Secret of the Thorns: Political Thriller (Donavan Chronicles Book 1)

by Tom Haase

  “I’m in Warsaw,” he replied. “Listen, I’ve found some old — I’m not able to decide any specific dating, but ancient— and maybe original—manuscripts in Greek and Latin. The curator, Mr. Wozniak, doesn’t even know about these texts. He thinks they’re all written in Arabic. Could be King John brought them back to Warsaw after the Battle of Vienna.”

  Bridget was silent as she thought about the implications of Scott’s words.

  “Do you hear me?” he demanded in an impatient tone.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I’m having a disbelief moment. My skepticism meter is on red. Go on,” she ordered, glancing in the direction the attacker fled to make sure he didn’t return. The trail was clear and the man must be losing a lot of blood. Nevertheless, she kept the machete at hand.

  “Someone buried these documents in the bowels of Warsaw’s national museum and the curator, an old friend of my college mentor, asked me to take a look at them. The Arabic writing alone is from the seventh to the ninth century. I’m still working on dating the Greek and Latin. But it’s earlier.”

  “My God, Scott, you’re not for real?” Bridget’s voice certainly conveyed her misgivings. Could her younger brother find something so significant in his first summer after graduation? Even if he could, and she doubted it, it probably wouldn’t make any difference to his career. She again scanned in the direction the attacker fled to make sure he didn’t return. The trail was clear and the man must be losing a lot of blood. She kept the machete at hand.

  She also used the moment to realize that from her own experiences, she knew that the old boys of the academic world would endeavor to cut Scott out of any credit for any discovery he might make.

  “I’m calling you,” Scott continued, “because I also found two pages of Latin text that begins, Ego Petrus, Apostolus Jesu Christi (I am Peter, Apostle of Jesus Christ). Do you realize what that could mean, sis? This text could reveal whether Peter admitted Jesus married the Magdalene, that he faked the resurrection, or he had a son. I know that sounds crazy but others have postulated such things. This document might confirm or forever silence the speculation. How about that?”

  Bridget rolled her eyes upward, desperately trying to think of a way to counter Scott’s claim. She didn’t believe what he said and he hadn’t convinced her of anything. He needed to be much more careful of such wild academic claims. They could ruin him or get him killed by some religious fanatic. She waited for him to continue.

  “I’m more intrigued by the Arabic texts,” Scott said. “Something like those could potentially cause a significant change in one of the world’s major religions — possibly start a war in Islam. Christianity might get a jolt from something Peter wrote if any of this can be authenticated.”

  “Don’t get carried away,” Bridget said, finally.

  “Tone down your disbelief. Believe me, it’s for real,” Scott continued. “The curator doesn’t know what I’ve found. This is my doctorate field. I know what I’m talking about. I need your help.”

  She ignored his request and moved over to her truck where her assistants lay tied up on the ground. They had probably surrendered as soon as they saw the renegades, fearing for their lives.

  “I don’t see how this is possible. Not at all.” She held the phone in her left hand and sliced the binds holding her helpers. She then stuck the blood soaked blade in the ground. “Besides, why should I help you? I don’t even like you anymore.”

  Once she had set free all the helpers, she signaled to them to get the truck ready to leave as she continued her conversation.

  “Come on, sis, give me a break. Please forget what happened. Would you quit bringing that up? It’s old news and never was all that big of a deal. But this— this is important.” He paused to let his plea sink in. “Listen, the real mystery is the Greek texts. These are, by my best guess, hundreds of years old. They’re probably copies of some more ancient text.”

  “No big deal?” she shouted back at the phone. Scott would never get it. He’d betrayed her and that betrayal was no big deal?

  “Think about getting a look at the Greek manuscripts,” he tempted her. “They’re right in in your area of specialty.

  The mention of Greek manuscripts sent her mind into hyper drive. Scott would certainly know Greek and would be able to tell if they were old writings. If they were some lost or previously unknown ancient texts, this discovery could end up being a feather in her cap as well.

