The Simeon Scroll

by Neil Howarth

“Take them out into the desert, and shoot them,” Blanchet said. “And Brad, do the priest first.”

  40

  Judean Desert, Israel.

  The man next to Frankie had his gun jammed into her ribs, and his hand moved up to her right breast. Frankie jammed her hand between his legs, grabbed a handful of scrotum, and twisted hard. The man shrieked, and the driver hit the brakes. The boss in front turned around and pushed his pistol hard against Frankie’s head.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  Frankie let go.

  Fagan put an arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “Tell your friend here to keep his hands off her.”

  “And what you gonna do about it, preacher.” The groper got right in his face.

  The car had come to a halt in heavy traffic. The lights just ahead were red. Fagan looked out at a traffic camera mounted on top of the traffic light. “Go ahead, do it right here,” Fagan said. “It’s all being recorded by that camera up there.”

  The boss turned his gun on Fagan. “Listen, preacher, if we start shooting here, there’s a good chance that a bunch of innocent people are going to get caught up in it. And I don’t think you’d want that - Father.”

  “So we both want something.”

  “Tommy,” the boss turned to the groper. “Back off.”

  Fagan pulled Frankie in closer and gave her a concerned look. She gave him a faint smile and a barely perceptible nod. Fagan couldn’t help thinking, did that mean I’m all right, or I know what I’m doing?

  They headed west out of the city, dropping down towards the Judean desert. But instead of long sweeping sand dunes, it was a series of dry stony terraces and valleys, etched across the arid landscape as the ground dropped away. They drove for half an hour with no one saying a word. The driver left the main highway and took a winding road that climbed slowly along a broad escarpment, with what on any other day, would be a magnificent panoramic view of the Dead Sea in the valley below. At the top, they turned onto a dirt track and stopped.

  “Okay.” The leader in the front turned to them, his gun poking over the back of the seat. “Let’s do this nice and gently. Tommy, you get out first.”

  The groper opened the door and backed out. He stood with his gun pointing back at them.

  “Okay lady, you next.” As she stepped out of the car, the driver got out and pointed another gun at her. Fagan climbed out behind her.

  “Bobby,” The leader indicated to the driver as he got out. “You stay with the car. Keep your eyes open. Okay folks, let’s take a little walk.”

  Frankie walked out ahead with the groper behind her, Fagan followed with the boss behind him. They moved down into a narrow passage, cut through the cliff. After a short distance, it opened out onto a flat area, hidden from the road and ended with an abrupt drop to the valley below.

  “Okay preacher, let’s get this over with.” The boss waved his gun towards the cliff edge. “Step forward.”

  Fagan moved out onto the flat area and stopped close to the edge. “Do I get to pray, first?”

  The man gave a shake of his head. “Okay, but make it quick.”

  Fagan knelt in the dirt and clasped his hands together. He felt unusually calm. He wasn’t sure whether it was acceptance or anticipation.

  The groper grabbed hold of Frankie’s arm. “Enjoy this part. Then we’re going to have us some fun.”

  Frankie gave him a look of contempt. “You going to get your friend here to show you what to do?”

  “Bitch.” He pulled her in close. She could smell his rancid breath and turned her head away in disgust.

  “Tommy, back off.” The boss called out.

  Frankie whipped her head back hard, butting the man directly on the nose with as much force as she could get. The bone broke with a resounding crack that seemed to reverberate off the cliff walls and blood splattered across the rock. Frankie was behind him in an instant, grabbing his head in both hands. She whipped it around with a sickening crack, then scooped up his gun as he collapsed into the dirt.

  The boss turned and snapped a shot at her, but she had disappeared up the track. Fagan was already moving, scrambling to his feet and going for the gun. But the man was fast. He swung around and pulled the trigger, but Fagan reached the gun hand and deflected the shot. He stepped in close, jabbing for the body, the other hand gripping the gun hand hard. The man seemed to twist and turn, then suddenly he was behind him, a straight arm across Fagan’s throat. Fagan kicked back aiming for the knee, but the man had already released him and taken two steps back. He now stood holding the gun. “Time to go, preacher. Then I’ll go look for your friend.”

