Ayah had been expecting this and was ready. Alexandra had made sure they always worked as a team: every opinion was given a voice and was entitled to be heard.

  ‘I have successfully sequenced HH’s genome. Vimal has done the same with the parents.’

  ‘Vimal, a quick snapshot please,’ said Alexandra.

  ‘As expected, the bones were quite degraded,’ began Vimal. ‘However, I was able to prepare sequencing libraries from a trace amount of DNA I isolated after grinding the bones to a powder, ensuring there was no contamination, of course. The powder was suitable for short-fragment sequencing of the parents’ genomes, which was successfully completed using Illumina X-Ten procedures. But for this to work, we had to come up with something new and groundbreaking—’

  ‘Deep Sequencing,’ interjected Ayah. ‘I then carried out a supercomputer analysis of billions of DNA letters and tens of thousands of DNA differences and matched these up with the worldwide database of known disease-causing DNA differences.’

  Alexandra nodded and stepped in. ‘This in turn allowed me to review the top-ranking DNA differences from the supercomputer results,’ she said, becoming quite animated, ‘and match them up with the body of published research material in immunology and genetics and with HH’s clinical findings provided by Professor Montessori.’ Alexandra paused and ran her fingers through her red hair. ‘And of course, you both know what we have to do next, don’t you?’

  ‘Engineer a mouse avatar,’ said Ayah, ‘to help us with the diagnosis.’

  ‘Already well underway,’ added Vimal, smiling.

  ‘Excellent. I want you to drop everything and get onto this right now. Pull out all stops. We can’t really take the next step without this. I don’t have to remind you of the urgency. Well done, team!’

  Alexandra and Jack arrived at Cardinal O’Brien’s residence at ten and were shown to the drawing room by Father Connor. Alexandra had spoken to the cardinal earlier and had explained why she wanted to bring Jack along and make him part of the team. She had also assured him that Jack could be trusted completely.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be offered one of Mrs Kelly’s famous cakes for morning tea,’ said Alexandra. ‘Don’t forget to have at least two pieces ... and lots of praise, please.’

  ‘Culinary Church protocol?’ asked Jack, a mischievous smile creasing the corners of his mouth. ‘Who’s Mrs Kelly?’

  ‘The housekeeper. Apparently, every cardinal has one.’

  ‘Fascinating. I’ve never met a cardinal before.’

  ‘You’re about to; here he comes.’

  ‘Mr Rogan?’ said the cardinal, extending his hand. ‘Good of you to come. I’m a fan.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ve read most of your books. I found your quest for the Ark of the Covenant particularly intriguing.’

  Taken a little aback, Jack looked at the cardinal. In no way did he resemble what he had expected. ‘You surprise me, Eminence. I didn’t think princes of the Church would be interested in my little literary adventures.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Mr Rogan. I enjoy reading thrillers. They take my mind off Church business and politics, which can be very tedious.’

  I knew it, thought Alexandra. Getting on like a house on fire already!

  The cardinal paused and looked at Alexandra. ‘As you know, His Holiness’s condition is rapidly deteriorating,’ he said, turning serious. ‘He has now developed a chronic inflammation of his lungs and his bowels. The bowel inflammation has resulted in chronic diarrhoea and severe weight loss. All public appearances had to be cancelled. His medical team is most concerned.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Professor Montessori has kept me informed.’

  Just then, Mrs Kelly entered carrying a large tray, which she placed on the sideboard.

  ‘Ah. Here comes morning tea,’ said the cardinal cheerfully and pointed to his housekeeper. Jack smiled as he watched the little woman place three large slices of teacake on a silver platter.

  ‘Looks delicious,’ said Jack. He shot Alexandra a meaningful look. ‘I didn’t have time for breakfast ...’ Without saying a word, Mrs Kelly cut another slice of cake, added it to one of the plates obviously intended for Jack, and withdrew.

  Amazing, thought Alexandra, I don’t know how he does it. He hasn’t even met the woman!

