by Roger Herst
Now an eighty-two year old widower in failing health and all but forgotten by younger scholars, he was less confident than in his earlier days. Still, he admitted to Tim that he was dying faster from boredom than from physical degeneration. The elderly pensioner further confessed that he could use any stipend offered. Tim made it clear that at the moment he was unable to pay for his services, but he would do so generously as soon as he could tap his investments in the United States.
"Do you want to know how I got electronic copies of these fragments?" Tim asked.
The old man's eyes, clouded by cataracts, could still sparkle through thick lens. At this moment, they glowed with conspiratorial understanding. "I wouldn't think they fell from the heavens. I'm told there's a thriving market in antiquities these days."
"They're worthless unless we can assemble them into a meaningful text. I must buy a computer and server."
"Are the authorities looking for you?" the rabbi asked.
Tim thought about lying, but didn't. "Perhaps not right now. But they will soon."
Schreiber glanced at his already overcrowded apartment, breathing heavily. "Then stay here. My eyes are weaker than when we worked together. Somebody must read the words and letters to me. Can you?"
"What I can't read, I can spell. It will keep me off the streets where I might be recognized. Do you have domestic help?"
"A Sephardic woman comes once a week. My neighbors drop off food. On Shabbos, a few old friends who are still alive invite me to their homes."
When Tim left Mea She'arim to purchase a computer near the commercial market of Mahane Yehuda on Jaffa Street, he dressed in an ankle-long frock coat and a broad-brimmed homburg covering the upper portion of his face. That he had failed to shave during the past weeks at St. George completed his disguise.
***
Finding the unexpected sent a chill through Father Benoit Matteau as he paused just inside the entrance to the synagogue at the Hadassah Medical Center. Because he anticipated this cavernous, high-ceiling sanctuary showcasing Marc Chagall's twelve stained-glass windows to be filled with gawking spectators, he was not surprised by the crowd. Above their heads were larger-than-life panels back-lit by bright Jerusalem sunlight in blue, scarlet, and purple, each representing one of Jacob's sons who, at the dawning of Hebrew history, had come to lead Israel's Twelve Tribes. Benoit's eyes searched the spectators near the panel depicting Naphtali for clues to identify someone he had never seen before. The woman spotted wore a khaki fishing vest with multiple pockets, with Apple iPod earphones plugged into her ears. On the phone with Tel Aviv, he had prearranged for someone to wear a khaki shirt and listen to an iPod, but nothing was said about sending a woman.
Benoit cautiously admired the thin female with jet-black hair, held tightly behind her head with a bone barrette. Her legs were crossed, revealing heavy ankles that he had come to associate with Eastern European women. While other men might prefer their women with slender calves and ankles, he favored those with sturdy legs, built, as he liked to fantasize, for locking around a man hips and holding fast during sex. He was well aware that rumors continuously circulated about a string of secret lovers, none of which he attempt to squelch. Believing that the physical attraction he felt so acutely in his loins for the opposite sex, not the lack of it, tested his devotion to the church, he frequently allowed his eyes to luxuriate upon attractive women and his mind to dream about passionate assignations. Before ordination to the priesthood, he had adored both the pursuit and the conquest of women, but since pledging himself to the church, had practiced the strictest control over his hormones. To his mind, only a man who could discipline his body deserved the honor of serving God as a priest.
"Irena," he bestowed the woman sitting below the Naphtali panel an imaginary name, then joined a group of camera-carrying Europeans slowly moving in a semi-circle. He waited until space opened on the bench behind Irena and sat down.
"What are you listening to," he asked in English over the woman's shoulder.
"Prokofiev, Sonata Number Seven," Irena replied in a Slavic accent without turning to regard him.
"My favorite," he repeated the password Prokofiev, leaning so the back of his shoulders touched hers. "Your people promised they could help me. Half your fee has been deposited where instructed. The other will come when you locate Reverend Timothy Matternly. Time is essential, so there's a bonus for finding him before he leaves Israel. Three days maximum. After five, we'll have to renegotiate everything. Will you be my contact?"
