The Simeon Scroll

by Neil Howarth

Frankie glanced back towards him. “Dear God, no wonder you have a blank space in your history. I can imagine how a talent like that could be put to good use.”

  “I’m not proud of it. And I’m not sure God will forgive me.”

  “Those men were trying to kill us. You saved our lives. Be proud of that.”

  Fagan climbed back onto the rear seat and checked on Khalid. His face was chalk white, and his breathing was shallow and labored.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he called out to Frankie. “You need to find somewhere to stop. Khalid’s having trouble breathing. It looks like a tension pneumothorax. Air is filling his chest cavity and collapsing his lung.”

  “I know what a tension pneumothorax is. I have done the training.”

  “Have you ever relieved one?”

  “No, have you?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “Well you had better start remembering. I will try to get off this road.”

  The road began to flatten as they reached the valley floor. The track ended at a junction. On the left, a few dilapidated buildings huddled together, set back a short distance from the road. Frankie swung the Subaru on to a narrow track and parked behind the larger of the buildings.

  Fagan searched in the first aid kit and found a hypodermic. He tore open Khalid’s shirt and dabbed some Betadine onto a ball of cotton wool.

  “Second intercostal space,” Frankie said over his shoulder.

  “I remember.” Fagan dabbed the antiseptic onto Khalid’s chest, just below the second rib. He removed the sheath from the needle and jabbed it into the center of the brown Betadine stain. He disconnected the body of the hypodermic from the catheter, and bloody bubbles erupted out of Khalid’s chest. Almost immediately his breathing became deeper. Fagan let out a deep sigh of his own. He reattached the body of the hypodermic to the catheter then taped it into place on Khalid’s chest. He got him settled again then sat back. His hand was shaking.

  Frankie maneuvered the Subaru back onto the road and followed the prompting of the GPS as they made their way back towards the city. She checked her phone as she drove.

  “I think I have coverage.” She pulled over and parked, then hit dial on Ari’s number and waited. It rang twice before it was answered.

  “Ari, we have a major problem.” She quickly told him what had happened, then looked at the phone and sat back.

  “What did he say?”

  Frankie shook her head. “He hung up.”

  “You mean he dumped us?”

  “Ari would never do that.”

  “It’s times like this you find out who your friends really are.” Fagan looked across at Khalid. Without Ari’s help, he didn’t stand a chance.

  A phone began chirping. Frankie looked at the phone she still held in her hand. It wasn’t that one. Her hand moved to her pocket. Fagan recognized the other phone that Ari had given her as she pulled it out. Frankie put it to her ear. The voice on the other end starting talking. Frankie looked back at Fagan and smiled.

  44

  The Sistine Chapel, The Vatican.

  Pope Salus entered the Sistine Chapel alone. A single light by the altar illuminated the Last Judgement fresco on the wall behind it. The Pontiff moved across to a simple wooden chair, left there especially for him, and sat in the near darkness studying Michelangelo’s masterpiece, painted some twenty years after his epic on the Chapel ceiling. This was the place he always came when he faced his greatest challenges. His eyes, as always, were drawn to St Peter, the keys of heaven in his hands. Every Papal conclave was faced with this fresco as they met to elect a new pope - the fisherman’s successor.

  Was this his challenge, the scene depicted here? The final judgment, just as the End Times Prophecy described, and the last battle that preceded it. He had never been sure if his task as Pontiff was to guide the world away from this scenario or prepare them for it. But he had always felt confident that when the time came, the Lord would let him know.

  He was certain that God’s cast-down angel was at work out there, using men like Dominic de Vaux to do his bidding, those who would destroy the world in the name of God, but instead were serving him, at work in this holy place. Salus also knew that in defying him he exposed his own mortal vulnerability. But he had to leave that in God’s hands. He took strength from the certainty that the God each faith worshipped was the same God. And when he acknowledged that, he also accepted that he was no more than a simple priest, a lowly shepherd leading his flock to his Lord’s house. And in that, there was great comfort.

  He lifted his head at the scrape of a foot in the passage outside, then came a knock on the partially open door.

  “Holy Father,” Commissario De Mateo stepped into the chapel, “I received your message.”

  “Thank you, Julio. I wanted to speak to you away from the ever-listening ears of this place.”

  De Mateo shook his head. “Holy Father, are things as bad as that?”

  “We are facing dangerous times. The path I have chosen has led me to make some dangerous enemies, and I believe they will stop at nothing to prevent me from achieving my goal.”

  “Your Holiness, I and my men will keep you safe. I pledge my life on that.”

  “Julio, you are a good and loyal man, and I can assure you I feel safe under your protection. But it was not me I wanted to talk to you about. I’m worried about Joseph. He is convinced that Father Luca’s death was no accident. He believes it was part of something much more sinister.”

  “And what do you think, Holiness?”

  “I told him I thought he was overreacting.”

  De Mateo shook his head gently and smiled. “Holy Father, that is not what I asked. Do you believe that Joseph is right?”

  “I don’t want to appear dramatic, but evil is here in this holy place, and we must be on our guard. Whatever the truth, I can do nothing to help Luca. God is taking care of him now. But I fear Joseph is the most vulnerable.”