  “Do you have copies of all these papers?” she asked.

  “No. I plan to copy a few more pages, but tomorrow I can examine all of them again. I’m meeting with the curator and the museum archeologist this evening. He’s going to tell me how he made the discovery of what he believes are only old Arabic scrolls.” Bridget now noticed his voice sounded louder, probably in anticipation of learning more.

  “Make sure you ask questions. Don’t just sit there and believe everything they say. Remember, they’re after money and credit for any such find,” Bridget said. She clenched her hand into a fist and banged the side of her leg. He had to understand the stakes here.

  “I believe some of the Arabic parchments may be translations from Greek documents we only know about from references by others. They may be the transliterations, or in some cases exact translations, of the originals into Arabic.” He stopped. She could almost hear the gears spinning in his head.

  “What? There’s something you’re not telling me?”

  “There’s a map and I believe a detailed listing of a treasure. I…don’t know how to figure out…the code on the map, so—”

  “This can’t be. They’re probably fakes, including the Arabic text. Surely you don’t believe they’re authentic.” A plan blossomed in Bridget’s mind. The ride to the airport would take three hours and from her previous departures, she knew that the last plane left around nine at night. And if she really thought about it, she wanted to make sure Scott didn’t get himself into any danger. She was furious with him but he was still her baby brother. If anyone was going to kill him, it was going to be her, not some stranger. Bridget thought about her brother’s piercing black eyes and his long, black hair that no one could convince him to cut. His naturally olive skin made him a handsome fellow in anyone’s book.

  Yes. A trip to Warsaw was in order.

  “Where are you staying in Warsaw?” she asked.

  He told her the name of his hotel.

  “This better not be a wild goose chase…or should I say wild text chase,” she warned.

  “All I can say,” Scott continued, “is they look genuine to me. I’ve handled these types of texts before in our national museum and know what they look like and how to handle them—which, I might add; they are doing a poor job of at this museum. But you’re the only person I know who has the Greek knowledge and is an ace at figuring out puzzles. We must have them authenticated.”

  She could hear his rapid breathing as he continued, “Someone will need to discover the location of the treasure. You were always the genius in that area. I need your help in this. It may be an extraordinary find. We have to be the ones who discover this historic and potentially multi million dollar treasure.”

  “They’ll think the writings of Peter are the most important, but I think this map is. There are only two pages of Peter’s writing — let’s say his gospel. No one knows about it. Even the curator missed it because he thinks all the documents are in Arabic. Can you come? Do you believe this is happening to me on my first—”

  “You’re losing your objectivity. But the remainder of the text has to be found. Two pages do not a gospel make. Calm down. You probably have nothing but a mythical treasure and some fake Latin and Greek documents. How in the hell could they be in Warsaw? No historical proof suggests such a thing. Wait a minute.” She heard a beep from her phone. On examination of the display the battery low light was on.

  “My battery is running low. Don’t tell anyone anything. Don’t say any more. Keep those pages in a safe place. I’ll b
e there.” She disconnected and shook her head in wonder. What the hell had little brother gone and done?

  This discovery really would make both of their careers and might even provide world-shattering…hell no. Stop, Bridget. That is too far down the road. Get real, girl. She punched the end button on the phone, and moved toward the truck, determined to protect Scott from making a fool of himself. If what he said was true— but no, it couldn’t be.

  She had to convince him to drop the matter before he lost credibility. If he was associated with such a find and it proved a forgery or a deliberate fake, he would be ruined and become the laughing stock of the experts in his Arabic and Islamic studies area. Her little brother might mess up his new career before he even started. She must prevent that catastrophe, no matter what he had done to her before.

  Only when she was on her way to the airport did she have time to wonder about the attackers. Were those brigands who just after money or something else? One was white, which was strange. Besides, why would they raid an archeological dig where no one kept any amount of money?

