Jack patted his pocket. ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘The book’s a bonus. The serviette alone should do it. We have more than enough.’

  ‘Excellent. Ah, here comes the food now. I’m starving.’

  When Jack asked for the bill at the end of the evening, he was told there wasn’t one. The meal was on the house said the maître d’, and handed Cesaria another signed copy of Bahadir’s book to replace the one that had been damaged earlier. But when Jack asked to see Bahadir to thank him, he was told politely that unfortunately he wasn’t available.

  ‘How odd,’ said Jack as they stepped outside. ‘At first, he’s all over us and then just disappears.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s embarrassed?’ suggested Cesaria.

  ‘Don’t know. It’s a little strange whichever way you look at it. Shall we walk back to my hotel for a nightcap and you can catch a taxi from there?’

  ‘You’re on,’ said Cesaria, who was staying with Haddad and Conti close to the Gendarmerie General Command Centre, and linked arms with Jack. ‘As you seem to know this place so well, why don’t you tell me a little about it?’

  ‘With pleasure; come ... That huge building over there is the Hagia Sophia, the church of holy wisdom, one of the world’s greatest architectural achievements and one of my favourite buildings on the planet. It’s stupendous. If you have time while you’re here, you must go inside.’

  ‘Couldn’t you take me?’

  ‘Love to, but I’m leaving in the morning.’

  ‘Oh? Where are you going?’

  ‘Rome.’

  61

  Vatican City: 20 June

  Jack got out of the taxi and for a brief moment stood quietly in the shadow of one of Bernini’s gigantic columns. The familiar structure formed part of the famous four-row colonnade, extending an open-armed welcome to the faithful flocking to the Vatican. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the morning sun, he looked up at the majestic dome of St Peter’s and marvelled at the splendour of Michelangelo’s masterpiece, as he remembered the Hagia Sophia he had admired only the night before. The power of faith, he thought, bringing out the best and the worst in mankind. Nothing’s changed.

  After going through security, Jack crossed St Peter’s Square and went to one of the side entrances he had been directed to. The Swiss Guard at the gate looked at him with undisguised suspicion when he asked to see Cardinal Borromeo. People didn’t just walk in off the street asking to see the Dean of the College of Cardinals. But when Jack produced the letter of introduction signed by Cardinal O’Brien, the guard’s demeanour changed and Jack was told to wait.

  A few minutes later, an elderly monsignor working in the diplomatic service of the Holy See came down a wide set of marble stairs and walked over to Jack waiting in the opulent foyer. ‘Mr Rogan? We have been expecting you,’ he said in perfect English. ‘Please come with me.’

  Jack followed the little man through a maze of corridors and up another flight of stairs until he stopped in front of an imposing double door and knocked. Jack could hear a voice call out “entro” from inside. The little man opened the door and looked encouragingly at Jack. ‘Cardinal Borromeo is waiting for you,’ he said and stood aside.

  Almost blinded by the bright sunlight flooding into the large room crowded with paintings, Jack looked at the tall man standing by the open window. He was holding Cardinal O’Brien’s letter in his right hand as he looked pensively down into St Peter’s Square below.

  ‘I never tire of this view,’ said the cardinal. ‘These days it’s the only thing that appears to be constant. We live in troubled times, Mr Rogan. Cardinal O’Brien speaks very highly of you.’ The cardinal held up the letter, turned towards Jack and looked at him with penetrating, ice-blue eyes that seemed to belong to a much younger man. Jack held his gaze and smiled, but didn’t say anything. ‘His Holiness is dying, and according to Cardinal O’Brien you seem to be his last hope. What would you call that, Mr Rogan?’

  ‘I would call it destiny, Eminence,’ replied Jack, a little taken aback by the cardinal’s curious remark. The cardinal nodded, walked slowly towards Jack and extended his hand. ‘So would I. And that is exactly what His Holiness has been telling us all these troubled months: Trust in faith and believe in your destiny. Thank you for coming.’

  ‘It’s a privilege to be here, Eminence. Thank you for seeing me,’ said Jack and bowed his head slightly.

