The Sacred Scroll

by Anton Gill

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘They wanted more out of us than just archaeological skills.’

  ‘That’s even crazier. Jeez, my head –’

  Adkins didn’t answer. He was too tired to think any more. Despite himself, his brain was drifting back into a comfortable miasma. All he could think of, for some reason, was the deep sea, drifting over endless underwater dunes.

  He shook his head to clear it. ‘They’ll be looking for us,’ he said, echoing his colleague. ‘They’ll find us,’ but he wasn’t convinced, and neither, he knew, was Taylor.

  Taylor had fallen silent.

  ‘Rick? Still with me?’ Adkins mumbled.

  ‘Still here,’ Taylor said. ‘What the hell did they pump into us?’ There was a pause. ‘I could sure as shit use a drink.’

  ‘Don’t go there.’

  Taylor croaked out a laugh. ‘Don’t worry – state I’m in, water would do nicely.’

  It’d been – how long? – since they’d last been given anything; a couple of crusts of pitta bread and two plastic beakers of warm cola. And cola is no thirst-quencher, no matter what they tell you. ‘If they want to keep us alive, they’ll bring us something.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  Brad Adkins’s eyes flinched then as the dark cell was flooded with cold light from the lamps bolted into the ceiling. Soon afterwards, he knew, he would hear the footsteps.

  He huddled protectively in his corner. He’d grown used to the filth, but he was still bewildered.

  ‘Oh Christ, here they come,’ growled Taylor, and Adkins saw that his reaction was different. Taylor was bracing himself.

  6

  New York City, the Present

  Laura Graves sat uncomfortably across the desk from Sir Richard Hudson in his airy office two floors above Room 55.

  ‘I called you in because I felt I owed you an explanation,’ he began.

  ‘If it’s about the job –’

  He looked at her seriously. ‘I know you’re disappointed, but this business landed on our desk in the middle of restructuring.’

  ‘I understand, sir. Marlow has far more field-work experience.’

  ‘But not your specific language expertise. The missing scientists have to be located, and that’s where you’re crucial. The job has top-level priority. And Jack is the man to lead an investigation like this.’

  ‘Which is why you pulled him back from Paris.’

  ‘I know you were expecting to take charge of the new Section 15 –’

  ‘It was as good as damned well promised me.’

  ‘– but, in our business, expediency is all. Later on, who knows? Situations change.’

  Graves didn’t answer that.

  Hudson leaned forward. ‘How much do you know about Marlow?’

  ‘He and Lopez are old friends, I know that much.’

  ‘I suppose you could call them that. Have you spoken to Lopez?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That surprises me, considering you arrived before Jack.’

  ‘I’m more of a newcomer than he is.’

  ‘But you’ve been in this game almost as long.’ Hudson leaned back. ‘What do you think of him?’

  She spread her hands, not knowing how to answer, then decided to fall back on a safe ‘It’s really too early to say.’

  Hudson laughed briefly. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you haven’t checked him out.’

  ‘His files are restricted.’

  ‘Tell me what you know.’

  Graves didn’t have much room for manoeuvre. In fact, in the short space of time since she’d met him, she’d thought long and hard about her new chief.

  The research she’d been able to do was limited. She’d pulled a file which told her that Marlow was born in London. Now in his late thirties, he’d been educated at Winchester and the Sorbonne, where he’d read Archaeology and Anthropology.

  The file also told her that he’d looked set for a career as an archaeologist, but something (not specified) made him change horses, and in a move which indicated to Graves an early recruitment to INTERSEC, he’d spent a year on the foreign desk of the Guardian before moving to Time and thence to a job with CNN. Cover jobs, in other words.

  Just over ten years ago he had been in London, a field operative at INTERSEC’s bureau there. Five years later, he transferred to Paris, a posting Graves envied. Like most people who’d never lived there, she equated Paris with romance and excitement.

  ‘But you know all this,’ she said to Hudson when she’d run through this information for him. ‘Why ask me?’

