The Complete Donavan Adventure Series

by Tom Haase

  The last to enter the room held the position of superior general of the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits, the front line defenders of the Roman Catholic religion. He projected the demeanor of a bulldog after a bone. His short rotund body and protruding belly stretched his cassock—and often prevented one from seeing the massive intellect contained in the man's head. His IQ not on any chart and his reasoning process left a computer chip at the starting line in any race.

  Jonathan remained amazed at this assembly. But now his dread began to surface. What had he done wrong? He obviously asked the wrong question. He stood up in respect as they took their seats at the other end of the table.

  “Monsignor, we are here to clarify some points that have arisen from your query about the existence of a Bible of Constantine,” Cardinal Ho Chan said. Jonathan knew him, but the cardinal did not smile or give him any form of recognition.

  “Yes, Eminence, I will be glad to provide you with any information that I have.” Jonathan looked directly at the man.

  “Where did you get the information this Bible, the book commissioned by Constantine, is still in existence?” asked the superior general.

  “In a conversation this morning with Bridget Donavan. I was informed that she holds positive evidence that the Bible exist.” He took a long pause, and before he could continue Cardinal Sanso indicated he wanted to speak.

  “You mean that woman who published the Gospel of St. Peter when we paid her not to?” asked Cardinal Sanso.

  “Yes, that is the person with whom I spoke. She informed me that she knows of its existence and where it is possibly located. She is now planning to go and retrieve the book.” He decided not to correct the facts, since the Donavans had not been paid to not publish.

  “That must not be allowed,” intoned the cardinal from the Congregation of the Faithful. His head sprang up from his bent-over position, and he continued in bellicose tones. “We must have that book. This must be stopped.”

  Jonathan looked at the man in amazement. What set him off? The cardinal made little attempt to conceal his consternation. Jonathan garnered no clue as to what could have caused his explosion.

  “Monsignor McGregor, where did she say this book is located?” asked the superior general. The man's brain seemed to be racing to some point undiscerned by Jonathan.

  He sat astonished, not knowing where this could go. It all seemed so simple to him when he asked a nonthreatening question in the papal office and requested access to the archives. With the level of interest that it generated here at the Vatican there definitely must be more to this than simply finding one ancient manuscript. These men appeared upset. No, more than upset, they were conducting an inquisition.

  And he was the one tied to the stake.

  “Miss Donavan did not reveal the document's location. May I ask why there is such interest in this ancient manuscript?” Jonathan waited.

  “Are you able to get in contact with Miss Donavan?” asked the superior general.

  “Yes, I have her telephone number.”

  The three looked at one another and held a sub voce conference that Jonathan could not hear. They deliberately avoided answering his question. Jonathan realized that to get this type of questioning by three of the highest members of the Vatican State provided a reason for him to be wary. They were after something or they knew something they were keeping from him.

  “Monsignor, I'm well aware of your exploits with the Donavans last year. You handled that in a professional manner and saved the Church much embarrassment. I believe we have to ask you to help once more.” The Cardinal Secretary of State stood up after speaking and walked toward Jonathan.

  “I'm at your service,” Jonathan said as he stood when Cardinal Chan approached. “May I ask why this particular book will be of such importance?”

  “Find out from the woman where the Bible is located,” ordered the Cardinal Secretary of State. “Then come to my office for further instructions.”

  “Why—” Jonathan stopped in mid-sentence because all three men turned their backs and were leaving the room. The inquisition terminated.

  He would call Bridget as they requested, but he felt certain of her answer. She would be polite, but she would not reveal the location to him. He needed to find out more. He knew the single person who might be able to help, the ancient curator in the Vatican Museum.

  The curator greeted Jonathan as an old friend. Many years before, the curator had been Jonathan's philosophy professor and Jonathan's love of Aristotle and the polemics endeared him to the old priest. Jonathan explained that he researched for the Cardinal Secretary of State and needed to find out about the existence of the Bibles of Constantine.