  ‘This is all about destiny, Mr Rogan,’ continued the cardinal. ‘His Holiness believes it is his destiny to reach out to Islam and broker peace in the troubled Middle East, where thousands are dying every day. He also believes that one of the ways he can achieve this is to address the United Nations in New York and the US Congress in Washington. He’s an inspirational speaker with great presence. These historic events were arranged months ago and are due to take place soon – very soon. The eyes of the world will be on the pontiff.’

  The cardinal paused to let this sink in.

  ‘In his present state, His Holiness is too ill to travel. Unless there’s a dramatic improvement in his health, everything will have to be cancelled. The consequences would be, well ...’ The cardinal didn’t complete his sentence. He didn’t believe in failure, only solutions. Instead, he turned towards Jack, looking worried. ‘His Holiness may not even be ... I would like to ask you a question, Mr Rogan, and you must give me a straight answer.’

  ‘Certainly, Eminence.’

  ‘Do you seriously believe that a sixteenth-century medical text, with origins reaching back to much earlier times still, could contain answers that may have a bearing on this situation? Could Osman da Baggio’s annotated copy of al-Qanun contain information important enough to influence the latest, cutting-edge medical research and the way we look at and treat, certain life-threatening diseases?’

  Jack took his time before replying. He realised that everything was hanging in the balance and may well depend on how he answered. He had to choose his words carefully.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve seen it happen before, Eminence. An ancient Aztec codex and a Mexican jungle plant were instrumental in facilitating a stunning medical breakthrough that resulted in the discovery of a certain gene, and a drug that has been a game changer. In fact, Professor Delacroix has recently been awarded the Nobel Prize for that discovery.’

  ‘The KALM 30 gene and Demexilyn,’ interjected the cardinal.

  ‘Your Eminence is very well informed,’ said Jack, surprised.

  ‘Cardinal O’Brien has been very thorough with his briefings.’

  Suppressing a smile, Jack continued.

  ‘I can tell your Eminence that Professor Delacroix believes something similar may be happening here, right now, with Osman da Baggio’s copy of al-Qanun. That’s why I’ve agreed to become involved and that’s why I’m here, searching for his annotated book.’

  The cardinal nodded, obviously deep in thought, and for a long, tense moment he didn’t say anything.

  ‘In that case, Mr Rogan, I will do everything in my power to help you find it,’ he said quietly.

  Relieved, Jack took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Eminence.’

  ‘In fact, the search has already begun,’ continued the cardinal, ‘by someone I believe you know. He’s waiting for you in the archives right now.’

  The cardinal reached for the bell button on his desk and pressed it. ‘My secretary will take you to him. God be with you, Mr Rogan. We are all instruments of fate.’

  Cardinal Borromeo’s secretary, a young Jesuit from Spain, escorted Jack to the labyrinthine, fortress-like Vatican archives. After several security checks, a pass was issued to Jack and he was finally allowed to enter where only a privileged few were given access to – the fiercely guarded literary treasures and secrets of the Catholic Church.

  The Church had realised long ago that the word was much more powerful than the sword and had skilfully used censorship for centuries to protect its interests against ideas and teachings that could threaten its power and influence. One of the most effective ways to do this was to use the accusation of heresy as a convenient justification, and the ruthless Inquisition as a devastating weapon to silence critics and inconvenient dissenters. For centuries, the Church had protected itself in that way.

  However, rather than destroying the offending material, meticulous records were kept of all proceedings, interrogations and trials, and the heretical “evidence” was carefully studied and stored in the Vatican archives. This had resulted in one of the unique and most valuable collections of ideas and historical records on the planet.

  Jack’s Jesuit guide pointed to the pass Jack had just been given that he was now wearing in a plastic sleeve around his neck. ‘I’ve never seen one of these before,’ he said, surprised. ‘Only certain cardinals are allowed this kind of unrestricted access. You can virtually ask for and view anything you like in here.’ The young Jesuit shook his head. ‘Unheard of.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Jack.