  ‘I wanted to hear how you described him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Women are susceptible to him.’

  Graves laughed scornfully. ‘For God’s sake!’

  ‘Not that he’s one to take advantage of that. In fact – certainly lately – he’s been quite impervious.’ Hudson looked roguish. ‘I think Cupid’s dart gave him a bad sting not long ago and he’s retired from the lists. He used to be quite susceptible to women, too.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  Hudson shrugged. ‘No reason. But there is one thing you could do for me.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just keep a sisterly eye on him for me, would you?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now, you’d better get on. I’ve asked Marlow for an end-of-day report … unless you can give me a preview?’ He raised an eyebrow a fraction.

  ‘The only way to trace these people is to find out what they were after. But the gist is that it was a simple dig.’

  ‘The Dandolo Project.’

  ‘Absolutely. Marlow’s got all the information available from the universities the three archaeologists work for – Yale and Venice. The two Yale boys are Dr Bradley Adkins and Dr Richard Taylor; the Venice academic is called Su-Lin de Montferrat, a Chinese-Italian.’

  ‘And –?’

  ‘Dandolo was doge of Venice, but he died in Constantinople in 1205. The archaeologists had discovered his burial site and were researching it.’ She paused. ‘Marlow will fill you in later. That’s all I have.’

  ‘Nothing special they were looking for then?’

  ‘Nothing to show that yet.’ She looked at him. ‘But there must have been. Otherwise, why give this to us?’

  ‘And why were they taken? This isn’t some ad hoc terrorist kidnapping.’

  ‘Too clinical?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Hudson made a tent of his fingers. ‘So it boils down to this: find out what they were looking for, and that tells us who snatched them. And be quick. We’re keeping the Press away from this, but the families are beginning to ask questions. Understandably.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we make tracing the archaeologists top priority?’

  Hudson swivelled his chair round to the window and gazed out over leaves still clinging listlessly to the trees in Central Park. The day had become as grey as a prison.

  ‘There’s interest in what they were looking for,’ he said. ‘And these days, it’s sometimes hard to define what one’s priorities are.’

  He swivelled back, reached for a cigar, and lit it. ‘You’d better be getting back downstairs,’ he continued. ‘And don’t forget the little favour I’ve asked you.’

  Graves made her way back to the elevators unsure whether she’d been given an order or not. But she felt less bad now about being passed over for Marlow. Slightly.

  She thought again about the information she’d been able to glean on him. He certainly wasn’t the easiest guy to read. Physically, not bad, she had to admit. Lanky, wore good clothes, carelessly green eyes, sad-looking, veiled, but buried humour there, if it ever got a chance to get out. Looked a little older than he was, but no doubt of a muscular, fit body. And, though she hated to admit it, he was sexy.

  No details of his private life at all. Pity.

  And no time to think about that now.

  She punched in the code to Room 55 and entered quietly. The two men were at the other end
of the room, backs turned, talking in low voices. She caught the tail-end of a conversation, and felt like she was snooping already.

  ‘You’re right,’ Marlow was saying. ‘It’s a lesson I should have got by heart.’

  Lopez looked sympathetic. ‘But you’ve put that in the past.’

  ‘It’s still with me, like shrapnel. But as far as I’m concerned, the bitch is dead. And let’s shut up about it. We’re wasting time.’

  Then he saw Graves and his expression changed. ‘You’re late,’ he said, but he wasn’t unfriendly. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Sorry’ was all she said. To her relief, he seemed to choose not to pursue it. But he looked at her enigmatically and she wondered if he knew.

  ‘What’ve I missed?’ she went on hastily.

  Marlow was already lifting a folder from his desk. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Just come in. First section.’

  He tapped the folder. ‘The starting point here is our three archaeologists. Standard missing persons in suspicious circumstances. Since the missing persons are foreign nationals, and two of them are Americans, there’s more than the usual fuss,’ he continued. ‘It isn’t just that they’ve vanished without a trace, but everything connected with them has as well. We’re waiting on a report from the Turks who are handling it at the Istanbul end. Chase it up.’