  “Holy Father, I believe you are right. But I won’t burden you with the details, ”

  “Maybe it’s best that you don’t.” Pope Salus said with a wry smile. His face became serious. “Julio, what I ask of you now, I ask not as your pontiff but as your friend.”

  De Mateo seemed to gasp for breath. “Holiness, you do me a great honor.” A tear seemed to glisten in his eye. “I will do whatever you ask.”

  “I have no idea where Joseph is, but I know you have considerable contacts with other organizations. I beg you to reach out to them, find him. Then make him go far away from this place. He must not come back to Rome.”

  De Mateo nodded his head. “Holiness, I will do all I can.”

  Salus took his hand and held it between his. “Thank you, Julio. Now I must leave. I have one final meeting this evening.”

  “Holy Father, perhaps it’s time you shared with me your full itinerary. You know I have never pried into your private meetings, but given the current circumstances I think it would be best.”

  “Julio, if I had no privacy at all, no one would ever speak to me. This is the only way I can find out what is really going on in this place.”

  De Mateo reluctantly nodded his understanding. “Then I can only ask you to take great care.”

  45

  Jerusalem, Israel.

  Ari’s contact met them at the edge of Jerusalem city. Two men took Khalid away, and Fagan and Frankie transferred to separate cars.

  “This is the most secure way,” the contact had assured him. “And the way that Ari wants it.”

  The contact had spoken to Fagan’s driver through the open window, and the driver had not said another word on the two hour journey. He stopped in a dimly lit street by the waterfront and pointed out a small bar.

  It was a dingy, dump of a place with a few plastic tables and chairs. Fagan glanced towards the bar and received a couple of hard looks from two shady looking individuals, but they soon lost interest and went back to their drinks and conversation. He spotted Frankie sitting alone at
a table at the far side of the room, apparently unmolested by the bar’s clientele.

  “You okay?” he said as he approached.

  “I’m fine. You?”

  Fagan nodded and sat down. She poured an amber wine into a glass tumbler and set it in front of him.

  He picked up the glass and took a sip. The wine seemed to assault his throat. “Wow.” He slapped a hand on his thigh.

  “Don’t worry it grows on you.”

  He took another careful sip. It was less harsh this time. Maybe she was right. He looked around. “Quite brave even for you, sitting in a bar like this alone.”

  Frankie waved a finger in the air. “There appears to be an invisible magic circle drawn around this table. I assume that Ari put it there because apart from the barman, no one has dared to step into it.”

  The barman came over. He seemed to step gingerly over the magic line. Frankie spoke to him in Hebrew and ordered food.

  “I’m impressed,” Fagan said.

  Frankie smiled. “I can say ‘my friend is paying’ in five different languages.” Her face became serious. “You did pretty well back there.”

  “It seems there are some things I can never get rid of.”

  “What do you expect? It is your Navy SEAL training.”

  “That was a very long time ago.”

  “It is psychology, it sticks. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.”

  “We did study psychology in seminary.”

  “Then you know that at the bottom of the hierarchy are our instinctive needs, our will to survive. And above that our need to protect ourselves, and our family - our country. That is where the Navy SEALs, and most other military forces, aim their training. Do not think about it. Do not justify it. Just do it.”

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “Close enough.”

  “So we’re just drones.”

  “You said it not me.”

  “And you’re above that?”

  Frankie let a know-all smile play across her lips. “In intelligence, we study every level when we are trying to assess a target. Especially at the need for self-esteem, and at the very top the need to achieve - self-actualization. Now that is where we have to look to understand someone like Dominic de Vaux.”

  The food arrived. It was simple - fried fish, rice and vegetables, and warm pitta bread. They were both ravenous and devoured it in silence.

  Frankie wiped the fish oil from her chin with a paper napkin and looked at Fagan.

  “So, have you given some thought to what we found?”

  “Two hours sitting in the car coming here, and I’m still trying to get my head around it. Just as I thought I had some idea what this is all about, we stumble on this monastery and what we discover seems to destroy it all.”

  “There has to be something there. What are we left with?”

  Fagan looked into his glass, as if he might find the answer in there. “Thomas discovered something in the founder’s tomb at the monastery.”

  “But the monk there said he found nothing.”

  “Would he tell them if he had. We know he was at the Ecole Biblique to use the CT scanner, and the scanner is used for examining ancient scrolls. Let’s assume that’s what he found in Ademar’s tomb, and he removed it without them knowing. If he was involved with the De Vaux foundation and their little sideline, then presumably he used their network to smuggle it out of the Holy Land. And if we’re dealing with assumptions, then let’s assume it was then carefully repatriated to the Abbey in Avignon, and then rediscovered as the greatest historical discovery ever made, the Final Testament of St. Peter.”

  “Except Brother Ademar, was a master forger and the scroll is a fake.”