"If there's no objection."
"Then may I call you Irena?"
She possessed a raspy voice that made her even more attractive to the priest. "It's not my favorite, but it will do." She then chose the name of an ex-lover she now detested and said, "Then I shall call you Anatoly. You've brought information about this Timothy Matternly?"
"An envelope with his addresses in Jerusalem and Chicago, his cell and land phone numbers. I've included three recent photos from scholarly journals and one personal snapshot, along with a lengthy biography. He's currently a visiting professor from the University of Chicago and was seen early last week in this area. I believe he's still in Jerusalem, or nearby. One reason is that his female companion, a Reform rabbi by the name of Gabrielle Lewyn has come from the States looking for him. She lives in his apartment at 28 Ussishkin Street. She'll lead you to Matternly."
"Do you want us to apprehend him? If we do, he won't disappear before you get what you want."
"Just locate him, but if he attempts to run, then by all means seize him. Under no conditions let him leave the country."
"Is he armed?"
"Not to my knowledge," Benoit said, remembering that Tim had abandoned his carbine in the Qumran cave. "But he knows how to use a weapon. I warn you, he's not the typical clergyman. He's in excellent physical shape and not afraid of violence."
"How much force do you want us to use?"
"As little as possible."
"Which means," she sounded as though chuckling, "as much as necessary to get the job done."
Father Benoit had to think about that for a moment before concluding that he was in the hands of professionals who knew their trade.
Irena asked, "Is there a better place to meet. This is too crowded and, to tell you the truth, I detest these windows. Chagall is much over-rated, you know. I've seen better icons in a dozen Orthodox churches."
"No," Benoit inserted himself to cut off an unsolicited critique of Marc Chagall, whom he personally admired. "This synagogue works well. I'm placing an envelope next to your right hip. Please stand, then merge into the spectators, pretending you actually enjoy the windows. To my mind, the Naphtali panel is a masterpiece."
***
The following morning, Father Benoit sent, via the Holy See's diplomatic pouch from Jerusalem, copies of Tim's scanned documents to Monsignor Guido Capalliani, Director of the Vatican Archives in Rome. With ruthless pragmatism, he had assessed how such new material challenged conventional Church thinking, yet he expected considerable excitement among Vatican clerics interested in Christianity's historical roots. What he hadn't anticipated was an immediate response from the Pope's secretary of state, Donaldo Cardinal Fornenti. Less was he prepared for a Vatican Gulfstream V executive jet that arrived within twenty-four hours at Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion Airport to transport him and the Qumran fragments to Rome.
At Rome's Fiumicino Airport, four dour-faced Vatican escorts in equally grim black uniforms breezed him through Customs and Immigration, then ensconced him in a well-furnished, comfortable apartment buried somewhere in the labyrinths of Vatican City. Where exactly, he had no idea because he had arrived in early morning when most of the interior lighting was dimmed or entirely darkened. Once settled into this apartment with few personal belongings to unpack, Benoit showered and shaved, then lay on a sumptuous king-size bed to get a few hours of much-needed sleep.
Three hours later, a knock on the door awakened him. A novitiate, in the crisply launde
red attire of the young men who routinely trained for high office in the Church by serving an internship with the Bishop of Rome, brought a tray with coffee, juice, and baguettes. "En quaranta minutes, mio Padre, he said in Italian after setting the tray on a coffee table.
In less time than that, Father Benoit found himself in a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling, sitting at the foot of an expansive polished mahogany conference table. Five men with stern expressions were already seated at considerable distances from each other, their places marked with individual stainless-steel coffee urns and white china cups.
Monsignor Guido Capalliani rose to welcome their guest and introduce the other four. Benoit was acquainted with each by virtue of their distinguished offices, but he had met only two personally. First and foremost was His Eminence Donaldo Cardinal Fornenti. Other than the Holy Father, no mortal wielded more power from the Holy See. His presence sent a shiver through Benoit, who was beginning to rethink his earlier desire to share the Qumran fragments with his superiors.
