by Tom Haase
Tomorrow they would want his signature on the nondisclosure agreement. That’s when he would tell the curator about the small scrap from under the chessboard. For tonight he would take it and the copies the secretary gave him. He’d take it all to his hotel and analyze them. He wouldn’t be stealing, he assured himself, just borrowing until he returned in the morning.
Tomorrow, before he signed the agreement, he would reveal any of his findings and ask for the credit he deserved for his part in the discovery.
As Scott hurried back to his hotel, he wondered what the significance the scrap of paper in his pocket could be.
Could it hold the power to change anything?
4
Warsaw, Poland
Archbishop’s Residence – 8:23 p.m.
A string quartet played in one corner and Stanislaw Wozniak recognized the Violin Concerto in A by Chopin. Waiters glided about to ensure the guests held drinks in their hands. Stanislaw took one from an offered tray. He realized he served as government filler at the archbishop’s diplomatic party but it did provide him access to important people in the administration. He now used a few minutes to lobby for more funding for the museum with three members of parliament.
“Stanislaw, how are you?” sounded from a partial bald, stocky priest with the face of a long-nosed terrier as he approached. Wozniak always enjoyed meeting Father Jablonski. They participated in the same Olympics as competitors many years ago and became friends. Wozniak smiled at his old friend and former parish priest.
“Father Jablonski, a pleasure to see you. How do you like your new position? I hear you are now the personal secretary to the archbishop?” Wozniak put his glasses into his coat’s breast pocket.
“My job here is busywork for the most part,” Joblonski said while taking his friend’s arm. “Always something new every day. Not that working in a parish is dull, but this is a different challenge.”
“Could we move to the side for just a minute?” asked Wozniak
“Need to go to confession here?” asked the priest, smiling.
“No. But I have found something you might consider of interest. I’m not the staunchest Catholic as you know but this is something I think the church might want to see— or at least have the first look. It’s going to make me famous.”
They walked across the Archbishop’s reception hall. Stanislaw noticed again that the interior décor of the residence contained the essence of a mid-eighteenth century noble’s house, complete with rare and original paintings. The wall tapestry hanging in the rear of the room depicted the scene of the bishop blessing the soldiers from King John’s army returning to Poland from the Vienna campaign. They stopped under this hanging depiction of that historic campaign to admire it.
The cleric put his hand on Wozniak’s shoulder and led him to a small recessed area at the far corner of the main reception room. Stanislaw removed a photocopy of the first page of the Latin text and placed it into the priest’s hands. The cleric started to read. Wozniak then handed him a page of the Arabic text.
“Stanislaw, do you know what this means?”
“I can read the Latin words. But there is more. We also found some Greek and many other old Arabic texts.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen. Would you like a drink?” asked the young man holding a tray of various alcoholic beverages. He waited behind them until this moment. “I have vodka, whisky, and wine.”
Both men took a glass of white wine and resumed their conversation. “I think our discovery may be the first copy of the Koran or perhaps the original from Mohammed’s time. My experts tell me it may be the original Koran with quotes unknown in modern times.” Wozniak stretched Scott’s information for effect as the priest held up the Arabic page.
The waiter moved away. He stopped against a nearby wall rearranging the glasses on his tray. Stanislaw looked at him and assumed the man waited to move to someone with an empty glass.
“As I was saying, the document may be the original of the Koran or at least an early copy, probably from the late seventh or early eighth century with some previously unknown verses,” Wozniak said.
He decided to omit that he ordered them scanned into his computer and an American had reviewed the files. Besides, as the curator the fame would be for him and for his museum. It would save his position and forestall any talk of forced retirement earlier than he planned.
“Where did you get these?” Jablonski asked.
“They were in the museum’s basement for centuries. I discovered them by accident. My best guess is that when King John returned, he spent the gold and money from the campaign in Austria to pay the army and then on his own projects here in Poland. He must’ve put the documents, a few parchments, and some papers into chests that eventually made their way to the national museum’s location,” Wozniak took a breath and realized he spoke much faster than his norm.
“Perhaps,” he continued, “even the monks in the old monastery had them. The museum is located over the ruins. Somehow they ended up in the basement of the museum where no one even knew about them until I decided to move an old picture in the lower basement. A nail fell out and pulled a brick with it. I found the hole that led to the hidden chamber. No one beside myself knows about them. I think someone, perhaps in the Napoleonic era, may have discovered them but—”
“Stanislaw, would you have time to take me to view the original Latin text after the reception?” he asked in a rather excited voice.
“Of course,” he answered, wishing he’d said nothing and could go home instead of back to the office.
“I’ll see you in about an hour at the front door and we can go in my car since I know you favor using the bus.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Wozniak now regretted this visit to the archbishop’s residence.