  ‘Do we know what they were on to?’

  ‘Find that out and we find them.’ His words, she thought, echoed Hudson’s. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’ll leave you,’ said Lopez. ‘I’ve got something to tie up. Tail end of a case. Just needs a last tweak.’

  ‘Make it fast.’

  Lopez disappeared into his lab as Graves picked up a black phone and dialled a number.

  It took Marlow five minutes to digest the other documents in the folder. Background stuff.

  The first was a printout of a New York Times article from 2001:

  Last week, Pope John-Paul II visited Greece – the first pope to do so in nearly 1,300 years. In Athens he had a private 30-minute meeting with Archbishop Christodoulos, head of the Eastern Orthodox Church. When they emerged from the meeting the two prelates were stony-faced as the Greek archbishop read out a list of the ‘thirteen offences’ committed by the Roman Catholic Church against the Eastern Orthodox Church since the Great Schism of 1054 which divided the Church for the first time into its Eastern and Western branches. Among the thirteen offences, Archbishop Christodoulos made particular mention of the pillaging and destruction of Constantinople (modern-day Istanbul) by the crusading armies of the Fourth Crusade, inspired by Pope Innocent III and led by Count Baldwin of Flanders, Marquess Boniface of Montferrat and Doge Enrico Dandolo of Venice, in 1204, and bemoaned the lack of any apology for it from the Roman Catholic Church. He said: ‘Until now, there has not been heard a single request for pardon for the maniacal Crusaders of the 13th century.’

  Pope John-Paul responded by saying, ‘For the occasions, past and present, when sons and daughters of the Catholic Church have sinned by action or omission against their Orthodox brothers and sisters, may the Lord grant us forgiveness.’

  Archbishop Christodoulos immediately applauded this statement, and the pope added his opinion that the sacking of Constantinople was a source of ‘profound regret’ for Catholics.

  Later, the pope and the archbishop met again at a place where Saint Paul had once preached to Athenian Christians. Here, they issued a common declaration, saying: ‘We will do everything in our power to ensure that the Christian roots of Europe, and its Christian soul, may be preserved. We condemn all recourse to violence, proselytism, and fanaticism in the name of religion.’

  The two leaders then said the Lord’s Prayer together, an act which broke an Orthodox interdiction against praying with Catholics.

  The next sheet contained a quotation Marlow recognized, from near the end of the New Testament, concerning the fall of Babylon. The sheet was a high-scan photocopy of a manuscript, written in a shaky but educated hand. There was a signature at the bottom, which started with a boldly penned ‘L’, followed by what looked like an ‘e’ and a ‘p’, but the rest of the name was indistinct. A typescript of the text accompanied it, and told him that the quotation was from the Book of Revelation:

  And the kings of the earth, who committed fornication and were wanton with her, will weep and wail over her when they see the smoke of her burning; they will stand far off, in fear of her torment, and say,

  ‘Alas! Alas! Thou great city,

  Thou mighty city, Babylon!

  In one hour has thy judgement come.’

  And the merchants of the earth weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo any more, cargo of gold, silver, jewels and pearls, fine linen, purple, silk and scarlet, all kinds of scented wood, all articles of ivory, all articles of costly wood, bronze, iron and marble, cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, oil, fine flour and wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human souls.

  ‘The fruit for which thy soul longed has gone from thee, and all thy dainties and thy splendour are lost to thee, never to be found again!’

  The merchants of these wares, who gained wealth from her, will stand far off, in fear of her torment, weeping and mourning aloud,

  ‘Alas, alas, for the great city that was clothed in fine linen, in purple and scarlet, bedecked with gold, with jewels, and with pearls! In one hour, all this wealth has been laid waste.’