  ‘To a research room. The archives are strictly temperature and humidity controlled. All work in here is carried out in separate, air-conditioned rooms, specially designed for that purpose. Here we are.’

  The young Jesuit pointed to a small, brightly lit, glass cage-like room at the end of a corridor filled with all kinds of books and records. As he opened the door to let Jack enter, a man sitting hunched over a small desk and wearing white gloves turned around, looked at Jack and smiled.

  ‘You?’ said Jack, surprised. ‘When did you get here?’

  ‘Last night,’ said Father Connor, and stood up. ‘Cardinal O’Brien sends his regards. You will be pleased to hear I’ve already made a good head start.’

  ‘Great. I was wondering how I would manage in here all by myself.’

  ‘No need to worry. The Vatican’s most experienced archivists are at our disposal,’ said Father Connor, lowering his voice. ‘Eminent scholars one and all. Around the clock. Cardinal Borromeo made sure we have everything we could possibly need. The stuff in here is amazing. Wait till you see what I’ve found so far. Here, put on these gloves. You are not allowed to touch anything without them.’

  Jack took off his jacket, put on the gloves and sat down facing Father Connor. ‘Just like Sydney,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘But without Mrs Kelly’s cakes.’

  ‘Bummer! Now, tell me, what have you discovered?’

  Father Connor held up one of the pages of the da Baggio chronicles he had been working on and pointed to a sentence he had highlighted. ‘This was the important clue: one entry. It was difficult to find because it appeared years after the event.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A date.’

  ‘What kind of date?’

  ‘A trial date.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘And the date led me to this.’ Father Connor pointed to an open, leather-bound tome on the desk in front of him.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘This, my friend, is a transcript of a trial. Do you want to know whose trial?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The trial of Osman da Baggio of Venice, also known as “Medicus”, accused of heresy by the Inquisition right here in Rome, because of dubious medical practices.’

  ‘Amazing! What does it say?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. Just started.’

  Jack leaned forward and slapped Father Connor good-naturedly on the back. Then he pulled his beloved notebook held together by a rubber band out of his coat pocket and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘What are we waiting for? Let’s get stuck into it!’ he said and reached for his pen.

  62

  Kilis Oncupinar: 21 June

  For Haddad, Conti and Cesaria, Istanbul had quickly turned into a frustrating waiting game. Colonel Riza had given orders that no action was to be taken until the Paris suicide bombers – who were in transit from Syria, according to reliable intelligence – had arrived in Istanbul and were arrested. After that, the Americans would take Bahadir back to the States and shut down his operation in Istanbul. Until then, nothing must be allowed to occur that could in any way jeopardise the operation. However, after that, Riza would have a free hand. And that included moving against Belmonte who, it was thought, was still holed up somewhere in Bahadir’s Sultan’s Table complex.

  For Haddad, allowing el-Masri to slip through his fingers a second time was unthinkable. But because of Colonel Riza’s strict orders, his hands were tied, and a man like Haddad wouldn’t dream of disappointing a friend and colleague who had so generously held out his hand and placed such trust in him.

  As a battle-hardened police officer with many years of frontline experience in the turbulent world of terror, Haddad knew exactly how the IS leadership operated and who its important leaders were. Familiar with their mentality, he also knew how they strategised, and what they considered to be important. Punishing traitors was a priority because without discipline and obedience, IS couldn’t operate. El-Masri was still on top of IS’s most-wanted list and Haddad was going to use this festering sore to somehow get to Bahadir before he was once again taken back to the US and therefore out of reach. But first, Haddad had to be certain that Bahadir was in fact el- Masri.

  At Haddad’s request, Colonel Riza had couriered Bahadir’s blood sample to Alexandra at the Gordon. Until the facial reconstruction – which was still in doubt – was completed, Haddad wouldn’t act. He had to be sure, and for what he had in mind, he needed proof.