  That might mean they weren’t after money. What if someone sent them specifically to kill her?

  Chapter Two

  Warsaw National Museum - 3:34 p.m.

  When Scott hung up, an uncomfortable sense of doubt wormed its way into his brain. He should be more skeptical. His sister was right. As a trained academic, he must force himself to slow down and not believe his assumptions without scientific proof, or at least a rational explanation concerning the how the documents were found.

  He returned to the museum archives and delved into the writings. Scott soon lost track of time. He jumped when the door swung open and the curator entered. His half-rim glasses made Scott smile. The man looked and played the part of an old-world museum curator down to the ivory-tipped cane and his flowing snow-white hair.

  “Well, young Scott. What do you think of the documents?” The curator’s Polish accent was pronounced when he spoke English.

  Scott couldn’t put his finger on it, but something didn’t seem right with the curator’s demeanor. A normal curator would exude delight at the find before revealing everything to the world. But Mr. Wozniak had kept the knowledge of the discovery to a select few. On the other hand there were, after all, the authentication problems and that must weigh on the curator’s mind.

  “It’s an amazing find. Have you determined how they came to be here?” Scott asked.

  The curator poured himself a cup of coffee from the side table, took a drink, and flipped his white hair back over his head and out of his eyes.

  “The museum archeologists, under the supervision of Cezar Zamoyski, our distinguished head of that department…” He stopped and wiped the sides of his mouth with a paper napkin before continuing, “After examining the chest I found, he concluded it may be part of the booty our king brought back to Poland. You will remember that John III Sobieski saved Europe from the Islamic invasion by defeating their army at the gates of Vienna in 1683. He brought much of the spoils of the battle, including gold and other items, back to Poland. Many believe he gave valuable manuscripts to a monastery, but we always supposed that to be a tall tale to increase the king’s stature. Now, however, we may have located at least some of those lost documents.”

  Scott took off the small reading glasses. His eyes were good at distance, superb, in fact, for weapon shooting on the pentathlon team at university. For up-close reading he often needed glasses, mainly in dim light.

  “That would explain all these Arabic texts,” Scott said. “I would like to hear the story of how you discovered this treasure. I believe these documents contain the writing of the Prophet Mohammed, and perhaps a large section of the Koran. I suggest you do more examinations to determine the exact age, but my first guess is you may have an early copy or even perhaps the originals based on the writing style and some of the archaic words used. It could help me date the Latin and Greek texts.” Even as he slipped up, Scott damned himself. He hadn’t meant to mention those.

  Wozniak’s eyes narrowed as he fixed a stare on Scott.

  “I didn’t know there were any Latin or Greek texts; I only saw Arabic writing…” The curator then took on an affable smile. “My secretary probably just copied the manuscripts blindly, ensuring no damage occurred in the process. May I?” He reached for the document.

  Scott handed him the Latin text. As he examined it, the curator’s face glowed in excitement. His eyebrows rose as he continued to read. Scott assumed, in a predominately Catholic country like Poland, most of the older people had received training in Latin during their school years. Mr. Wozniak mumbled as he translated the text, and then looked up, a grin on his face.

  “Scott, do you realize what this is?”

  “Not really, I can only recognize the first words, ‘I am Peter the apostle of Jesus Christ’ I believe is what it states.”

  “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” Wozniak asked.

  Scott knew that years of scholarly research were needed to validate the find but the publicity for the museum would provide worldwide recognition. Curiously, the curator seemed determined to keep his secret from the world.

  “Can you read any of the Greek documents?”

  “No,” Scott admitted.

  “Let me call Cezar. He’s an expert,” the curator said, referring to another museum employee Scott had only seen a few times but never actually met.

  After making the call, he returned and soon a large man entered he room.

  “What have you got now?” Cezar demanded.

  Wozniak introduced Scott. Scott told Cezar of the Latin and Greek text and what the Latin text said.

  “It can’t be a gospel according to St. Peter, can it?” Wozniak asked.

