The Testimonium (59 page)

He nodded. “I have prayed about this since I met you,” he said, “and God has given me peace about it. You will find your way to Him in your own time, and I will be there to rejoice in the moment. But something told me that today was the day I should ask you. So, how about it? Will you be Mrs. Parker?”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically. “Yes!” she said gleefully. “A thousand times yes! Oh, Josh, I am so glad that God brought you into my life! You have given me more joy than I thought I would ever feel again!”

They kissed again, and the small crowd of onlookers that had paused to take in the moment began to applaud. Josh looked at them and grinned. “THIS WOMAN IS GOING TO BE MY WIFE!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Isabella elbowed him in the ribs, but the onlookers applauded even louder. The two of them collapsed in laughter, and then caught a cab back to the museum.

* * *

Ibrahim Abbasside had been a busy man. In the last forty-eight hours, he had met with both his cell leaders, purchased a swift automobile, and monitored the communications coming from the museum and the police department. Everything looked to be in order. The convoy escorting the scroll would leave the museum that evening, and his men would be waiting to intercept it. The escort was heavy, but not heavy enough. His men had two RPGs with multiple rounds of ammunition, and a SAM launcher. He decided to let the convoy cover just over half the distance to Rome—far enough down the road to lull them into a false sense of security—before striking. The first round would knock the helicopter out of the sky, while the RPG would cripple the lead vehicle. The jihadists would lay down a withering fire, killing as many of the escorting soldiers and policemen in the opening moments of the ambush as they could. As for Abbasside, he would be trailing the convoy in his sports car, armed with two pistols, a fifty-caliber sniper rifle with a tripod, and his pocket torch. He would take out the remainder of the convoy from the rear as they tried to withdraw from the ambush, and block their escape. He had already donned a Kevlar vest, and had the helmet in the floorboard of his auto. He was not averse to giving his life in glorious jihad against the infidel, but he did not want a stray round bringing him down before he completed his mission.

He had rented a small apartment overlooking the front of the museum from a few blocks away, and would be waiting and watching as the convoy departed. Since he knew their route from intercepted communications, he did even not have to tail them visibly. He could take his time, slowly bringing up the rear, not even getting them in view until they were well away from Naples. All he had to do was keep their distant tail lights in his sights intermittently, to make sure they did not deviate from the planned route.

On the seat next to him was a laptop computer, plugged into his email. The sheer bulk of communications coming from the museum was pretty overwhelming, but he had isolated the numbers that had most to do with planning the convoy and checked those intercepts every few hours. The Spider had been as good as his word. He would take the laptop with him when he left the dingy little apartment that evening, so that he could monitor any further communications.

As the time for his afternoon prayers approached, he unrolled his ornately inscribed rug and knelt, touching his nose to the ground three times as Islamic tradition required, and then mouthed the ancient words of the Quran. He could feel the righteousness of his cause in every word that he spoke, and knew that Allah was merciful. He would not suffer his faithful servant to fail.

* * *

Joshua and Isabella got back to the museum a little later than they had planned. There was a small knot of reporters near the entrance, no doubt there to cover the convoy’s departure, which had been judiciously leaked by the police department.

“Dr. Parker!” shouted an English journalist. “Will you and Dr. Sforza be accompanying the scroll when it leaves the museum?”

Josh paused. “We have been asked to remain here until tomorrow morning,” he said, “when we will catch a helicopter flight to Rome. Several artifacts we’ve recovered from the ruins of the lab are in precarious condition, and Isabella and I will be working most of the night trying to stabilize them. Two-thousand-year-old papyri and high explosives are a bad combination!”

The American correspondent Cynthia Brown cut in. “Dr. Parker, are you worried about what the carbon dating of the
Testimonium
might reveal?”

Josh flashed a huge smile at them. “Not in the least!” he said. “I was there when the scroll was found, and there is not a shred of doubt in my mind that the testing will confirm its authenticity. I feel kind of sorry for the skeptics who are trying so hard to debunk this find, if you want to know the truth. Once these tests are done, they will not have a leg to stand on.”