The Reverend Monsignor Erwin Nebdal sat to the cardinal's left. Benoit knew him as the director of the Teutonic College for the study of Sacred Archaeology and Ecclesiastical History, a colleague the Dominican priest frequently met at scholarly conferences and an occasional visitor to his École in Bethlehem. The fourth man was the grand chancellor of the Pontifical Institute of Christian Archeology, Pio Cardinal Laghi, an official Benoit also knew from his visits to Rome. The last cleric of this quintet, with whom Benoit had never spoken personally, was the president of the Pontifical Council for the Promotion of Christian Unity, His Eminence Johannes Cardinal Willebrands.
With a dramatic flourish, Cardinal Fornenti opened a file in front of him and picked up a copy of the message Father Benoit had sent to Rome. The cardinal adhered to a vegan diet and took vigorous daily jogs; his jaw protruded along the lines of his skull with not a trace of intervening fat. He sat with ramrod posture and allowed long intervals of silence to separate his words, making Father Benoit uneasy. Such silences gave the impression that the supreme cardinal was a meditative man more comfortable asking questions than making declarations. Benoit was hoping to avoid revealing the details of his escapade at the Qumran cave, especially the gunfight. In his training as a priest, he had come to understand that the unspoken word was often more significant than what was actually said. Though it was impossible for anyone to know he had been involved in a killing at Qumran, he nevertheless feared his superior's omniscience. It often astonished him what officials at the Holy See learned through their extensive network of informants.
The meeting opened with formal words of welcome and an apology for plucking Benoit from Bethlehem with so little warning, but then what had been found at Qumran deeply troubled the Holy Father. Cardinal Fornenti, very simply attired in a tailored tunic with not a single ornamentation to indicate his high rank, was the first to break from introductory formalities and get down to business by saying, "Father Benoit, you have uncovered arguably the most important archaeological document in Christian history. And for that, the Holy Father is most appreciative."
Around the table, heads nodded approval, the first human warmth Benoit had felt since his arrival.
Fornenti's right hand rose to a thin, childlike nose, flashing his only token of authority, a cardinal's ring. "But, Father Benoit, our joy over these fragments is diminished by not having a complete set. You have brought us a vast treasury of original documents, but omitted the most important. We can't establish historical authenticity without the original documents in their entirety. Cardinal Laghi and Monsignor Nebdal tell me the electronic copy you have sent could well be a fake designed to trick us. This is not the first time we have become the target for forgers and quacks. Do you not agree?"
"I saw the original with my own eyes," Benoit responded. "In the Orthodox Monastery of St. George, near Jericho."
"And do you know for a fact that what you saw was genuine?"
That issue had perplexed Benoit from the moment Tim Matternly had shown him the fragment in the monastery's workroom. "Father, I cannot say for certain that it is genuine, but I was present in the cave at Qumran when it was found. And let me say to Cardinal Laghi and Monsignor Nebdal, I invite you to perform Carbon-14 tests on the other original fragments I have brought with me. If they prove to be from the first century, as have previous scrolls from neighboring Qumran caves, then by inference we may assume this particular fragment is also genuine."
"By inference?" barked Monsignor Capalliani. "Must we rely upon inference when we are dealing with a document of such importance?"
"I am confident of retrieving the original," answered Benoit. "I know who has it."
"Your colleague, Professor Timothy Matternly, I presume?" shot back Capalliani.
"And I regret that at this moment I don't know exactly where, but I have it on credible authority that he's hiding in or near Jerusalem. He possesses not only the original, but digital copies of what I have brought with me. If I know him, and I believe I do, he is, at this moment, duplicating his monumental work on other fragments. With scanned copies of these texts, he's assembling and deciphering them as we speak."
"But if you don't know exactly where he is," Cardinal Fornenti interjected, "that's not going to help us. What are Matternly's intentions?"
