for Brother Thomas, departing Brest via Paris. Four weeks ago.”

  “To where?”

  “Ben Gurion, Tel Aviv. Brother Thomas was in the Holy Land.”

  “Do you have any idea where he specifically went in the Holy Land?” Fagan asked.

  “Not yet, but maybe you should find out,” Walter said.

  “Me?” Fagan shook his head. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  Walter was smiling at him.

  “Oh no,” Fagan shook his head. “I can’t leave Rome, not right now.”

  “If you don’t leave Rome very soon, you’re likely to end up dead.”

  “Walter, don’t get carried away.”

  “Joseph, these people have tried to kill you once, and I don’t see any reason why they should stop until they have finished the job. Your only chance to stop this thing is to find out who is doing it and why. And this is the only lead we’ve got. If it all started with Brother Thomas, then maybe if we can find out why he was in the Holy Land, we can get some idea of what this is all about.”

  “It’s here I’m worried about, the threat to the Holy Father. We know the threat is inside the Vatican.”

  “We know?” Walter opened his hands in a questioning gesture.

  “Trust me, that’s where the main threat is, and that’s where he’s most vulnerable.”

  “Joseph, listen to me. You’re going to be no use to the Holy Father if you’re dead. Trust Commissario De Mateo to do his job. It seems to me you have two choices. You walk out that door and you start running, and you keep running. Or you find out what this is all about. And the only lead we have on that right now is in the Holy Land.”

  “But,” Fagan tried to protest,

  “No buts.” Walter cut him off. “Look, the Holy Father is in Milan today, and I don’t see how anyone could get past his security when he’s on the road. I promise I’ll go and see the Commissario first thing in the morning. I’ll tell him everything I know. Even about Julius Mengen. He’ll probably throw me in jail for it, but at least he’ll know.”

  Fagan gave a shrug of resignation. “Okay. So how do I do this?”

  “We have a small window of opportunity while they, whoever they are, are looking the other way. Even though they think you’re on a plane, you’d better stay away from the airport, and even the railway stations could be pretty hot - too much video surveillance. Whoever these people are they seem to have clout.”

  “I’m sure you’ve thought about that.”

  “You head south. The ferry from Brindisi leaves at seven o’clock. I’ll book you a ticket.”

  “To where?”

  “Patras, Greece. You can get a bus from there to Athens, and there’s a flight from Athens to Tel Aviv at seven o’clock tomorrow evening.”

  “Make that two tickets, Walter,” Frankie butted in.

  “Miss Lefevre, please,” Fagan said.

  “I would much prefer you called me Frankie.” She gave him a wicked smile. “After all, we virtually spent the night together.”

  “I’m serious, these are very dangerous people. They will kill anyone who gets in their way.”

  “I am well aware of that. Do you think I am a casual observer? These people murdered my brother and tried to do the same to me. Do you think I am any less marked than you? Do you think I have any more choice than you?”

  Walter looked at her, shock on his face, then across at Fagan.

  “Frankie.” Fagan nodded in acknowledgment of her request, and she gave him the smile again. “You could be more help from inside, you have contacts, access to resources.”

  “Joseph, my boss specifically told me to drop my investigation, even though I was doing it on my own time. Currently, he has no idea if I am dead or if I have gone rogue. If I go back there, at the very least I’ll be suspended, but he is more likely to throw me in jail or in some mental institution. Then what use will I be? And who is to say I would be safe there?”

  “This is still not a good idea.”

  She fixed him a steely look. “I am not asking. Besides, I spent time in Israel. I know people there, in my business.”

  “That would be the classified business.”

  “Do you want my help?”

  “Joseph,” Walter finally got to speak. “I think it’s about time you told me everything that’s going on here.” He glanced across at Frankie. “And I mean everything.”

  Fagan put an arm around Walter’s shoulder and walked him away from the table. “It’s complicated.”

  “Just who is she?” Walter said in a forced whisper.”

  “As she keeps telling me, it’s classified. What I do know is, her brother was a journalist, he was investigating the De Vaux International Foundation for a big exposé story.”

  “But the De Vaux Foundation, they’re . . .” Walter blustered.

  “We know who they are. They also happen to be the sponsors of the Abbey of Saint Bernadette. There has to be a link there, somewhere. We need to find it.”

  “You mean I need to find it.”

  “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Think of it as a challenge.”

  “Thank you. Do we know what her brother was investigating?”

  “No, but whatever it was, Frankie thinks that’s what got him killed.”

  “Walter,” Frankie called out. “Two tickets.”

  Walter looked at Fagan.

  Fagan shrugged. “You heard the lady.”

  Walter shook his head and headed for his motor scooter.

  “And Walter,” Fagan called after him.

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Be careful.”

  “I’ll be careful, but it’s you I’m worried about.” Walter stopped and gave a knowing glance towards Frankie, keeping his voice low. “Remember what they told us in seminary. Solemn prayer, earnest dedication, and lots of cold showers.”

  33

  Fontainebleau, France.

  The gamekeeper handed his employer the gun. It was a custom built over-and-under shotgun, hand crafted by James Purdey and Sons of South Audley Street, London, and tailored to the individual requirements of Dominic de Vaux. The stock was of polished walnut, the weight impeccably perfect, and the 28-inch, Damascus steel barrels sitting one above the other, gleamed with an icy blue sheen.

  De Vaux felt the perfect weight in his hands, then let his eye move towards the trees. Four birds in line broke free, flying low. He raised the gun, sweeping in from behind the trailing bird, then just allowing his aim to swing ahead of it. He squeezed the trigger, and the bird dropped out of the sky. He continued moving the barrel, and
just as smoothly took out the next bird in the line.

  “Nice shooting, sir.” His gamekeeper took the shotgun and ejected the spent cartridges and reloaded.

  A broad smile broke across De Vaux’s face as two Springer Spaniels dashed across the grass towards him, their short tails wagging enthusiastically, and laid two red legged partridges at his feet. “Now then boys, what do we have?”

  The gamekeeper bent and picked up the birds. “Nice, and plump. I’ll get my wife to prepare them for your dinner, sir.”

  “Excellent, Charles.”

  De Vaux tossed a couple of treats to the dogs then looked up as a black Land Rover approached. It stopped, and Eugene Blanchet climbed out. Despite the scar, he wasn’t smiling.

  De Vaux nodded at his gamekeeper. “That will be all, Charles.”

  He watched as the gamekeeper headed across the field, the two dogs trotting by his side, then turned back to Blanchet. “So, tell me the worst.”

  “It seems your man in the Vatican panicked. The subject seemed interested in a church. It turns out it was the church where the priest, Baldini, used to go to confession. I think your man was worried he had confessed too much. As I said, he panicked. Instead of waiting for Marco and letting him take care of it, he decided he could deal with it himself, and Paulo, and we got a train wreck. Marco arrived as the subject was leaving, but someone turned up on a motorcycle, and they got away.”

  “Who was that?”

  “We have no idea. Marco did his best to tidy things up. He found Paulo with a couple of bullet holes in him and a gun - Paulo’s gun.”

  “Was it really necessary to kill the local priest?”

  “Marco was only doing what your man ordered. Using Paulo’s gun was Marco trying to improvise, pointing the finger at the subject.”

  “You could have spooked him, sent him underground. We need him out in the open.” De Vaux shook his head.

  “With respect Mister De Vaux, I did what you asked me. When I left Rome, I put Marco and two guys in place, taking orders from your man. Just as you instructed. I have to say I got quite a shock when Marco told me who the subject of interest was.”