One of the reporters had a cell phone jammed to his ear, and he put it down long enough to call out his question. “Dr. Parker, what is this I am hearing about a scene outside a nearby movie theater moments ago?” he asked.

“You guys don’t miss a beat, do you?” Josh said. “All right, then, if you must know, I have asked Dr. Sforza here to become my wife, and she has accepted!” He held up her hand to the reporters, showing off his grandmother’s engagement ring. The journalists gave the two a good-natured round of applause.

“No more questions!” Isabella shouted as the two of them turned and darted into the museum.

Castolfo and MacDonald were waiting for them in the lab. “A bit late, aren’t we?” asked the Bureau’s president.

Josh grinned ruefully. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “We lost track of time, and then got ambushed by the press at the door. We stuck to our cover story, though, and gave them something else to talk about!”

MacDonald suddenly spotted the gleaming diamond on Isabella’s finger. “By God!” he said. “You actually did it! Congratulations, laddie! And you too, my girl!”

Castolfo took in the ring and Isabella’s radiant face. His stern expression broke into a huge grin. “How delightful!” he said. “Congratulations to you both! Now, Parker, you are going to have to come and live here in Italy. I do not want to lose this valued member of our profession to some backwater Indian excavation on the American frontier!”

Isabella wrinkled her nose at him. “And what if I told you it was my career ambition to excavate Clovis sites in Oklahoma?” she asked.

“I would know you were lying!” said Castolfo. “But I wish you both the very best wherever you settle. I just don’t want to lose you. There are not enough women in archeology as it is, and you have become an inspiration to all the girls in Italy!”

“Joshua, I realize that we come from different churches, but if you did want to have some wee input from across the denominational aisle, I would be honored to have a part in the service,” said Father MacDonald.

“I would not dream of a wedding without you in it!” said Isabella.

“I think you and my dad could do a great service together,” said Josh.

They chatted for a few moments, and then Castolfo answered the phone and spoke softly for a few moments. When he hung up, he faced the group with a stern face. “Well, our escort is here!” he said. “It won’t be dark for a while yet, but perhaps you would like to go introduce yourselves?”

The three team members followed him and Guioccini to the entrance of the museum. Two large APCs were pulled up to the curb with an armored car in between them, and three police cars bringing up the rear. All of them were parked in front of the museum, drawing quite a curious crowd of onlookers. An Italian officer stepped to the front, and Josh recognized him immediately. It was Guillermo Rossini!

“We meet again, Dr. Parker!” said the Giuseppe’s son. “It is good to see you!”

“I am glad to see you again, too!” said Josh. “Now I know that Father MacDonald and the scroll will be safe.”

Major Rossini nodded. “And I am delighted to get a crack at the animals that murdered my father,” he said. “If they touch this convoy, it will be the last thing they ever do!”

Castolfo looked skyward, and Rossini laughed. “Our air support is coming, don’t worry!” he said. “We won’t be leaving for another hour at least, and they will pick us up right at the edge of the city. This scroll will not have been guarded so well since it had Praetorians protecting it in old Tiberius’ time!”

A tall police officer in a lavishly decorated uniform stepped forward. “Alessandro Zadora, Police Chief of Naples,” he said, shaking hands with the team members. “My men are most anxious to see you safely to Rome, after the tragic events of last week. Who will actually be carrying and escorting the scroll?”

“That would be me and Dr. Guioccini,” said Father MacDonald.

“I have a little something for each of you!” said the Chief. He reached into his patrol car and pulled out two Kevlar vests. “I doubt you will need them, but it never hurts to be safe.”

* * *

Several blocks away, Abbasside watched the convoy parked outside the museum. He had watched the news coverage of the American archeologist and the Italian harlot with a sneer of anger, upset that they would not be in the convoy. How it would have pleased Allah to wipe the sinful joy right off of their infidel faces! But, he thought, at least his men would get a clear shot at the priest and one of the Italian archeologists. He watched the handoff of the Kevlar vests and took note that his men would need to be aiming for the head.