  “You don’t have to look far.” A voice called from up above them.

  The man dropped to one knee, swinging up his gun. A loud hollow bang echoed off the cliff face, and blood and brain splattered against the rock. The boss swayed then collapsed forward onto the dirt track. Fagan crossed himself and looked up at Frankie, standing on the rock above him.

  “Remind me never to get you mad at me.”

  A voice seemed to emanate from the boss’s body. Fagan moved towards it.

  “Boss?” A distorted voice called out.

  Fagan removed a walkie-talkie device from the boss’s combat jacket.

  The voice spoke again. “Boss, what’s going on?”

  “What was the driver’s name?” Fagan called up to Frankie.

  Frankie thought for a moment, then her face lit up. “Bobby, I am sure it was Bobby.”

  Fagan pressed the button. “Hey Bobby,” he tried to adopt the southern drawl of the dead man. “It’s done, why don’t you come give us a hand.”

  A couple of minutes later the driver appeared down the rock passage. Fagan stepped out holding the leader’s gun. The man stopped, and Frankie stepped up behind him. “Drop your gun and keep walking.”

  The man did as he was told and stepped out onto the plateau. Frankie cocked the automatic and took aim at the man’s head.

  “No,” Fagan held up his hand. “There’s been enough killing.” He stepped up to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, see that road down there.” He pointed with the gun in his hand. “That could be your road to salvation. If you were to make your way down there you could probably stop a car, get a lift back to the city.”

  The man regarded him as if he was crazy.

  “Look at them.” Fagan gestured towards the bodies. “You probably thought they were good, the best. Well, there’s always someone better - always. You need to get a new job, a new life. Trust me, I did.”

  They disposed of the guns and the radios over the edge of the cliff. Fagan headed back to the car. Frankie stayed, standing by the driver, who was now sitting on his hands. She had retrieved the SIG and was pointing it at his head. “I need you to stay here for at least ten minutes. And please, do not confuse me with my friend. If I even get a glimpse of you, I will put a bullet in your head.”

  She caught up with Fagan at the Range Rover and held out an automatic she had retrieved from the one called Bobby. “Here, take this.”

  Fagan studied it and shook his head. “No thanks, I’ll drive.”

  “Hey, you handled yourself pretty well back there. I loved your little praying move. It was just what I needed. A little time and a slight distraction.”

  Fagan looked at her and shook his head. “Trust me, I was just praying.”

  41

  East Jerusalem.

  Fagan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. They had just reached the outskirts of the city. He pulled the Range Rover into the side of the road and took out his phone. A simple message said, Call Me.

  “My God, it’s Walter.”

  Fagan keyed in the number. Walter’s voice answered after two rings.

  “And how is the sunny Holy Land?”

  “Where have you been?”

  Frankie twirled a finger by her ear. Fagan hit the speaker button and held the phone between them.

  “Joseph, don’t tell me you’ve
been worried about me.” Walter’s voice was clear as a bell.

  “I said where the hell have you been?”

  “As they say in all my favorite movies. I had to get out of town. People came looking for me. Not the kind of people I wanted to have a cozy chat with.”

  “Who?”

  “I didn’t hang about to find out.”

  “So where are you now?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone.”

  “Hi, Walter,” Frankie butted in. “I am glad you are okay.”

  “Frankie, I hope you’re taking good care of him.”

  She looked across at Fagan. Fagan shook his head.

  “I am trying my best.”

  “You’re still not off the hook,” Fagan said. “You could have found a way to get in touch.”

  “That’s what I’m doing now. So, any progress?”