  To make waiting easier and use his time productively, Haddad decided to accompany Nazir and Amena – who were desperate to get back to the camp and surprise Dr Rosen – to Kilis Oncupinar and help them deliver the operating theatre rig. However, there was another, more important reason behind this: Haddad wanted to be near the Syrian border when the facial reconstruction results came back from the Gordon. In case the results confirmed what Haddad suspected, he would act immediately before it was too late. He knew that every hour counted. He also knew what he had to do.

  Muddy and covered in dust, the rig pulled into the camp just after sunrise. Taking turns at the wheel with the driver provided by Colonel Riza, Haddad had made sure they covered the long distance in record time.

  Tired, but elated, Amena and Nazir went looking for Dr Rosen. They found her already at work in the main camp, doing her rounds in the overcrowded field hospital.

  ‘Looks like you could do with some help here,’ said Amena, walking up to Dr Rosen from behind and putting an arm around her shoulders. Dr Rosen started and looked at Amena. ‘You? Here?’ she said, surprised, and embraced Amena. ‘Is everything all right? You haven’t called.’

  ‘Everything’s fine – now. Look, there’s someone else who wants to help.’

  Amena pointed to Nazir standing in the open doorway, grinning broadly. Dr Rosen held out her arms and he came running towards her, tears in his eyes.

  ‘Come, tell me what you’ve been up to,’ said Dr Rosen, a lump in her throat.

  ‘We will,’ said Amena, ‘but first you have to come with us. We have something to show you.’ Amena took Dr Rosen by the hand and pulled her towards the door.

  ‘What about the patients?’

  ‘This won’t take long. They can wait, this time,’ replied Amena, laughing.

  Haddad was leaning against the bonnet of the rig, smoking. Dr Rosen saw him first and waved. Haddad waved back and came walking towards her.

  ‘Another injury needing attention?’ asked Dr Rosen, holding out her hand.

  ‘No, thank you, Bettany. The old one will do just fine for a while, I think.’

  ‘All of you back here? So soon? How come?’ asked Dr Rosen.

  ‘We’ve brought you something,’ said Amena, no longer able to contain her excitement.

  ‘Oh? What?’

  Amena pointed to the rig. ‘This.’

  ‘A semi-trailer?’

  ‘Ah. But this is much more than a semi-trailer,’ said Haddad, laughing.

  ‘In what way?’ asked Dr Rosen.

  ‘Here, let me show you. Nazir, would you please open the back doors?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ said Nazir and hurried to the back of the rig.

  Amena took off her headscarf and turned towards Dr Rosen. ‘Here, allow me,’ she said. She covered Dr Rosen’s eyes with the scarf, pulled it gently and then tied it at the back of her head. Haddad and Amena each took one of Dr Rosen’s hands and guided her to the back of the rig.

  ‘We have a surprise for you,’ said Amena. ‘Ready, Nazir?’

  Nazir nodded.

  Amena untied the scarf. ‘Here, this is for you.’

  Dr Rosen opened her eyes and looked straight into the back of the rig, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘My God! Is that what I think it is?’ she asked.

  ‘Aha,’ said Amena, smiling. ‘Fully equipped and ready to go.’

  ‘I-I don’t know what to say,’ stammered Dr Rosen, feeling a little dizzy. ‘How? Where from?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Haddad. ‘We could do with some breakfast, and then we’ll tell you all about it.’

  ‘You’re on. Come!’

  Amena and Nazir went straight to work with Dr Rosen, and Haddad went to see the camp commander to talk about the new mobile operating theatre. They met again at the end of the day for dinner. By then, Amena and Nazir had told Dr Rosen all about their adventures in Istanbul and Florence and how the mobile operating theatre ended up with them.

  ‘I think it’s all your fault,’ said Dr Rosen, turning to Haddad. ‘You are as bad as Jack.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’ said Dr Rosen, putting a second helping of chicken curry on Haddad’s empty plate.

  Haddad shrugged. ‘I guess not,’ he said and began to attack the plate with gusto.

  Exhausted, Amena and Nazir went to bed early. Haddad and Dr Rosen stayed behind, enjoying the cool breeze and being alone.

 

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