was. ‘King David made it the Jewish capital about a thousand years before Christ after he beat the piss and pick handles out of the Philistines.’
Allegra smiled. She knew she would continue to enjoy David Kaufmann’s irreverent turn of phrase.
‘Not long after that his son Solomon built the first temple. That lasted about four hundred years until the good old Babylonians came in and knocked it over in 586 BC. Nehemiah built the second one about forty years later.’ David swerved to avoid a yellow Palestinian taxi. ‘Alexander the Great knocked the city off again in 332 BC, but the second temple lasted until the Romans in their inimitable style razed it to the ground in 70 AD. The Western Wailing Wall is all that’s left.’
At the end of the old Jaffa Road, they reached Zahal Square and Allegra got her first glimpse of the walls of the Old City. From her research Allegra knew that the walls themselves had survived since they had been built by Suleiman the Magnificent, the Ottoman sultan of Istanbul fame, in 1537. Against the backdrop of the wall, a contrast of ancient and modern pushed Allegra’s senses to their limits. A cacophony of cars, trucks, tourist buses, sheruts – the white Israeli minibuses – and their yellow Palestinian equivalents jostled for space on the crowded road.
‘That’s the Jaffa Gate and further down you can see the Citadel,’ David said, pointing to the massive blocks at the base of a huge stone tower. ‘Otherwise known as the Tower of David. Just before Christ’s time Herod rebuilt it, and today it houses the Museum of the History of Jerusalem. When we haven’t got you out searching for more Dead Sea Scrolls, you and the Old City can get better acquainted.’
‘I’m looking forward to that,’ Allegra said as David swung Onslow into the car park of the hotel.
Dusky lights accentuated the front of the American Colony Hotel, one of Jerusalem’s most famous and stylish hotels. The architecture was typically Turkish fortress style and the rooms looked onto a beautiful old stone courtyard and well cared for palm trees, gardens and fountains.
‘Would you like a table, Dr Kaufmann?’ asked Abdullah, the Cellar Bar’s long-serving barman, indicating a vacant alcove under one of the old sandstone archways.
David looked at Allegra and raised an eyebrow.
‘I’d be happy to stand at the bar. I’ve been sitting in a plane for hours,’ she said, smiling at Abdullah. ‘I’ll have a beer thanks.’
‘A woman after my own heart,’ David responded.
‘Shalom,’ David said, raising his glass after Abdullah had brought the drinks.
‘David!’
David turned around to see Tom Schweiker walking into the bar.
‘Tom! How are you? It’s been a while. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Dr Allegra Bassetti. Allegra is an expert in archaeological DNA and is joining us to do some research. Allegra, meet Tom Schweiker. Tom’s a journalist but don’t let that put you off, some of them are actually quite decent!’
‘David has very discerning taste in friends,’ Tom said with an easy smile, shaking Allegra’s hand. ‘Welcome to Jerusalem.’
‘It’s good to meet you. I’ve often watched you covering the Vatican from Rome,’ Allegra replied, struck by the open camaraderie between the two men.
‘A beer thanks, Abdullah,’ Tom said, looking around. ‘Strange. That lard-arsed blowhard from the Rockefeller isn’t here. Blessed relief.’
‘Lard-arsed blowhard?’ Allegra asked, intrigued.
‘Monsignor Derek Lonergan,’ David explained. ‘He’ll be doing the briefing tomorrow.’
‘Lucky you,’ Tom observed. ‘Any progress on getting access to the scrolls?’
David shook his head. ‘At the moment we’re having trouble even getting an office. Every time the scandal of the scrolls is raised it makes news for a while and then you guys move on.’
‘Usually because someone’s blown up another bloody bus,’ Tom said. ‘That hardly touched the sides. Three beers thanks, Abdullah.’
‘Access to these scrolls seems to have had a pretty chequered history,’ Allegra observed.