  Fagan quickly told him about their visit to the École Biblique and what Pere Etienne had revealed to them. But he left out the part about their trip into the desert. He also told him about Ari’s rumor regarding the De Vaux Foundation.

  “Now that is interesting. I have a friend in Cardinal Vogler’s office. He loves to gossip. There are rumors here too.”

  “Walter, there are always rumors in the Vatican, it’s what they live on.”

  “But this one is different. There have been renovations and repairs going on in the Abbey of Saint Andre in Avignon. Apparently, there’s been a major find.”

  “I think I’ve heard that one before.”

  “According to my friend, this is the find of all finds.”

  “Walter, what did he tell you?”

  “During the renovations, they discovered a monk’s tomb. In it, they discovered a scroll. The scroll jar it was found in appears to be from the twelfth Century, but the scroll itself is much earlier.”

  “How early?”

  “First century.”

  “Walter, get to the point.”

  “I’m telling you, this is big. Initial research suggests that it may be the words of St. Peter himself - his Final Testament. The speculation is that it describes the last days of Christ’s life on earth.”

  Fagan stared at the phone but said nothing.”

  “Joseph are you there? I said this scroll is possibly an eyewitness account of Christ’s final days, his crucifixion.” Walter paused milking the moment. “And his resurrection.”

  Fagan still didn’t say a word.

  Frankie looked across at Fagan, a puzzled expression on her face. “I expected more rejoicing. I know enough about religion to know that the other faiths, mine in particular, acknowledge Jesus as a man, but that is all. They deny absolutely that he is the Son of God. Surely proof like this implies that the Gospels were true after all?”

  “Can you imagine what effect this will have on the world?” Fagan finally said.

  “The Christian Church was right?” Frankie lifted an eyebrow. “And everyone else was wrong?”

  “Unfortunately that’s the least likely way they’ll see it.”

  “This is a highly debated point in Christian theology,” Walter butted in over the phone. “Whether discovering something like this would do more harm than good. It’s even said that an event such as this could be a portent to what is described in the Bible, in the End Times Prophecy.”

  “Now you are getting scary,” Frankie said.

  “Never mind the debate,” said Fagan. “The non-Christian world will see it as an insult, maybe even a threat. I told you I’m a today priest. I care about helping people in today’s world. Do you think this will make life any easier for them, or will it just bring more troubles into their lives?”

  “Do you want me to quote from Revelations?” Walter asked.

  “No thanks, Walter. I think that’s enough drama. So what’s happening about it?”

  “Rumor has it, the Holy Father is trying to suppress it. He wants to bury it in the Vatican archives.”

  “Can you blame him?” Fagan said. “He’s spent his time as Pope trying to bring the world together, and this could rip it apart.”

  “It probably won’t surprise you to know that the work on the restoration is being funded by the De Vaux International Foundation.”

  “What did Pere Etienne at the École Biblique call their little enterprise?” Frankie said. “Repatriation?”

  “That could be the link to Thomas?” Fagan said. “To cover it up. To make the discovery in Avignon appear genuine, with no arguments about ownership. Without Thomas, who can question it? If this scroll had been discovered in the Holy Land, do we think the Israeli authorities would just let it go? In fact, the world may never have seen it.”

  “So what happens next?” Frankie asked. “Will the Pope get his way, and have this scroll buried in the Vatican archives, or will Dominic de Vaux use it to stop the Pope’s Reach-Out program in its tracks?”

  “Looking at the current political landscape,” Walter said. “the Curia and Bishops would definitely be backing the De Vaux scenario.”

  “And do we think that William would accept that?” Fagan said.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Which is what I’ve been worrying about all along. Did you get a chance to talk to Commissario Mateo?”

  “Joseph, I’m hiding in a hole in the ground. People are trying to kill me. There’s no way I can get close to him.”

  Frankie looked across at Fagan. “You were the one who said this thing could rip the whole world apart. Are we going to let them get away with that? These people murdered my brother and your friend. Would God, even your Christian God, approve of that, no matter what the value of this Testament of St. Peter?”

