by Allan Topol
Rob took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. His thoughtful expression told her he wasn’t convinced by what she’d said.
“It’s an explosive story, Liz.”
“I agree.”
“The most significant in the world. I’d like you to drop the piece you’re doing on President Dalton and move up on this story. That OK with you?”
“Sure.” She would be thrilled to use the Herald’s resources to assist her and Craig. “With the research I’ve done for the book, I could hit the ground running.”
“Good. Do it. But keep me posted. If you need help, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Afraid to talk in the office, Elizabeth left the building. She walked a block, turned a corner, and called Craig. “Have you heard about Professor Khalid’s parchment?”
“I heard him live on TV. I still have it on, listening to commentary. I was planning to call you. What do you think?”
“The parchment’s a phony. Put together by Musa.”
“I totally agree. Particularly because Khalid is in Morocco. Remember, Musa told us that his goal is to advance the Muslim takeover of Europe. This gives him some basis for a foothold.”
“I convinced Rob to let me jump on it.”
“Perfect. The best thing you can do is prove this parchment is a phony. And have the Herald publish your article. If you do it quickly, we deal a blow to Musa.”
“I’ll get started right now.”
52
PARIS
Elizabeth asked the Herald’s IT Department to obtain a copy of the parchment and forward it to her electronically.
While she waited, she used her computer to check world reaction to Khalid’s announcement. As she expected, the story was dominating the news. European leaders were unanimous in calling it a hoax. Spanish Prime Minister Zahara hastily convened a news conference to denounce the parchment as “an outrageous fraud … a pack of lies,” and an attack on Spanish sovereignty.
In contrast, Muslim governments, particularly in North Africa, lauded the discovery. The Algerian President called it “an admission of guilt” for the crimes crusaders perpetrated against Muslims.
Elizabeth switched back to e-mail. Now she had the parchment on her system. She downloaded it, then enlarged the document.
She read it several times, studying each letter and word.
She was shaking her head. She had to admit it looked genuine. What if it is? Musa would gain a tremendous advantage.
She went into the computer file for her book, from which she located and downloaded four other documents from the late fifteenth century, two of which had been authored by Queen Isabella.
Comparing the documents with the naked eye, she concluded that if this parchment was a phony, Professor Khalid or whoever prepared it was knowledgeable. Extremely knowledgeable. The handwriting on the parchment seemed identical to Isabella’s other documents.
Is it conceivable that anyone other than Isabella could have prepared it?
She thought about Professor Khalid’s statement that Isabella had prepared it on her deathbed. Would anyone have been capable of writing an edict like this with death imminent? Probably not. If she were dying, would her handwriting be identical to her normal handwriting? Never.
Elizabeth picked up a loupe. Slowly and painstakingly, she searched for and compared words and letters appearing in the parchment with the same words and letters in the documents.
Then it struck her. A subtle difference, but under the loupe a difference nonetheless. In Isabella’s other documents, the line on top of all the letters “T” was straight. But in the parchment, the line on top of the letters “T” had a slight upward curl on the right side.
She went to the Herald’s IT room and got a microscope with a greater magnification. When she used that to examine the parchment, she not only saw the slight upward curl on the letters “T”, but the curl looked as if it had been superimposed on the original letters “T.” Added as an afterthought, or at a later time.
She looked at the original documents again. The curl was definitely missing. Now she was absolutely positive the document was a fraud.
She was puzzled. The rest of the work was so good. How could the forger of the parchment have made such a sloppy mistake?
Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was being forced by Musa to prepare it and wanted to signal experts who examined the parchment that it was a phony.
And the curl was superimposed. She groped for an explanation. One possibility was that someone other than the forger placed it there.
Regardless, with the curl someone was trying to send a powerful message: This parchment is a fraud.
Elizabeth sat down at the computer and began drafting her article. “An Historical Hoax,” was her title. Then she stopped. What I need, she decided, is corroboration from a world-renowned expert on medieval history and Queen Isabella. She checked her watch. Almost five in the afternoon. Her deadline wasn’t until midnight.
She tried to decide whose opinion would carry the most weight and might be available in the next few hours. One name popped into her mind: Professor Etienne at the University of Paris. He was one of the most respected people in the world. Internationally recognized. She’d met with him a couple of times in connection with her book. He’d been very helpful in directing her to source material.
She called his office and got voice mail. No surprise there. Professors are usually gone by five o’clock. She called his home. A woman answered.
“This is Elizabeth Crowder from the International Herald. I’d like to speak with Professor Etienne.”
“My husband’s in London on business for a couple of days. I don’t know when he’ll be home.”
Elizabeth wasn’t deterred. “Could you please give me his cell phone number?”
Hesitation on the other end. “I don’t know. My husband doesn’t like to give it out.”
“Professor Etienne and I have had a couple of meetings about a book I’m doing. This is a matter of great urgency. I’m working under a deadline. I want to quote him in a newspaper article. It will help his career. I think he’d like that.”