  “It all seems to fit. Presumably, Brother Thomas kept a piece of the scroll and had it carbon dated, because Brother Lucien gave me the Lab report with his note written on it. It was no coincidence. He wanted me to have it. I remember the date on it now, ‘1120-1180 AD’. A 12th Century fake from a 12th Century monk. I’m betting that when Brother Thomas found out the scroll was a fake he wanted to blow the whistle, and that’s what got him killed.” Fagan remembered what Brother Lucien had told him. “You start out for all the right reasons, but in the end, it is still wrong. That’s what Thomas said to Lucien on that last day. I have no doubt that he did it all because he believed the scroll was genuine, and he wanted the truth to be known. That’s what William said he had been pursuing most of his life. And when he discovered the real truth, he had to reveal it.”

  “Maybe he intended to reveal it to my brother. Jean-Claude’s last call could have been from him. And that’s what got them both killed.” The words seemed to catch in her throat. She paused and took a deep breath. “And they didn’t stop there. They killed Brother Lucien because presumably, he was going to tell you.”

  “But how did they know that?”

  “You were going back to the Abbey the next day. You had clearance to talk to him about what he and a Brother Thomas had been working on.”

  “But Lucien didn’t want to wait until then.”

  Something was tugging at the back of Fagan’s mind. There was a loose piece waving at him.

  How did they know?

  Frankie gave him a quizzical look.

  “Back in Le Bouquet, I thought someone had stolen Brother Lucien’s note to stop me from proving he had arranged to see me. Well maybe they did, but maybe they were not looking for the note, maybe they were looking for the lab report. It was proof that the scroll was a fake.”

  “But how did they know you had it?”

  “I have no idea, maybe they were just searching my room and found it.”

  “Great timing on their part. It was only there from the time you left the hotel to meet with Lucien until you returned a few hours later. You told me that when you were at the police station, you realized you had left it back in your room.”

  “Whatever, it would explain why Brother Lucian had to be shut up, permanently.”

  “But that would mean someone would have to break into your room, discover the lab report, then get back out to the Abbey and stage Lucien’s death before you got to him. I don’t think so.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  Frankie raised her eyebrows and gave a slight shrug. “They already knew about the note.”

  “How? They had no way.”

  “Who knew you had it?”

  “Well apart from me, and Brother Lucien. I told Luca.”

  “And Luca died later that night.”

  “But Luca would have told no one. He didn’t even want me to fax it to him.”

  “Then maybe someone was listening in on your conversation.”

  “How would they do that?”

  Frankie’s smiled. “Oh, there are lots of ways. All the pieces would fit together.”

  Fagan was suddenly struggling for breath.

  Was that me? Was I the cause of Luca’s death?

  “Are you alright?”

  Fagan nodded. He took a gulp of his wine. This time it went down without a problem.

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Why kill them? It’s a fake. What can they do with it? It will have experts crawling all over it. Regardless of the forger’s expertise, it wouldn’t stand up for five minutes, or a least as long as it takes them to run their own Carbon14 dating test.”

  “Whatever it is, they have something in mind. According to Walter, they look like they want to announce it to the world.”

  Fagan sucked at a piece of fish stuck in his teeth.

  “This is all crazy.”

  Frankie looked up as Ari appeared at the door. He sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. He took a sip and pulled a theatrical grimace.

  “Wow. I put better stuff than this in my boat.”

  “Any news of Khalid?” Fagan asked.

  “He is going to be fine. The doctor was impressed by the job you did on his chest. Said he recognized the battlefield technique.”

  “I’m glad
it worked.”

  “You saved his life.”

  “So what next?” Fagan asked.

  Ari’s face became serious. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  Fagan held his breath.

  “I was in the office earlier. We received a bulletin, a lookout request.” He looked at Fagan. “For a Roman Catholic Priest, a Father Joseph Fagan, in connection with a murder in Rome.”

  “It was a setup,” Frankie jumped in defensively.

  Ari gave her a tight lipped smile. “Whatever, but you will not get out of the country through any normal channels.”

  Fagan felt like he had been punched in the gut. It was all catching up with him. And what did he have to show for it?

  “Ari,” Frankie flashed him a knowing look. “I am sure you have some channels that are not normal.”

  Ari drained his wine glass and refilled it. His face cracked into a handsome grin. “Okay, there is a fishing boat leaving here tonight. The skipper is an associate of mine. We do business from time to time. He will take you to Cyprus. You can take a flight out from there.”

  “How will I get through passport control at the airport, if there is a murder alert for me?”

  “You will find it a lot easier to move about once you are inside the European Union.” Ari patted Fagan on the shoulder. “You have a Vatican passport. You have diplomatic immunity. The alert may not have worked its way out to places like Cyprus yet. In our case, things were a little different. It seems that we received a direct tip off from someone. It said you had been seen in Israel.”

  “A tip off? Where did that come from?” Fagan asked.

  “Same people who tried to execute us in the desert,” Frankie said. “Same ones who met us on the road from the Monastery.”

  “Is that why you made us travel in separate cars?” Fagan looked at Ari.

  Ari shrugged. “You cannot be too careful. If you had been stopped and recognized, then Frankie would have been safe. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Fagan shook his head. “No, you did the right thing.”

  “In any case, the fishing boat is your only way out.”