  And all the shipmasters and seafaring men, sailors and all whose trade is on the sea, stood far off and cried as they saw the smoke of her burning,

  ‘What city was like the great city?’

  And they threw dust on their heads, as they wept, and mourned, crying out,

  ‘Alas, alas for the great city, where all who had ships at sea grew rich by her wealth! In one hour she has been laid waste.’

  Rejoice over her, O heaven, O saints and apostles and prophets, for God has given judgement for you against her!

  Marlow glanced across at Graves, still on the telephone, and read on. Whatever all this was about the destruction of Babylon, it was linked to the disappearances, and the Dandolo Project. The photocopy was of a parchment dating from a good eight hundred years ago – he didn’t need Laura to confirm that.

  He knew who had copied it out, all those centuries ago. But why?

  7

  Graves watched Marlow as she waited on the phone and he read.

  He was about 1.85m, she reckoned. He looked as if he worked out, but that was unsurprising in an INTERSEC field officer. His body movements were lithe and keen – in a word, she thought again, sexy.

  The face was more interesting than handsome, but attractive. Regular features – straight nose, clean-shaven, chin firm but not chiselled. Dark hair. Guarded eyes, as she’d already noted; but it was there that the attractiveness lay.

  There was also something restless in his attitude as he sat there, brow slightly furrowed, reading with swift concentration.

  She hoped they’d work well together. She was aware she was Sir Richard’s appointment, not his.

  She listened to the voice at the other end of the phone for a few seconds then hung up. Marlow was nearing the end of the file on his lap. From the lab came muted, metallic sounds.

  Marlow flipped the folder shut and glanced at her. She walked over to him.

  ‘Anything?’ he asked her.

  ‘On its way.’

  He handed her what he’d been reading. ‘Take a look at the biblical stuff.’

  She read it quickly.

  ‘It’s from a document the archaeologists turned up in the State Archives in Istanbul. Copied out by a man called Leporo, who had something to do with the doge of Venice. Quite why, since he would have had easy access to a Bible, we’ve no idea.’

  ‘Obviously important to him.’

  ‘The description isn’t far off what the Crusaders did to Constantinople,’ said Marlow.

  ‘Doge Dandolo was one hell of a gu
y.’

  ‘Dandolo was already an old man, and – some say – blind.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘For those days, almost supernaturally old. We don’t know exactly, but he was probably around ninety-five.’

  ‘Not possible!’

  ‘Perfectly possible.’

  ‘But if he was doge of Venice, what was he doing getting involved in a Crusade? I thought the Venetians put trade and commerce well above war?’

  ‘And so he did. That’s why he got involved. Constantinople at the time was a big trade rival to Venice.’

  ‘But Constantinople was a Christian city,’ she said.

  ‘Nothing gets in the way of business.’

  Graves looked at him as he smiled sardonically. ‘You’re not going to tell me that he diverted the Crusaders to Constantinople?’

  ‘That’s exactly what he did,’ he replied.

  ‘How?’

  ‘That’s easy, at least on the face of it. The Crusaders were mainly French and German. Small nobility and farming stock, most of them. They were country bumpkins by the standards of Venetians – and Greeks, for that matter. They were far more sophisticated. The Crusaders ordered a fleet from the Venetians because their plan was to sail to Egypt and attack the Holy Land from the south.’

  ‘Were they sailors?’

  ‘No – but the Venetians were. What the Crusaders didn’t know was that Venice had just concluded a peace agreement with Egypt, which supplied them with grain, and a trade route to the East. Alexandria was to be a big centre of commerce.’

  ‘But Egypt was already a Muslim country.’

  ‘What did I just say about business?’ said Marlow. ‘Egypt was weak at the time, there’d been a civil war and the Nile had failed to flood for five years in a row, so food was scarce. The Egyptians didn’t want a crusading army marching through their country. Dandolo was prepared to guarantee that that wouldn’t happen, in exchange for the advantages I’ve just mentioned.’