  “So, old friend, can you give me any help finding whether these books actually exist?” Jonathan asked.

  The glasses resting on the end of his praetorian nose enhanced the demeanor of this scholarly-looking priest who raised his bright blue eyes toward Jonathan. He paused a few seconds as if trying to form his words in response to the query. Then he smiled.

  “Of course they exist. Of the fifty originals, we have all but one.”

  19

  Washington, D.C.

  FBI Headquarters

  Matt's neck felt like an ice cube due to the breeze cascading from the air-conditioning. He realized it stayed this cold because they needed to keep the servers and computers at a certain temperature, but this atmosphere was maintained a little colder than he liked for comfort. He and Liz walked to Libby's desk, where she sat wrapped in a sweater, and asked her about any advancement in the facial recognition software on the perp.

  “You want miracles? Go to church. Here we only do the impossible, not miracles,” she said. Then she broke into a broad smile. “Gotcha,” she said standing up and handing him a picture.

  “Who is he?” Matt asked.

  “I'm a computer geek, you're the special agent. Now which one of us has the job of finding out who he is?”

  Matt smiled. She had him.

  “Okay, here is miracle number one,” Liz added. “I think I know who this guy is. He appeared in the newspapers a few months back, something to do with the religious spat with the Catholic Church. He claimed he discovered something, and they said he hadn't or something like that. His name is Scott Donavan.”

  “Not just a pretty face. Sorry, I didn't mean to make what I'm sure everybody here would consider a sexist remark. Please forgive me,” Matt said, striking his breast in mea culpa fashion.

  “You boys out west haven't caught on to that political correctness yet?” Libby piped in. She sat back down behind her desk and pretended to work. She looked up, “Anything else I can do for you guys?”

  “No. Thanks for this. You did great,” Matt said. He turned to his partner. “Before we rush off, I need to hit the men's room. Excuse me for a minute.”

  After he left, the ladies did not notice that he stopped around the first corner and listened Liz asked Libby, “Hey, by the way, do you know anything about my new partner? We've only been together for a couple of days and I just wonder if there’s anything you can tell me. You know everything around here,” she added, flattering Libby.

  “I know his wife was killed in the terrorist attack on the Pentagon on 9/11. He lost his daughter last year to cancer. He served in the army a few years ago on some type of black operations and he hates terrorists, any shape, any size. I think he has somewhat of a personal grudge, but I can't blame the guy. He seems like a straight shooter to me,” Libby concluded.

  “Thanks for the info. I appreciate it. Might be helpful for me in the future,” she whispered. Matt went on to the restroom.

  “I guess we have to go and find what's our perp has been doing. More important, where he is right now,” Liz said, when Matt returned.

  “Let's go. We can do most of that on computers,” Matt concluded.

  Thirty minutes later, he raised his head from the computer screen. All the information he thought they needed to apprehend Scott Donavan now rest
ed in his hands. He showed it to Liz. She perused it, grabbed her coat, and they headed for the door.

  Scott’s apartment was vacant. After obtaining a proper warrant and subsequent to a forensic team examination of the place, there they found no evidence of any bomb making materials. Also, no evidence revealed Scott Donavan's location. They spent the rest of the day interviewing his co-workers and residents of his apartment building. They tried to trace his trail after he’d called in sick at work.

  “Sure looks more incriminating. He just disappears right after setting off a bomb on the Metro. No doubt he's our boy,” Matt said while they drove back to headquarters.

  “I don't know if you're correct,” Liz said. “I have a funny feeling about this. The video plainly shows him delivering the bomb into the Metro station, ordering everyone out, and then setting it off. I just wonder why he's in such a rush to get it into the closet. And how did he make the bomb? There existed no trace of residue in his apartment, and he doesn't have a storage area in the building. The super there said he didn't own a car. Wait a minute, if he went somewhere, maybe he took a cab. Let's get on that right now.”