“I’m sure he would.” She gave Elizabeth the number.
“Thank you very much. I’ll call him right now.”
Elizabeth dialed Etienne’s cell immediately. Got the Professor’s voice mail. This time, she left a message: “Professor Etienne, this is Elizabeth Crowder from the International Herald. I have clear evidence that Professor Khalid’s parchment is a phony. I am planning to write an article saying that for tomorrow’s paper. I would like to obtain your corroboration. My deadline is midnight tonight. Please call me as soon as possible.” She gave him her office and cell numbers.
Then she went outside for a cappuccino and called Craig.
“I have proof the parchment’s a phony. I’ll explain when I see you.”
“That’s great. Will you put that in an article in tomorrow’s paper?”
“For sure. I’ll spend the evening drafting. Rob will review it. I’m also trying to get corroboration from Professor Etienne at the University of Paris. He’s one of the top people in the field.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Afraid not. I’ll be home a little after midnight.”
“I’ll be up. Bring a copy.”
Back in her office, Elizabeth resumed drafting. She left the cell phone on the desk next to the computer. She didn’t want to miss Professor Etienne’s call. When it rang fifteen minutes later, she grabbed it. “Yes, Professor.”
“It’s Carlos, in Spain.”
“I was expecting someone else.”
“I gather that. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“No, no. I didn’t mean that.”
Carlos must have something important. “What happened?”
“Very strange. Bizarre situation in Avila, Spain, in the south. I’m not sure it has anything to do with Musa or The Spanish Revenge. But I figured it might
. So you should know.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“In an isolated Franciscan monastery, the police found the dead bodies of four monks in the basement. Some had been tortured before being executed. Eyes gouged out.”
Elizabeth winced.
“The police aren’t releasing the information. I learned about it from a special alert from Interior to our Ministry.”
“Where’d you say that was?”
“Avila, in the south.”
“That’s where Tomas de Torquemada was buried.”
“The police observed fresh earth around his grave. So they dug down.”
“And?” she said anxiously.
“Somebody had been digging there a day or so ago. They didn’t disturb the coffin. Didn’t take the incredible cache of jewels in a metal box. But they buried in that grave another monk who had been beaten to death and a young Arab in his thirties who had been shot and didn’t have any ID. The police have no idea what occurred. We’re all dumbfounded here.”
Not Elizabeth. As the phony parchment on her desk caught her eye, she pieced together what must have happened. Before preparing the parchment, Musa tried to get his hands on the real one, believing that it existed and was buried with Tomas de Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor, who would have hated the promise in the parchment and tried to conceal it for all time.
She postulated that Musa had acted in reliance on this story. When it turned out to be false, he had someone fabricate the parchment. For Elizabeth, the events in Avila were powerful evidence she was right: The parchment released by Khalid was a phony.
When I meet with Professor Etienne, she thought, I’ll ask him about this as well. She couldn’t wait for him to call.
Meanwhile, what to do about Carlos’s information? Her conclusions were too speculative to share with him or anyone else until she spoke to Etienne. She’d even wait to tell Craig until she saw him tonight. Hopefully, after her meeting with Etienne. She thanked Carlos and told him she needed time to think about what he said and its possible connection to Musa.
After she ended the call, a shiver went up and down her spine. Five dead monks. Eyes gouged out. If she was right, and the more she thought about it the more convinced she became, then what happened in Avila demonstrated how important the parchment was to Musa. His obsession had no limits. If she could prove it was a phony and publish that, she’d be cutting out the ground from under him.
With renewed determination, she turned back to her article, stopping periodically to stare at her cell phone, willing it to ring.
Please call me, Professor Etienne.
53
MARBELLA, SPAIN
Musa heard a knock on his office door. “Come in,” he bellowed.
Omar entered holding a cell phone away from his body as if it were a poisonous snake ready to strike.
“It’s Professor Etienne’s phone. He just received a voice mail from Elizabeth Crowder. You have to hear it.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.”
As he listened, Musa felt increasingly worried. If Elizabeth had the evidence she claimed, the parchment would be exposed as a phony before he gained traction with it. His brilliant plan to confer legitimacy on his attack of Southern Spain would be ruined.
Musa summoned General Zhou, who had been upstairs studying maps and reviewing plans for the attack on Southern Spain.
“We have a problem,” Musa said. He replayed the voice mail.
“I can’t let her publish that article,” Musa said emphatically. “I have people in Paris who can abduct her and bring her here. We’ll put her in the room downstairs next to Etienne.”
General Zhou shook his head. “Let’s talk about this for a moment. Before you take action.”
“We have to grab hold of the snooping bitch. That article would hurt us immeasurably.”
General Zhou fired back. “You’ll lose the benefit of the parchment. So what? You’ll be right back where you started.”
“Wrong,” Musa said bluntly. “Incredible pressure would be brought against Professor Khalid. We have to assume he’d break and admit I was responsible.”