* * *
Father Jablonski went up the staircase to the office area of the archbishop’s residence. Wozniak’s bragging now compelled him to act. The priest felt an urgent call to a duty he must perform. His breath came in short gulps and he could feel his heart throbbing as he raced up the steps.
He placed a call to Rome. He carried this particular phone number in trust held by those in a position of responsibility as a lifelong member of the Agnus Dei secret society of the Roman Catholic Church dedicated to preserving its power and position in Christendom. He heard the phone stop ringing. There was no greeting. After a few seconds Father Jablonski said, “Agnus Dei (Lamb of God).”
“Dona nobis pacem (Give us peace),” came a high-pitched voice with the response. “How may I help you?”
The priest identified himself and relayed the conversation with the museum’s curator and the man’s finding of the Latin text. When he finished, he waited.
“Secure the Latin text that he showed you and fax it to Rome at once,” ordered the head of the Agnus Dei society. “You have the number. You’re ordered to obtain possession of all the documents and have them delivered here as soon as possible. Make sure you recover every one. Eliminate every trace of the documents ever existing in Warsaw. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Eminence.” Father Jablonski heard the click as Rome disconnected.
* * *
At the Archbishop’s reception, the waiter, Hashim Mahdi, served drinks to the priest and the museum curator. Then he withdrew to an area a few feet away. Hashim saw the text of the Koran in the hands of the priest when he glanced over Wozniak’s shoulder. He had listened to the conversation between the two while feigning to search for someone to approach with a drink. The partial reference he heard about the Koran when he offered the drinks made his heart beat faster. When he glanced at the text, he almost dropped the tray.
The men had paid no attention to him. Hashim was, after all, just a drink’s boy. They lacked any knowledge the local Islamic Jihad cell this month selected him for training in surveillance and observation techniques for this type of mission. Through various methods and means they secured a place for him to work at diplomatic parties to gain small time intel
ligence. Intelligence he reported direct to the Imam. Hashim planned on moving up in the organization with the information he gleaned from previous jobs, but this latest bit surpassed anything he’d dreamed he might hear. He needed to get this to the Imam. This intelligence could do nothing but help his position. It could open the doors he needed for advancement in the organization.
As the priest moved off and the museum curator mingled with other guests Hashim abandoned his tray on a table near the bar. Telling the headwaiter he felt sick to his stomach, he went out of the residence through the kitchen. Hashim made his way to the rear exit through the archbishop’s back garden. Once outside the garden wall, he slipped off the white waiter jacket, got on his bicycle, and pedaled as fast as he could.
He understood the man when he said he thought they possessed the original or at least a near original of the words of the Prophet. This must be a great find and he must immediately relay it to the Imam. Besides this information couldn’t hurt anyone.
After the traditional greeting on entering the Imam’s house, the cleric listened with interest to Hashim’s report. He probed Hashim for the specifics of every word he’d heard.
“Have you read the text from the Koran before?” the Imam asked.
“No, it was unfamiliar to me. The curator said his people believed it is from the original Koran and might be a sutra not known in our versions of today.”
The cleric questioned him again on the same points. Hashim’s reporting in the past had never failed to be accurate and precise. He watched as the robed cleric made a phone call. He said he needed to call Iran and used a cell phone because the connection between Poland and Iran by landline never seemed to work well for outbound calls but calls from Iran came through without a problem. He believed the government did that on purpose.
While waiting for the call to go through, the Imam said, “You have done well, Hashim. I will pass on this important information to my old friend, the grand ayatollah in the Holy City of Kom. We will then wait for his instructions.”
5
Vatican City
When the phone call ended, Cardinal Diego Puglisi glanced about his ostentatious office, taking in the paintings with which he surrounded himself. The paintings were beyond monetary value, given their great historical and artistic significance.
He took his time in lowering his arm, allowing the telephone receiver to settle into its cradle while trying to contain his excitement. The call from the Polish priest could foreshadow great things for him. Such a great opportunity, he thought, but only if the information proved to be true.
Sitting back, he rubbed his baldhead, and reclined the back of his swivel chair. Considering the information, it became important to formulate how he could use it in a most effective manner. The Cardinal decided he must act at once to gain maximum advantage for himself and for the religious society as a whole.
He moved over to his computer, which for absolute security held no connection to any other system, computer or Internet access. With its four hard drives, two for information and two for backups, the computer held the entire history of the society in its massive memory. After typing in the name of the Polish priest, he waited for images of the cleric to appear. In those few moments, he caught the reflection of his face off the computer monitor and he fancied it bore a remarkable likeness to the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius.
A picture appeared on the screen. When it fully loaded, he recognized the Polish priest’s features and remembered meeting the man a few years ago at a recruiting conference for the Agnus Dei society. That meeting took place in the sanctuary of the lower church in Assisi, Italy, the home of St. Francis. The Polish priest had been chatting with another cleric. The Cardinal recalled both men with clarity. The other priest’s, Father Jonathan McGregor with his steel gray eyes, captured the Cardinal’s attention. McGregor’s sharp wit, gracious social manners, and Scottish accent all combined to impress the cardinal.
