by Tom Haase
Searching the body Jonathan initially found no identification. He lifted the man’s pant leg and found a passport tucked into his sock. He opened it and his competition became obvious, even deadly. He memorized the name on the document issued by the Islamic Republic of Iran. He put it back and wiped down everything he had touched, and then left the museum. Perhaps now he realized another motive for why the Donavans had run. They knew the Iranians would try to extract vengeance for the murder of one of their own.
Realizing that somehow the Muslim world had learned about the existence of the Arabic writings, he mused that the documents might even potentially contain the original writings of the Prophet Mohammed. The assailants were willing to use lethal force to recover them as exhibited by the dead Iranian. This was no longer an academic game, Jonathan surmised. He too would possibly, no, probably be in danger when he made his move to confiscate that disc. Again the nagging feeling returned that the Cardinal had not told him all. He was on this for a reason beyond a simple recovery job for the Vatican Secretary of State.
The Iranians obviously planned to kill to obtain the documents.
Jonathan realized he might have to do the same as a soldier. But as a priest, could he?
Chapter Fifteen
Warsaw - Okecie International Airport - 10:56 a.m.
Hashim followed the red-headed woman and the young man with her after they exited the museum. He didn’t think that either of them had seen him entering the terminal. Inside the airport, he watched as the pair approached the Alitalia Airlines counter, but he remained toward the back of the line so as to avoid their notice. When they reached the counter, Hashim pushed forward to try to hear their conversation with the agent.
A waiting passenger in line put his hand out and stopped him. “Hey, the line forms to the rear. You can get in line like the rest of us.”
Hashim ignored them, instead watching as his prey walked away, heading for another airline’s ticket counter. Hashim skirted around the complaining customer and followed them. He had picked up on the woman’s accent as she spoke to the ticket agent.
American. That fact complicated things.
Hashim had no idea where they were going but they had left the ticket counter too soon to purchase a ticket. He watched them go to the Lufthansa counter. Only two people stood in that line. Hashim could not believe that they did not seem concerned about anybody following them. He waited until another man joined the queue behind the pair and then he got in the line. When they moved up to the counter he was within hearing distance.
“Do you have a flight leaving soon that can take us to Madrid?”
“Yes, sir. Our flight 2273 departs at 11:25, arrives at 9:10 this evening.”
“A long time to get there, but we need two one-way tickets to Madrid.”
“Coach or business?”
“Coach.”
“In dollars…. $522 per person.”
Hashim watched as the woman put a credit card on the counter. She spoke to her companion. “This was the first flight out of here for Madrid. It leaves in less than an hour. We should have no problem with anyone coming after us this soon.”
He now knew their destination and their flight data. He waited until the man in front of him received his boarding pass and approached the ticket agent.
“How long before the next flight to Madrid?” He did not believe he could get the man from Teheran back out to the airport in time to catch the flight with the two Americans.
“The next flight leaving at 11:25 will take almost ten hours due to the layover in Frankfurt.” Hashim inquired about the timing of the next flight’s arrival in Madrid. That one would actually reach Madrid just minutes after the arrival of the American’s flight.
Armed with that information, he rushed toward the nearest exit and a taxi stand. In thirty minutes he arrived at the Imam’s house.
He passed the two guards stationed outside the house. On entering, he spotted Jibril pacing in front of a couch. The Imam sat behind his desk and sipped on his tea. The cleric addressed him. “Come in, Hashim and tell us what you learned.”
Hashim related all he had heard and found out at the airport. Then he sat down on the couch. This type of intelligence work must surely move him up in the local organization. At least, he hoped it would.
“That’s great work. We were about to call the ayatollah in Qom, since Jibril here tells me he is to report to him instead of the President on this matter. I only share this with you because of the excellent job you have done today.”
Hashim bowed in appreciation and inwardly felt great satisfaction.
The Imam made the phone call and relayed the events of the last few hours. He listened, looked at Jibril, and in a minute hung up.
“Not good,” the cleric said. “In fact, he now orders you, Jibril, to get the material and the electronic file you believe the young pair have in their possession. I will not go any further on what he said about your future if failures continue.”
Jabril only stared at the floor. He curled his shoulders and gave a shrug. Then he stood straight and vowed his determination to complete his mission to recover the Holy Scriptures.
“What do you plan to do?” the Imam asked.
Hashim waited as the Jabril hesitated, taking his time before answering. Half a minute later, Jibril had not said anything.
“May I suggest something?” Hashim ventured. This was his chance. He could get on the operational side of things in the Islamic terrorist world. Intelligence gathering had provided him access but this could propel him much further up the ladder of command. He knew a certain lady who would be very pleased if this worked.
The other two nodded. They scrutinized him and waited.
“While at the airport, I learned that an Air France flight leaves in two hours that will get us to Madrid a few minutes after their flight. They seemed to want to get out of Warsaw on the first available, whereas we can take a more direct flight and be in Spain shortly after they arrive. If the documents they have are the original Holy Koran then we must go after them.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” the Imam said.