  ‘Bearing in mind the obvious urgency of the matter,’ continued the cardinal after he had poured some tea for everyone, ‘can you please tell me what you have established so far?’ The cardinal handed Alexandra and Jack a plate with cake each, making sure that Jack’s was the one with two slices.

  ‘All right; this is where we’re at,’ said Alexandra, taking a deep breath. ‘As Your Eminence would remember from our previous discussions, we have recently had some success at the Gordon with childhood immune diseases involving germline mutations. Germline mutations are inherited genetic mutations that occur in the germ cells.’

  The cardinal nodded. ‘Sperm and eggs.’

  ‘Correct. But what we are dealing with here is an immune disease of adulthood involving somatic mutations.’

  ‘What exactly are somatic mutations?’ asked the cardinal.

  ‘Genetic alterations – often caused by environmental factors.’

  ‘What kind of factors?’

  ‘Exposure to certain chemicals or ultraviolet radiation would be good examples. These genetic alterations can be passed on by a mutated cell to its progeny.’

  ‘Would these mutations affect all cells descended from a mutated cell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this can cause serious diseases?’

  ‘Yes, like cancer. In childhood autoimmune diseases involving germline mutations, the DNA differences are present in every cell of the blood. By sequencing the genome of children and their parents using the Illumina X-Ten sequencer and Seave bioinformatics pipeline at the Gordon, we’ve been able to successfully identify these DNA differences and then use these findings to pinpoint how the DNA differences cause immune system cells to go “rogue”. We have also found ways to correct these abnormalities.’

  ‘By identifying clinical interventions that may be available to address these abnormalities?’ asked the cardinal. ‘Like already existing drugs, for example?’

  Alexandra looked impressed. ‘Spot-on,’ she said. ‘Your Eminence is very well informed on this complex subject.’

  The cardinal smiled, acknowledging the compliment.

  ‘Unfortunately, this doesn’t work in the same way in adults,’ continued Alexandra. ‘Somatic mutations present a problem.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Because DNA differences causing the immune disease in adulthood are likely to have arisen later in life, these differences are only present in a few “rogue” blood cells, and to find these is the real challenge here. The proverbial needle in a haystack; a very big one.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I hope I’m not being too technical here,’ said Alexandra, taking a sip of tea.

  ‘Not at all,’ said the cardinal. ‘On the contrary, you are explaining this perfectly.’

  Speak for yourself, thought Jack, but didn’t make a comment. Instead, he was happily munching on his second slice of Mrs Kelly’s delicious teacake.

  ‘In order to find this rogue cell, another quantum leap in sequencing technology development is needed—’

  ‘Deep Sequencing?’ interrupted the cardinal.

  ‘Correct again. And the good news is that my team at the Gordon has recently developed the necessary lab chemistry required for Deep Sequencing. We have also been able to develop the complex algorithms to spot the DNA differences only present in a fraction of cells causing the disease.’

  ‘Amazing!’ said the cardinal, obviously impressed.

  Alexandra smiled. ‘This is all very new, cutting-edge stuff, a real team effort,’ she said.

  ‘Any conclusions?’

  ‘It’s a little too early for that,’ said Alexandra, sidestepping the question. ‘More is needed.’

  ‘What exactly?’

  ‘As Your Eminence knows, we’ve been able to successfully sequence His Holiness’s genome and that of both his dead parents.’

  ‘Yes, you told me,’ said the cardinal.

  Alexandra noticed the drumming of his fingertips against the armrests – a sign of his growing impatience.

  ‘In order to be in a position to confirm what I suspect to be the cause of the onset of His Holiness’s autoimmune disease, we need to create a mouse avatar.’

  ‘I see. And what do you suspect that cause may be?’

  ‘I hate to speculate, Your Eminence ... especially in a matter of such great importance.’

  ‘I completely understand.’

  ‘And what exactly would be the function of such a mouse avatar?’

  ‘We can reproduce the mutations in His Holiness’s genome in the avatar and then breed a colony of mouse avatars we can use to pinpoint how the DNA difference causes immune system cells to go rogue, and how these abnormalities could be corrected. Once we understand this, we can then take the necessary steps to hopefully find a cure.’