‘Things have eased a little,’ David said. ‘In 1991 the new Director of the Huntington Library in San Marino, California, discovered a long forgotten photographic record of the scrolls in a safe. Unlike the Vatican, the Huntington believes in intellectual freedom. In the face of all sorts of legal threats the Huntington published the photographs, but I have my suspicions there is still more to come. The Vatican is guarding access to the originals, not to mention the actual dates of the scrolls, with all the ferocity of bin Laden’s bodyguards, and the appalling irony is that ever since the 1967 war several of the academics who do have access haven’t set foot inside the country, something that Lonergan strenuously denies.’
‘I think I saw him give an interview once on that very issue. Big man?’ Allegra asked.
Tom grinned. ‘With an ego to match. British American. David and I have already made up our minds about him, so it will be interesting to see what you think.’
‘You don’t like him much?’
‘Not a lot,’ David answered. ‘An elitist academic, but the Vatican like him because he supports their line. I wouldn’t be surprised if they employ him.’
Tom Schweiker was absorbing every detail of the conversation between Allegra and David. Where the Vatican was concerned he had his own reasons for getting to the truth. Not that he would ever quote David, unless they both agreed there was a reason to do so. David was a friend and Tom Schweiker always took a long-term view. David Kaufmann was far too important a source to burn in the quest for a short-term front page headline.
‘The Vatican team puts the origin of the scrolls around two hundred years before Christ,’ Allegra said. ‘That’s probably true for some of them, but from the research I’ve done, some have definitely been written around the time of Christ, and they reflect both his and earlier teachings. Carbon dating would solve the question simply and decisively, but the Vatican has resisted that from the very beginning.’
‘I think you’re right,’ David said. ‘Their defence is too ferocious and anyone who disagrees is likely to feel the full force of the Vatican’s power, as one or two very distinguished academics have found to their cost. I have a very strong suspicion the Vatican is hiding something.’
Allegra nodded. ‘I’ve always had the feeling that the Vatican wanted to put as much distance between Christ and the Dead Sea Scrolls as they can.’
‘Why?’ asked Tom.
‘If it can be proven that Christ studied under the Essenes,’ Allegra said, ‘it would threaten the very essence of Vatican teaching, not to mention Christ’s divinity, the uniqueness of his teaching, and ultimately whether he was really out to start a religion.’
David was impressed by his new colleague’s willingness to question tradition, no matter how deeply rooted in history. He realised there was much more to Allegra than she was letting on. Aware that he was staring intently at her, he briskly turned towards Tom. ‘To the average punter that probably doesn’t matter much,’ David said, ‘but anything that links Christ with the Essenes is likely to give the Vatican a bad case of the vapours.’
‘I wonder if the Omega Scroll will come up at the briefing tomorrow?’ Allegra ventured, wondering what sort of reaction she would get from Tom.
Tom grinned. ‘Lonergan will give the impression of a welcome, but don’t expect too much cooperation, especially on the Omega Scroll. He’ll deny it even exists and I suspect they will do everything they can to make sure you both see as little as possible. Better go,’ he said. ‘Ferret Face is having a bad hair day. Lovely to have met you, Allegra. No doubt we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.’
‘Ferret Face?’ Allegra asked, curious.
‘His producer. Nasty piece of work apparently,’ David replied as they followed Tom out of the bar.
After they had left, Abdullah reached for the phone.
The small travel clock had a very persistent ring and Allegra fumbled for the button to silence it, blinking in the morning light coming through the big bedroom window. For a few seconds she had no idea where she was, until the fuzziness of her jet lag slowly cleared. Instead of the normal university ‘cell’, the Medina scholarship had provided a spacious one-bedroom apartment that was only a ten-minute walk from the Mount Scopus campus. The apartment building was nestled at the end of a quiet leafy cul-de-sac and boasted sweeping views from her bedroom and living room balconies. In the distance she could make out the Old City and greater Jerusalem. The early morning sun had caught the 35-ton golden cupola of the Dome of the Rock, the best known and most striking