  Walter was silent on his end of the phone.

  “We need proof of what Thomas found,” Frankie said. “And we need to link it, and Brother Thomas’s death, and Jean-Claude’s, to De Vaux. If we can do that, I am sure we can tie in all the rest. And if we can do it before the scroll rumor becomes something more, then maybe the Pope will get his way, and we will have a free run at De Vaux.”

  “Well at least the scroll is still a rumor,” Walter said. “It hasn’t seen the light of day yet.”

  “Do you think it will stay that way for long?” Fagan said. “Walter, you need to stay close to what’s going on in Avignon. And look further into the De Vaux foundation. Dig deep, find out what they’re really up to.”

  “You realize I may have to break some serious laws.”

  “So what’s new?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Fagan looked at Frankie. “We’re going out to this monastery, see if we can find out what Brother Thomas found out there. How will we contact you?”

  “I’m ditching this phone as soon as I hang up. Contact Aldo. He always knows how to get in touch.” Walter paused. “Joseph, look after that lady, and be careful.”

  Fagan looked across at Frankie. “I think she can look after both of us.”

  42

  Jerusalem, Israel.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Fagan asked. They had dumped the Range Rover a few streets away and covered the last part on foot.

  “According to Ari, it should be down here.” Frankie pointed down a dubious looking street of broken down, single storied houses, mostly without glass in the windows and many without doors. Old men and women sat on doorsteps studying them, while a small crowd of youths eyed them from across the street. Frankie pulled out the Sig Sauer and made a show of checking the load, then pushed it into the waistband of her jeans. The performance seemed to have the desired effect on the youths, who now seemed to be busy looking elsewhere.

  “You better be right about this,” Fagan said and headed down the street.

  Five minutes later they stood in front of a dilapidated garage with an ancient gas pump out front. A gangly youth in faded blue jeans and a hooded top appeared. Frankie introduced herself.

  The kid said his name was Khalid.

  “I was beginning to worry. Mister
Ari called hours ago.”

  “We got a little side tracked. Have we still got time to get out to this monastery?”

  “If we leave now.”

  The young Palestinian studied Fagan who still wore his dog collar. “Sir, are you a Roman Catholic Priest?”

  Fagan eyed the young man. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, no Father.” Khalid broke into a wide grin. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am a Catholic, my whole family. My Father was baptized when he was a child, and we have continued it in our family ever since. But we cannot tell anyone.”

  “That must be difficult for you here.”

  Khalid shrugged. “As my Father always says, life is difficult.”

  Fagan put a reassuring hand on the young man’s shoulder. “So, you’ll take good care of us.”

  Khalid grinned again. “You can rely on me, Father.”

  The car was an ancient Subaru 4x4. They headed out on Route 1, the road to Jericho, following the route they had taken on their previous, near fatal, trip. But Khalid left the main road much earlier and took the 4x4 up a twisting dirt track.

  “Mister Ari said I should stay away from the checkpoints. There are many paths through the desert. They are mostly just camel tracks, but Khalid knows them all. I learned them from my father and my grandfather.” Khalid allowed a wicked grin to spread across his face. “And I also have the present that Mister Ari give to me.” He took out a small device and attached it to a strip of Velcro on the dashboard. “GPS, but special Israeli Military system.” He switched it on and tapped away at the screen. Khalid flashed a perfect set of white teeth as it came to life. “I will get you to the Monastery of Saint Martial. Have no fear.”

  They climbed out of the valley, winding their way steadily, up through the mountainous landscape. Eventually, they emerged from a narrow canyon to an uninterrupted view of the lowest point on earth. Fagan caught his breath as he glimpsed the full panorama of its splendor. Stretching out across the valley floor like a page from his biblical studies, the deep blue of the Dead Sea, and beyond the Moab mountains, shimmering purple in the haze of the afternoon.