  ‘How long would that take?’

  ‘We are working around the clock.’

  The cardinal realised it would be pointless to press Alexandra further for answers at this stage and decided instead to back off.

  ‘You and your team must be congratulated, Professor Delacroix. You have made remarkable progress in such a short time. The Church is indebted to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Eminence. However, there is one more ...’

  ‘Ah, the matter involving Mr Rogan you raised on the phone this morning before you came.’

  ‘Precisely. But I must tell you that at this stage at least, this matter is merely based on a hunch.’

  ‘What kind of hunch?’

  ‘Something I have discovered in the late Professor Kozakievicz’s papers,’ said Alexandra.

  ‘And this could be helpful here?’

  ‘It could.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Professor K, as I like to call my former mentor and friend, was a remarkable man. In his extraordinary mind, logic, intuition and genius merged into one. He saw the world through different eyes. In essence, he believed that the answers to all our medical questions and challenges can be found in our genome, because millions of years of evolution had already solved all the problems we are faced with today and all we had to do is find the code to “unlock” the secrets.’

  ‘An extraordinary idea,’ said the cardinal.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And do you believe that too, Professor Delacroix?’

  Alexandra looked pensively at the cup in her hand, and took her time before answering. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said quietly.

  ‘That’s quite something, coming from a Nobel laureate. And where does this Osman da Baggio fit into all this?’

  ‘Not sure yet, but this could hold the key.’ Alexandra reached into her handbag, pulled out a bundle of papers and put them on the coffee table in front of her.

  ‘Intriguing,’ said the cardinal. ‘What is this?’

  Alexandra turned to Jack. ‘Would you like to take it from here?’

  ‘Sure. These are copies of the da Baggio family chronicles I recently discovered in Venice. But in order to appreciate the full significance of what this could mean and what it could reveal, we have to travel back thirty years to where it all began: a remote mission in outback Australia, a German missionary with a Nazi past, and a diary.’

  ‘Sounds very much like one of your books, Mr Rogan,’ said the cardinal, smiling.

  ‘It’s a case of fact being stranger than fiction, Your Eminence,’ retorted Jack, and then provided a brief history of the forgotten painting and its extraordinary discovery.

  ‘And this is where the da Baggio chronicles fit into the story.’ Jack paused and pointed to the bundle of papers on the coffee table.

  ‘There’s definitely a connection between al-Qanun – Avicenna’s famous Canon of Medicine – and what Professor K was working on at the time he died,’ said Alexandra. ‘He was on the verge of a major breakthrough. His papers made that quite clear.’

  ‘And that could have a bearing on His Holiness’s illness and what we are trying to achieve here?’ asked the cardinal.

  ‘It could. The discovery of Professor K’s hidden gene – the KALM 30 gene – and the drug Demexilyn, came about in similar ways—’

  ‘And resulted in a Nobel Prize,’ interrupted Jack.

  ‘I see,’ said the cardinal, looking at the papers in front of him. ‘And you think this could lead to something similar? A breakthrough, I mean?’

  ‘It could,’ replied Alexandra.

  ‘But there’s a problem,’ said Jack.

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘It’s written in Latin.’

  The cardinal laughed. ‘That’s not a problem. Certainly not here, Mr Rogan. You need some help with translation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well. You’ve come to the right place. In fact, Father Connor, my secretary, is a biblical scholar and an expert on Church history. He’s fluent in ancient Greek, Hebrew and, of course, Latin. I’m sure he would be delighted to help.’ The cardinal stood up. ‘Come, let me introduce you.’

  54

  Istanbul: 12 June

  Belmonte walked up to the doorman who was greeting guests in front of the Sultan’s Table and slipped a large banknote into his pocket. ‘Tell Mr Bahadir I’m waiting in the bar,’ he said and walked straight past him into the crowded restaurant. Bahadir joined him a few minutes later.

  ‘Do you think this is a good idea?’ hissed Bahadir, obviously agitated.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Belmonte, calmly sipping his Scotch.