“He doesn’t know where you are.”
“True. But his words would wreck my claim to the moral high ground in the fight for Muslim equality. My enemies would claim I’m a fraud and a charlatan. The popular uprising I’m hoping for in Europe would never occur. Who would risk his life for a man like that?” Musa paused and stared at General Zhou, “Why don’t you want me to abduct her?”
“It’s not wise to raise the stakes with Craig so close to the time of attack.”
Musa spit on the ground. “To hell with Craig Page. He’ll never be able to stop me.”
“Alright,” General Zhou said in a tone of resignation. “What are you planning to do? Have your people walk into the newspaper and pull her out?”
“No. Of course not. We’ll have Etienne call Elizabeth and tell her he’s on his way home. Have him set a meeting with her somewhere easy for my men to snatch her.”
Musa looked at Omar who had been listening. “You picked up the Professor. Tell me where we should do this?”
“In front of the Professor’s apartment. It’s on a quiet residential street on the Left Bank, close to the University. In the late evening, likely to be deserted.”
“Good. Go get Etienne and bring him up. Meantime, I’ll write out the script for his call with Elizabeth.”
A few minutes later, Omar led Etienne, limping into the room. “Can I go now?” the Professor said. “I’ve done everything you wanted.”
“Not yet. One more day. You’ll be home for Easter. Do you have plans for your holiday?”
“Just to be with my wife and daughter.”
“You’ll be able to do that. Meantime, I have one final thing.”
“What’s that?” Etienne asked apprehensively.
“Elizabeth Crowder, a reporter for the International Herald, she’s …”
“I know who she is.”
“Have you ever met her?”
“A couple of times. She spoke with me about a book she’s writing.”
Good, Musa thought. Their prior relationship would make this go down easier.
“She wants to talk to you about the parchment.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Musa handed Etienne a piece of paper. “Call her on your cell. If you get her voice mail, read this statement. If she answers, talk to her, but stick with the substance.”
While Etienne read the script, Musa picked up his gun. “If you say anything different, I’ll immediately blow your brains out. Then kill your wife and daughter. Do you understand?”
Etienne nodded. Musa was confident the Professor wouldn’t deviate from the script. He was a broken man. He’d do anything to save his life and those of his daughter and wife. A pity he had to die.
Musa turned up the volume to max and dialed Elizabeth’s cell. He heard her answer, “Elizabeth Crowder.” Then he handed Etienne the phone, put his face close to Etienne’s so he could hear what Elizabeth said, and pointed his gun at the Professor’s head.
Sounding natural, Etienne said, “Elizabeth: This is Professor Etienne. I just listened to your voice mail. I, of course, heard Professor Khalid’s press conference. I’d be delighted to talk to you.”
“Great. I’m convinced the parchment is a fraud. I’d like confirmation from you on a couple of points.”
“What are those?”
“First of all…”
Etienne interrupted her. “Oh dear. I’m at Heathrow. They just called my flight. I’m on my way home. Tell you what. I’ll be back in time for your deadline. Here’s my address.” Etienne recited it slowly so Elizabeth could write it down. “Nobody’s home this evening. I’d like you to meet me in front of the building at ten. I’ll be arriving in a cab from the airport. We can go up to my apartment and talk. If I get back earlier, I’ll come down for you.”
“I’ll be there,” Elizabeth said.
&
nbsp; Musa took back the phone and turned the power off. He was confident Etienne avoided raising any suspicion.
54
PARIS
Elizabeth took a cab to Professor Etienne’s apartment and arrived fifteen minutes before ten. It was dark. Heavy clouds covering the sliver of a moon. Two street lamps at the corner burnt out.
She sent the cab away, planning to call another when she finished talking to the Professor. She was thinking about the draft she’d written thus far. A damn good article. With a couple of pithy quotes from Professor Etienne, she’d put it to bed.
Her laptop in the briefcase held the draft. She planned to make the revisions with Etienne in his apartment. Then transmit to Rob.
She was particularly proud of the last two paragraphs. “When scholars like Professor Khalid perpetuate a hoax, the public must search for their objective. Is it merely to enhance their standing in the academic world? Or are they serving some master with a political agenda?
“This parchment is so highly charged, cutting at the heart at European stability, threatening to destroy the existing order, that suspicion of a larger goal is justified. It behooves the governments of Western Europe to force Professor Khalid to disclose all of his partners in this intellectual crime.”
Looking around, Elizabeth felt increasingly vulnerable and nervous. She was the only pedestrian on the sidewalk. In the five minutes since the cab pulled away, no cars had passed. Odd, she thought, Professor Etienne wanting to meet her on the street. She tried to rationalize. If no one was home and he was coming from the airport, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual.
She should have insisted that he come to her office. But face it, I never had a chance. Our phone conversation was rushed because his plane was boarding.
She walked over to the front door of his building. Above the doorbell were name plates for the occupants. Etienne was on the third floor. The only apartment on that floor.