After McGregor joined the society, Puglisi managed to manipulate his assignments, having him ordered to the Vatican. It took two more years to maneuver him into the position Jonathan McGregor now held as one of the private secretaries to the Pope.
The Polish priest did him a significant favor and he would repay it someday. If the documents were what he imagined, then Puglisi would be one step closer to becoming the next Pope. Then rewards would be his to distribute.
He returned to his desk and pushed a number on the phone. “Antonio, would you come to my office?” he ordered his secretary.
On entering, the young priest bowed and waited. Puglisi observed that the man always acted submissive since he was in the presence of the second most powerful person at the Papal State after the Pope, the Vatican Secretary of State.
“There will be some documents arriving tomorrow from Poland addressed to me. Ensure they remain unopened. And hand deliver them to me immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Eminence.”
“I want you to find a member of the society skilled in Arabic, particularly old style Arabic writing. Also, I need a Greek scholar. Have them come tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock for instructions. Not a word of this to anyone. I don’t want anyone to get wind of it.” Puglisi waved his hand in dismissal.
Cardinal Puglisi returned to plotting how to use the new information. He knew the knowledge of the gospel of St. Peter remained in the hierarchical inner circles of the Vatican, but, in reality, no one suspected the gospel existed. An old reference to it suggested it recounted Peter’s ministry, a list of his possessions, and the personal teaching of Jesus to the first Pope. Puglisi guessed the manuscripts might also contain some records of the apostolic church. To his knowledge centuries elapsed since the last time anyone mentioned the existence of the first Pope’s gospel.
Many scholars thought the gospel lost during the plundering of Rome. The other writings the priest described didn’t interest him as much, but he might employ them to his advantage once his academics translated all the documents. If he could recover the gospel, translate it, and present his findings to the world, he would become the preeminent Cardinal. He would become the leading contender to replace the current liberal-minded pontiff.
Puglisi tried now to contain his resentment for the reigning Pope but failed. He believed the sitting pontiff now lead the church to ruin. He needed to keep his opinions to himself on the doddering old man for the present. That aside, he must always act to save his church. He loathed the Pope because of his failure to be a strong enforcer of canon law, the legacy of the church since the beginning. He was concerned the Pope had loosened strict Catholic conventions and had lost control.
The current Pope often championed acceptance of discoveries in the fields of science and medicine, declaring they could not be in opposition with the teachings of the church. He eased the restrictions on divorce, toned down the statements from the Vatican on stem cell research and other positions Puglisi believed with all his soul betrayed the foundations of Christianity.
Puglisi wanted to establish the old order of strict enforcement of the commandments and the absolute rule of the pontiff, as holder of the keys of the kingdom of heaven and the keys to the powers of the earth. As the head of the Agnus Dei, he would use every asset he controlled to ensure his success in attaining the chair of St. Peter. With the possession of this gospel, he believed he could move to make his dream a reality. That gospel could ensure his elevation to the papacy. The whole world would know his name after he discovered its secrets. He now knew how he would use them achieve his purpose.
6
Holy City of Kom
Islamic Republic of Iran – 1:15 a.m. Tehran time
Ayatollah Hasham Arad peered over his spectacles to find his assistant, Habib, rushing toward him with a cell phone.
“Not another call. I don’t like to talk on cell phones. I directed you not to use them around me.” The Ayatollah used his sternest command voice. Regular phones he didn’t mind, but wireless phones seemed to be the t
arget of the devilish National Security Agency in America. This must be something out of the ordinary for Habib to break his often-stated rule.
“Why do you hand a cell phone to me?” the Ayatollah asked as Habib bowed his head.
“I think this will be of such importance that you will excuse my lapse. Please talk to the Imam who is on the phone from Warsaw, Poland. He has startling news.”
Ayatollah Arad scowled at the youth, not old enough to have a beard, but he decided if the aide dared to break his rule, he needed to listen. He stood up and shook his robes, feeling like the true successor of the grand Ayatollah Khomeini from the revolutionary era. His clerical garb fell to its natural hanging position and he reached with great reluctance for the instrument he so mistrusted.
If the matter proved not of sufficient importance, he would take fitting disciplinary action later. He placed the phone to his ear. “Peace be with you,” he said. Then he listened.
After four minutes, he handed it back to Habib and ordered him to get the President of Iran on the telephone. The young man scampered off. He listened as Habib in the next room explain to someone in the President’s office that the highest grand ayatollah in Iran wished to speak with the country’s leader, the late hour regrettable.
Habib returned to the ayatollah’s desk, picked up the receiver, and handed him the phone. The Ayatollah waited for the President’s voice. After a few pleasantries, he focused on the reason for his call.