  ‘Coming here. After the raid ...’

  ‘We had a small setback, that’s all.’

  ‘Is that what you call it? That’s not what I heard,’ Bahadir shot back.

  Gambio had called Bahadir after the Ars Moriendi disaster and told him what happened. He assured him it would all blow over soon and it would be business as usual before long. However, he didn’t mention that Belmonte was on the run and had to disappear for a while.

  Belmonte shrugged. ‘Setbacks make us stronger.’

  ‘And the money?’

  ‘Least of our problems. We had to refund it all.’

  ‘Great. What next?’

  ‘We wait a while and regroup. Should give us some time to put our supply chain in place.’

  ‘What happened to the doctor and the boy?’ asked Bahadir.

  ‘Not your concern.’

  ‘I disagree. They left from here.’

  ‘They are both fine.’

  Bahadir wasn’t convinced. ‘It was all for nothing then?’ he asked.

  ‘Not entirely.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Belmonte reached for his backpack on the bar next to him. ‘I have something for you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Belmonte unzipped the backpack, pulled out a folder and handed it to Bahadir. ‘We always keep our side of the bargain,’ he said.

  Bahadir opened the folder and stared at something inside. It was one of the stunning Ottoman recipes he had coveted for so long.

  ‘Magnificent,’ he stammered, his hands shaking. ‘What happened to Lorenza?’

  ‘She’s back home, reunited with her loved ones, unharmed.’

  ‘And the ransom money?’

  ‘Didn’t come off.’

  ‘So, this is all we have to show for the entire—’

  ‘These are the risks we take,’ interrupted Belmonte, becoming impatient. He didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. ‘Better luck next time.’

  ‘What next time?’

  ‘Ars Moriendi, of course. As soon as the dust settles, we set up another game. Somewhere else.’

  ‘And if I’m not interested?’

  Belmonte began to laugh. ‘You know better than that. Once in ... Salvatore would be very disappointed.’ Belmonte leaned forward and slapped Bahadir gently on the cheek, as if he were reprimanding a naughty child. ‘And you know what happens if Salvatore is disappointed, don’t you?’

  Bahadir realised this was not the time to play games, and certainly not the time to provoke someone like Belmonte. Especially after the fiasco in Florence a few days ago. He had obviously lost face, and losing face was the worst that could happen to a man like him. ‘So, what are you doing here?’ asked Bahadir.

  ‘I have to lie low for a while; you understand, don’t you?’

  Bahadir nodded. He knew at once where this was heading. ‘You want to stay here?’

  ‘A good place to lie low, don’t you think? And in the meantime, we can plan ...’

  Bahadir didn’t reply, his mind racing.

  ‘Salvatore would really appreciate it,’ said Belmonte and signalled to the barman to refill his glass. ‘And so would I.’

  Bahadir, an experienced pragmatist, stood up, recognising an opportunity. Helping a man like Belmonte when he was in a tight spot, as was obviously the case, could come in useful and would certainly strengthen his relationship with Gambio. ‘All right. Follow me,’ he said. ‘You can live in my underworld for a while, literally. We have a whole network of tunnels down there. You can disappear and come and go without being seen.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Belmonte and drained his glass. ‘Just what I need. I knew we could count on you,’ he added, smiling, and followed Bahadir to the back of the restaurant.

  A man standing in the shadows, watching, walked over to the bar, picked up Belmonte’s empty glass and quickly slipped it into his pocket. He was the same man who had earlier taken photographs of Belmonte entering the restaurant. Then he headed for the door and left.

  Colonel Riza looked intently at the two photographs on the desk in front of him, and frowned. One had been taken at the airport in Istanbul on 1 June, showing two men and a woman boarding Gambio’s plane; the other showed a man entering the Sultan’s Table earlier that day. Definitely the same man, he thought, no doubt about it. Then he reached for the fingerprint report, read it and smiled. The Americans and the Italians will be very interested in this, he thought, and so will Haddad. Then he picked up his phone and called Chief Prosecutor Grimaldi in Florence.

 

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