  Two hours later, a report came to them that a cabbie took Scott Donavan to Dulles Airport the night before.

  “He's on the run,” Matt stated. “I have no doubt about it, considering the footage we have.”

  “Let's find out where he went.” Liz sent off a request for that information.

  Twenty minutes later he learned that the man he sought boarded an airplane at Dulles, flew to New York and took an El Al nonstop flight to Israel.

  “What do we do now? We aren't allowed to go after him there,” Liz noted.

  “So we let him get away?' Matt shook his head. “No, I don't think so.”

  “What can we do?”

  “This is our chance to make our careers and to do something good for the country. We can wail about petty rules, but the bad guys don't play by the rules. If we want this guy, we can't wait.” Matt pounded the desk as he finished his statement.

  “You're crazy. If we go after him, they'll crucify us, and we'll be on duty on some tiny Pacific island possession with only two residents—you and me.”

  “I didn't say we. I'm going after the bastard,” Matt said. “He may be planning on setting off bombs in Israel or becoming one of those suicide jihadist nuts that blow themselves up in crowded places, or blow up an El Al jet.”

  “You think he's some kind of Muslim extremist? Maybe an international terrorist? I doubt that, or he wouldn't have warned those people. Besides, that doesn't match up with anything in his background. We need to take a break and get a profiler to build us a picture of this perp.”

  “Okay, you stay here and do that. You're going to help me by obeying all the rules and regs. I'm going to get this guy no matter what it takes.”

  “You know the rules, two agents on every case.”

  “I know. And we are two, and we're on a case. You'll be here, and I'll be out there. You have to support me. Keep this between us. It should only take a few days. You can go off to his hometown to get background. That will keep the higher-ups happy as we build the case against him. They won't miss me because I'll supposedly be with you. I'll call you every day or more often if I need help. Come on, Liz, please.”

  She didn't respond. Instead, she paced a few times and went over to the coffee pot, picked it up, and found it empty.

  “Our pot is empty right now, too,” she said, holding up the glass coffee pot. “We have nothing. I think I should go visit his hometown to see what I can learn. Is that all right with you?” She smiled at him.

  “I'll make out okay somehow without you.” He smiled in a sign of appreciation.

  20

  Jerusalem

  “Miss Schultz, a moment please,” Cornelius Jake panted, as he hurried to where she stood waiting for the hotel elevator. The flight over had left him exhausted, but the sight of Schultz's daughter energized him to take action. A favor from a friend at the airport provided Scott's flight details from Washington to Israel, and a second inquiry about Schultz produced the plans for Gertrude Schultz going to the same place. He raced to intercept the Schultz girl, as this would be a stroke of luck. He believed she would be his best target.

  The young lady turned toward him, and a questioning look appeared on her face. “Do I know you?”

  “My name is Cornelius Jake. I'm with the Washington Post. I have a proposition for you and it's not any type of come-on or perverted sexual thing.” He waited for her to absorb the meaning of his offer. She exuded self-confidence and radiated beauty. “I believe I can help you.” He stood there and again waited.

  “How could you possibly do that, Mr. Jake?”

  “Please join me for a coffee, and I'll explain,” Cornelius said and indicated the way to the café. She hesitated, but he saw the change in her attitude as she started toward the coffee shop doors. He tried to press his shirt into his pants and pulled his belt up over the protruding stomach. He stopped half way through and realized it didn't matter now.

  After ordering, Cornelius prepared to launch into his speech to obtain her cooperation. The logic of it seemed clear to him, and she would grasp its implications. His investigative instincts allowed him to jump to a conclusion and then try to prove or disprove his hypothesis. In this case, he wanted to project an air of certainty in his assumption.

  “You have my curiosity aroused. Why would a reporter from Washington believe he could help me?” She sat back in her chair and peered at him with what might be considered animosity, but he took it to be her way of attempting to dominate the conversation.