  “I doubt it,” Scott chimed in, trying to mirror some of Bridget’s skeptical outlook.

  “Wait just a second,” Cezar’s voice boomed. “If I recall correctly there exists one reference of such a gospel from the second century. A Gnostic named Marcion provided the first list of books he felt appropriate for a New Testament. It was a short list and the only time this gospel was mentioned and then dismissed as an error on the part of the writer. In reality, the first officially sanctioned list of books in the New Testament was by Irenaeus of Lyon. But there’s no mention made of a gospel by Peter. Church leaders solidified Irenaeus’s index in the fourth century. St. Jerome persuaded the church to adopt the list of books listed by Irenaeus as the inspired word of God.”

  “You tell me that a gospel by St. Peter could exist? I don’t believe it,” Wozniak said.

  Cezar looked at each in turn, and then said, “Many in the past believed the Popes kept selected documents in their personal possession and this one you uncovered might contain instructions given to Peter by Jesus. Some might even speculate it is a secret the church doesn’t want anyone to learn.” He rubbed his chin, then reached for the document on Scott’s table.

  “Like what?” Scott asked, raising one eyebrow and shaking his head in wonder as Cezar picked up the text.

  “Maybe Jesus didn’t rise from the dead or ascend into heaven; maybe he married and lived happily ever after, or maybe he was gay. How the hell would I know?” Cezar asked with a wave of the hand. “It is possible that someone at the Vatican might know about it. I doubt they would ever admit to its existence at this late date.”

  “Why didn’t the world know about this gospel, or more accurately, this so-called gospel if it even exists before now? Where has it been?” Scott asked.

  “Remember the Goths in the fourth century overran the Roman Empire and the Popes felt they had to send their treasures off to the safest place in the Empire. Well, at the time, that place was Spain. Rome was subsequently sacked. Later the Moors overran Spain. And all records over the following centuries were lost. It happened to many other documents as well.”

  “If there was a gospel, Cezar, it would have been in the Bible,” Wozniak said.

  “When St. Jerome persuaded the
Pope to adopt the current Bible,” Cezar said, pointing at Wozniak, “he didn’t know about a gospel by Peter. There were plenty of gospels at the time to choose from to go into the New Testament but the list from Lyon emerged as the winner. You have to remember the Pope made the final decision on the books in the New Testament and if he had a private gospel from St. Peter he could have manipulated its absence no matter what Jerome wished.”

  “Someone would’ve been looking for this over the years. People would have known about it,” Scott said defiantly.

  Cezar put the document down. He walked over to the table with the coffee, turned and looked at Wozniak. “You have anything to drink besides this thin liquid piss you call coffee?”

  Wozniak tapped his cane on the floor. “Come on, Cezar, tell us. Haven’t you archeologists looked for such a thing?”

  “From time to time over the centuries scholars did bring up the subject of this Gospel of St. Peter, but they presumed it lost, if it ever existed. Some researchers in the Renaissance era decided to take up the search but after years found no trace or evidence of its existence. No record of such a gospel remained in Rome and the retreating Muslim army destroyed most church records in Spain.”

  He stopped and took a drink from his cup. He walked around the room and came up to face Scott.

  “Over time,” Cazar continued, “scholars just dismissed a gospel by Peter as a myth or as something lost forever. Rumors existed that some important documents had accompanied the Muslim army in its attack on the gates of Vienna, but no facts ever emerged concerning that.”

  “So you believe this gospel could be the real thing?” Scott asked.

  “From what we know,” the rotund archeologist pulled his jowl cheeks up into a disturbed smile, waited a few seconds, and then said in a deliberate manner, “it is possible. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “Detailed examination should prove its authenticity or that it’s a forgery.” Wozniak swayed back and forth using his cane as a fulcrum. “But a find of the Gospel of St. Peter and of the original Koran could impact the world’s great religions and would have monumental importance to both.”