“Wait,” Jibril said. “I believe that two would be better than one in following these people and Hashim knows the ways of the West after living here most of his life. I only lived in Poland in my early youth. I could use some support.”
“What do you mean two? Three right? What happened to your partner?” Hashim asked.
Jibril turned a little red in the face and in heavy tones told Hashim what had happened inside the museum. “So you see these people possess skills we did not suspect. That is why I think your help is needed on this trip.”
The Imam paced his office, and then in one swift movement faced the two men. “Let it be so. Both of you go. May Allah go with you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Warsaw - Okecie International Airport, 11:53 a.m.
On the way back to the airport, Father Jonathan McGregor telephone Jablonski. The polish priest reported that Bridget and her brother were seen at the Lufthansa ticket counter and that the information obtained by Jonathan’s office indicated the two had booked tickets to Madrid.
Jonathan next called the Cardinal. After the society’s greeting, he relayed the events of the past few hours. The Cardinal only made grunting sounds as he listened.
“Father, this is disturbing news. You’re certain the young American pair have some copy of the documents?”
“Not certain, but I believe they do, Eminence. I can’t be sure what they plan to do with them or why they are running unless they know someone is after them or has threatened them. There were no documents of interest to us left at the museum. I don’t understand killing a man for the manuscripts, especially a Middle Eastern looking one. If the Iranians knew about the manuscripts…that might be the reason for the dead man to try to acquire them. I just don’t comprehend exactly why the Americans are running.” A long pause followed while Jonathan waited for the Cardinal to respond.
“If they are on their way to Madrid, I suggest you find the answers to your question there. Find out if there are any more documents connected with this whole event. They must not be allowed to reach the public.”
“Do we have a man there who can follow them on arrival?” Jonathan queried.
“Send me the pictures and I will handle the arrangements. Call me when you arrive and I’ll have their location.”
“As you wish.”
“Just don’t fail me…or the society.” With that the Cardinal hung up.
* * * *
Cardinal Puglisi leaned back in his chair and stared at the crucifix on the wall opposite his desk. What did your apostle Peter write in the gospel? Why didn’t the church include it in the bible? What’s in it? What are these two Americans after? He continued to focus on the cross: an unnerving silence his only answer.
* * * *
In Warsaw, Jonathan purchased a ticket to Rome at the Alitalia ticket counter. He needed to go there first and then proceed on to Madrid. There were some items he needed to conduct a proper surveillance and he also needed to make a secret record of his reporting. It might be necessary in the future. After locating a Wi-Fi spot near the information booth, he sent the pictures to the Cardinal.
He had an hour to kill before his flight. He had not eaten since last night. Finding a coffee shop, he sat and ordered an espresso and a sandwich. While enjoying the food, he remembered that this was his second mission for the Cardinal. He supposed his military background prepared him for this type assignment over a contemplative monk whose life was spent in silence and prayer. He chuckled to himself at this comparison.
Bridget and her brother were after something. They had to be. The gospel or the Koran would not send them on a trip to Spain. It shouldn’t prompt them to defend whatever they have to the extent of killing someone, unless, perhaps, they were attacked.
Too many unknowns at this point, but no doubt remained in his mind that he would figure it out and solve the mystery. He possessed the skills and the training he needed to accomplish this mission. He took a bite of his food. When he looked up, he noted the two Middle Eastern looking men. The one in the green jacket he had observed at the museum walked past the shop’s entrance. The younger green jacket man was the one who had come close to his car. He was also the one who had followed the Americans when they departed the museum.
Jonathan grabbed his carry on and briefcase and followed them. When his prey arrived at a gate and sat down he looked at the airline ticket counter and the sign at the gate showed Paris but the flights the final destination was Madrid.
Chapter Seventeen
Hotel Mora, Madrid, Spain - 11:03 p.m.
Bridget lay on the bed, almost asleep from exhaustion. But when the hotel room door clicked, her eyes snapped open and she sat up. Scott bounded in, holding cans of coke and a couple of candy bars.
“This is all the vending machine had,” he commented.
“Fantastic,” she muttered, turning on the bedside table lamp — an ugly thing with a frilly shade and a marble base.
Bridget took a bite of the candy, chewed and then swallowed. At least the junk food would help with the hunger pains in her stomach.
“You know we’re in a bind?” Bridget asked. “Those Iranian guys from the museum may try to find us, especially if what I’ve been thinking is correct. I’m sure we got out of Poland in time but from now on we need to be more careful. They may come after us. You hear?”
“How’s that?” Scott managed to say between gulps of his drink.
“Think about it. They were after the manuscripts. It’s obvious.”
“Agreed.” Scott nodded.
“Remember, they came at us with a knife, shouting they wanted the Koran.”
She looked at her brother, clenching her teeth and pinching her cheeks.
“You’re right,” he admitted.