"To give everything we found to the Israel Antiquities Authority."
"Everything? You mean, even the original fragment you don't possess?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. Matternly is a historian of early Christianity not an antiquities collector. Some men work for mammon. Reverend Matternly labors for love of our past."
Cardinal Fornenti turned to Cardinal Laghi and said, "This is the most valuable document in Christian history, after the Holy Gospels, of course. Does the Israel government have a right to take possession of it?"
Pio Cardinal Laghi, a distinguished archeologist in his own right, sighed, then lifted a fist to conceal an early-morning yawn. "I'm afraid possession is, as they say, nine-tenths of the law. But in the past, the Jewish government has been reasonable when it comes to such things. We have political leverage in Jerusalem, particularly on matters with which the Holy Father feels deeply. Surely, the Second Section of State will find something to exchange for this."
Cardinal Fornenti's eyes shot from Laghi to Benoit. "If this fragment is genuine, we must have it. Has Professor Matternly already turned it over to the authorities?"
"I don't believe so. While an excellent scholar, Matternly is also a calculating devil. He won't give away this treasure until he learns more about the historic context in which it was written. These documents are worth far more assembled and studied as a unit than divided into individual parts. Let us remember that Matternly has only one original piece, albeit the most important."
"No," Cardinal Fornenti exploded. "No, Father. I beg to differ. I believe you don't fully understand. For the moment, we're not talking of historical or archeological values. In the wrong hands, Professor Matternly's fragment could be very dangerous. These documents have profound implications for Catholic theology, and Catholic theology determines Catholic doctrine. And it is our doctrine that is the bedrock of our faith. That is why the Holy Father is worried."
Benoit sensed that he was being dragged from his field of archeology into matters of philosophy and theology, about which, he liked to boast, he had absolutely no knowledge, and even less interest. To him, these pursuits were a bottomless pit of questions for which answers were elusive—if they existed at all. "I understand the Holy Father's concern."
Fornenti stopped him short. "You must obtain the original from Professor Matternly."
"I've already taken steps, Your Grace."
"And what might those be?" "I beg your indulgence here. I live in a very violent part of the world. Car bombs are detonated by suicidal youngsters almost every day. Ambulance sirens are as consistent as the muezzin's call to worship. The Israelis retaliate with harsh measures. These days, violent Jews from the former
Soviet Union live in Israel. They're a damnable scourge on the Holy Land, but when you need an unpleasant job done, they know how to do it. I don't believe it is in the interest of the Holy Father to be privy to details of how they operate. I'm asking for your trust in my judgment. As we speak I'm taking all steps to procure the fragment in Matternly's possession."
"Shouldn't we pursue a diplomatic solution with the Jewish government?" Cardinal Laghi asked.
Benoit had already prepared himself for this question. "By all means, but with patience and prudence. I would advise that we settle the matter with Tim Matternly first. He's a loner. There are only so many places he can hide. My people will find him."
"And if they fail?" Cardinal Fornenti asked.
"He is the only person besides me who knows what was taken from Qumran. He may never get an opportunity to publicize the document."
Cardinal Fornenti leaned over the table in the direction of his academicians. "How soon can you have our linguists unscramble what Father Benoit has brought us? The job must be done fast and discreetly. Before Matternly beats us to publication, if that's his intention."
Reverend Monsignor Erwin Nebdal and Cardinal Laghi had had no more than five hours to review Benoit's material from the Holy Land. They were scholarly men accustomed to taking their time on projects, years if necessary. And the scholars they trusted were of a similar ilk. To pluck them from academic duties and their pet projects was impractical. And to require that they work in absolute secrecy, wholly unrealistic. Both men of learning tried to conceal their lack of enthusiasm for their superior's demand.
Cardinal Laghi finally broke the awkward silence by saying, "I note that Father Benoit has brought with him a scroll, intact and readable. Shouldn't we tackle that first?"