  “I believe your father has sent Scott Donavan on a mission to Jerusalem and that you are tagging along. How'm I doing so far?”

  She didn't respond, but started to get up.

  “Bear with me a few seconds.”

  She relaxed, and Jake continued. “I believe the Donavans are not likely to let you in on anything, or at least they’ll attempt to keep you out of the loop as far as possible. They’ll want all the credit even if you are assisting them with either finances or other assets.” He moved in closer as he said this and noticed a perceptible change in the woman's demeanor. Her minute facial change with the slight elevation of her right eyebrow signaled that he hit a nerve. Time to press his point.

  “I can get in with the Donavans. They'll want notoriety for anything they find to reestablish their sullied academic credentials. That's where I can be of great assistance. The press could propel them to fame and a return to their previously held positions, or perhaps even beyond.” He stopped and took a sip of coffee. “I could be your inside man.”

  “I think you are despicable,” she said with no great force. “How do you know that the Donavan's are involved? Do you even know the Donavans?”

  That confirmed his suspicion that both Donavans were in on this venture. Gertrude's body language did not indicate she meant her words enough to get up and leave. Cornelius believed he had her on the hook. Now he must level with her.

  “Getting in with them should be easy in light of the facts I related to you. They will need someone like me to help them with the publicity, and this time they don't want the Vatican to deny everything. That’s hard to do if there's a reporter verifying every detail of a major story. I'm old and have a trustworthy face, do I not?”

  She gave a guttural laugh and a minimal smile appeared.

  “What is it that you're seeking? What are the Donavans going to do?” Jake asked.

  “I think we should visit my room, Mr. Jake. Perhaps you are more despicable than I originally imagined.” She smiled at him, collected her purse, and headed for the door. Over her shoulder she said, “And not for sexual purposes, but to be out of sight of any prying eyes, like an unexpected encounter with that pair.” She kept walking ahead of him.

  Jake concluded that for her to give in there had to be a major project in the works, and Benjamin Schultz must be behind it. Now he needed to keep up t
he talk until he could glean more. He would have to think of how to get the money out of this, but it could well be his ticket to an enjoyable retirement.

  21

  Vatican City

  “What do you mean only missing one of the fifty?” Jonathan asked the old priest.

  “You see, over the years recipients of the original Bibles signed by Constantine have somehow landed here at the Vatican. We are under orders to try to get all fifty of them here at the museum, but all believe the last one must have been destroyed in the crusaders' sack of Jerusalem. We know that many of the recipients willed their copy of the Bible to the Pope. I think they believed it was a precondition of their having that holy book. That is when they die it should be returned to Rome, to the primary Bishop of the Christian Church, the successor of St. Peter.” The old man shuffled some papers on his desk and then removed his dangling bifocals from his Roman nose and looked at Jonathan.

  “What is your interest in this?” queried the curator.

  “A friend of mine said that she had information on the location of one of the Bibles of Constantine. I'm just trying to find out about them,” Jonathan said as he moved in front of the staring priest.

  “If she has, I hope she doesn't find it.”

  “Why? Wouldn't it be of immense value?” Jonathan couldn't believe that the old man didn't want this Bible to be found.

  “Legend has it that Bible, the one that we do not have, contains a secret so profound that it would alter all of the beliefs of the Christian world. Of course it's a legend. But it's supposed to contain the secret that the mother of the Roman Emperor, St. Helena, brought back from the Holy Land. When she visited there she supposedly found the true cross and the crown of thorns used at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. The other important discovery that she made never revealed. Only her son, the Emperor, remained the keeper of the secret after her death. He supposedly wrote the secret in the first Bible presented to the Bishop of Jerusalem to thank him for copying the fifty Bibles. The man had to swear upon it for himself and his successors that he would never let it out of his possession. Over the centuries people have forgotten about it as just another book with no relevance in today's world.”