“Scott, did you get a look at them? They were aware of the Koran manuscript. They demanded it. They were willing to kill for it. They’ll come after us. Besides, I think the priest, Father McGregor, I met on the plane last night also seemed to know about the manuscripts. It may be a stretch but from his previous intelligence business he could be on a mission from the Vatican like the old days. I’ll tell you all about him later.” She stopped to munch and take a drink.
“Somebody killed the curator and managed to get the documents before we arrived. It wasn’t McGregor because the curator died many hours before we landed,” Bridget concluded.
“Yes, but we have the disc. And they don’t have any idea about the map or the contents that are buried—”
“Are you saying that this is a treasure hunt?” she asked.
“They don’t know because I didn’t put that piece of the documents back into the chest in the curator’s office. I hold the original of the small piece of paper. No one else will know the positions of the pieces even if they find the list and the map. So whoever took the chest doesn’t know about the code.”
“Sure no one has seen it?” Bridget wanted reassurance.
“No one.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s in this treasure or do I have to beat it out of you?”
“I haven’t translated all of it…but the Moors appear to have left a lot behind when they evacuated Spain, believing they would be back in a short time to re-conquer in the name of Islam. So they hid a lot of gold, coins, artwork, and manuscripts.”
“Is that how you figured out to head for Spain?” Bridget asked.
“How did you unravel the code?” he asked.
“I asked first. Come on Scott. Give. We didn’t go across Europe on my information. I followed you because I was tired and you seemed to have a plan once you accepted that we had to get out of Poland. No more. You have to talk to me about decisions that impact us both. You got that?”
Scott nodded.
Bridget continued, “You’re taking us to Spain on what, your— ahh guess.”
“Well, I just figured since there were Arabic texts of the Koran and other writing and some of the Arabic was a translation of ancient Greek scripts, I concluded that what we are after had been lost in the West. I reasoned, it couldn’t have started in the East. So it had to be some safe place in the West.”
“Brilliant,” she said, raising one eyebrow, then pivoting away she walked over to look out the window.
“Wait, there’s more. There were the actual Greek texts. The original Bibles of Constantine were written in Jerusalem at the command of the Emperor Constantine. There were fifty of them hand written by monks, all in Latin. So at that point, the map could’ve led to the old Byzantine capitol of Constantinople, now Istanbul.” Scott stopped walking and eyed his sister.
“Makes sense to me. So why the hell are we in Spain?” She rotated to face him.
“Patience, my dear sister, a commodity you are short on.” He took a bite from a candy bar.
Bridget sat on her bed, waiting for him to continue with his reasoning. She shifted her position in anticipation, but he continued to remain silent. After a minute, she used her hands motioning him to continue.
“But a third place suggested itself to me and I believe it is by far the best. The Greek and Arabic texts could certainly lead us to Istanbul but the presence of an old Latin text mediated against going there. They mainly existed in Rome and the early Byzantine Empire, also know as the Eastern Roman Empire.”
“Okay, genius, tell me why,” Bridget inquired. He was taking his own good time and she felt her teeth clench and her fist tightened.
“You’re the Latin and Greek archeologist. You ought to know why.”
She glared at him through narrow slotted eyes trying to convey her feelings for his stringing out his reasoning process.
“The real problem came with the Latin text from the first century. The Latin text had no reason to be in Constantinople so I think Latin in Spain made a better situation. Ahh . . . at least that makes sense to me. You see the Catholic
Church must have been aware of the gospel of Peter. They had to since they put together the New Testament. Many gospels existed at the time and they picked the three synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke plus the different styled gospel of John. However, the gospel of Peter was not included for some reason.”
“So why didn’t they publish it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe if we can find it, we can figure that out.”
“So . . . come on, I’m tired of you stalling, why Spain?”
“We know the church in Rome sent many documents to Spain for safekeeping. They took the precaution when they became aware the Goths were about to destroy the Western Roman Empire. They decided to send their valuables to a safe place – Spain.”
“Subsequently the Moors conquered Spain.” He continued, “The safe place disappeared. The documents never reappeared in the Western Empire, nor did they appear in the East since by that time Latin was not the language of the court in Constantinople. The Muslim Moors in Spain produced some great academics. They would have translated some of the Latin and Greek manuscripts the Vatican had sent to Spain, assuming they had captured them.
“It’s the only place I could see all three—Greek, Arabic, and Latin—used at the same time. It may not be Madrid, but it is Spain. Remember, the Moors made great maps. We need to find the spot on a map where the loot they left behind is located. First we need to find the city and then apply the code. You said you deciphered the code.” He stopped and waited for her to explain her claim.
“First of all.” Bridget pointed to Scott’s chest. “If we go after this treasure, we go for it. No hanging back. Agreed?”
“I don’t know. We’re using someone else’s discovery. I have some qualm about what we are doing. I’m not sure we should continue. Just wanted to let you know.”
“He’s dead. We’re just doing scientific research.” She prodded his chest again with her finger and said. “Now, do you agree that we go after the treasure, or whatever it may be in the end?”