The light was fading fast, and he knew that they would be leaving the museum soon. He opened his laptop and went to his email, looking at the many intercepts that had been sent to him since that morning. He scrolled through them in chronological order, noting with pleasure that the Spider had actually flagged the ones that were most likely to be of interest to him. There was one from late the night before from the director’s office to a number he did not recognize. He opened it and played the audio file. He heard the deep voice of the president of the Antiquities Board, Castolfo, speaking to someone he did not know.

“I am very concerned about the transport of the scroll tomorrow evening, Antonio,” it said. He sat straight up and listened very closely. When the brief conversation ended, he was shaking with rage.

Cursed infidels, they were clever!! Had it not been for the Spider’s ability to tap into their communications, he and his men might have thrown their lives away for nothing! But he smiled now. The scroll would be traveling unescorted, taking the coast road toward Rome. The infidels’ cleverness would be their undoing—his sports car could overtake anything on the road, and there were many lonely stretches where he could have his way with them, far from any reinforcement.

But he would have no reinforcements either. Apparently the scroll would not even leave Rome until the attack on the convoy began, so he would have to allow his men to walk into a trap. He felt no regret for their deaths—martyrdom was the highest honor any Muslim could aspire to, and Allah would welcome them into paradise as honored jihadists. He debated on telling them that their attack was diversionary, but decided against it. They would spend themselves more freely if they believed that they were going to destroy a valuable target, and an all-out attack would be more convincing to the Italians. That meant, however, that the sole responsibility for the destruction of the scroll would rest upon his shoulders. However, he thought, at least there was the consolation that he would be able to kill the infidel couple after all. The thought brought a smile to his face. The future they imagined together would never be realized!

He watched carefully as the sky grew darker, and about an hour after he read the intercepted message, he saw the priest and the Italian archeologist from the museum carry a metallic briefcase down the steps and into the armored car. Headlights came on and engines roared as the massive vehicles and the smaller police cars started up and pulled away from the curb. As they disappeared around the block, he heard a helicopter swoop overhead and take its station above them. Its lights remained visible long after the buildings of Naples blocked the convoy from view. Abbasside closed his drapes and placed a call to Ismael Falladah.

“God is Great!” said the jihadist when he picked up the phone. The time for subterfuge and code names was over.

“They have left Naples,” said Abbasside. “Be ready. The convoy must not get through! Destroy the scroll at all costs.”

“It will be done!” said the sleeper cell commander. “We have chosen our spot well. They will never know what hit them.”

“Allah is merciful,” said Abbasside. “Strike hard! Call me when you see the helicopter approaching, so that I may catch up and join the holy assault!”

“Yes, sheik!” said the jihadist, and hung up.

Abbasside went through the apartment for the next half hour, clearing out all his possessions and wiping the room clean of his fingerprints. Everything fit into one small suitcase, which packed quickly. His room was paid for, and he left the key card on the table before heading to his car. The authorities had never gotten an image of his face yet, and he was determined to leave them no trace by which to identify him. He closed the door behind him and carried his case down to the car, and then drove it to a parallel slot a block from the museum. The parking lot only had two outlets, and both opened onto this street. He would see the president’s BMW when it left. He settled into his seat and watched the street, patient as a cat watching a mouse hole. Sooner or later, his quarry would emerge. And he would be waiting.

* * *

Josh paced back and forth. The convoy had been gone for nearly two hours, and should be at least halfway to Rome by now. The case with the real
Testimonium
inside it was sealed and waiting; Dr. Castolfo’s BMW was fueled up and parked in the side lot, and all of them had eaten some stale sandwiches from the museum’s café for supper.

“Joshua, it would be a true shame for me to have to kill you on the day we became engaged,” said Isabella. She was smiling, but there was some real irritation in her voice, so Josh sat down and took a sip of lukewarm Coke. He shook his head.