Chapter Fifteen

 

Vatican - Tuesday, May 12

“Let’s try a thought experiment, gentlemen.” The Pope took a seat at the table in his office and looked at each of the three men. “Let’s say the treaty is authentic. Suppose I stand up and tell the world the doctrine of Papal Infallibility is wrong, an unfortunate error made by the First Vatican Council in 1870? What happens to the Church?”

He’s going to do it, thought Agretti. He’s going to bring the Church down. Destroy it. Damn him. “First, I very much doubt you could say that.”

The Pope leaned toward him. “Really? Watch this. Papal Infallibility is wrong.”

“But you didn’t say it ex-cathedra, intended as teaching, promulgated to all the faithful, and binding all Catholics. You just said it to us as a simple rhetorical trick, with respect, Holiness.” Agretti leaned back, clasped his hands over his belly, and waited.

Respect, my ass, thought the Pope. “In that case,” said the Pope, “you see any discussion of denouncing the teaching as a waste of time because it’s impossible for me to do it?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“But,” Bishop Gustuv of the Pontifical College raised a finger, “I presume, Cardinal, you rely on the doctrine of Papal Infallibility to prevent this Pope, or any Pope, from denouncing the teaching of Papal Infallibility. Isn’t it that doctrine which says it is not possible for the Pope to err in such matters?”

Agretti placed both palms on the edge of the table and pulled himself forward. “Yes. That doctrine prevents any Pope from saying such a thing. The Holy Spirit makes it impossible for a Pope to err in such a manner.”

“So…” said Gustuv softly. “If a Pope did say it, did teach it, did promulgate it? Wouldn’t that in itself negate the doctrine? Wouldn’t he be doing something the doctrine of Papal Infallibility claims is impossible? And wouldn’t that action destroy any pretense of Papal Infallibility?”

Cardinal Cortese of the Congregation of the Faith whacked his hand on the arm of his chair. “Go further, Gustuv.” Cortese was enjoying this. “We would have the Vatican Council of 1870 saying infallibility is true, while the Pope says it isn’t.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, there’s a fine kettle of fish to keep theologians arguing for centuries. Somebody’s wrong, but neither can be wrong.”

“Yes, Cardinal,” said Gustuv. “We would have the Pope contradicting another Pope and a council. And we all know where that would soon lead.”

“Straight to the Cadaver Synod?” asked the Pope.

“Right, Holiness,” answered Gustuv. “Straight to what is probably the most disgraceful and despicable action any Pope has ever taken.”

“That has nothing to do with this,” protested Agretti. “That was outside of the Church.”

“Outside?” asked Gustuv. “A Pope did it. A real Pope. In St. John’s Lateran Church. In Rome. In the year 897.  Pope Stephen dug up the body of Pope Formosus, dressed him in papal vestments, sat him on a chair, stuck a boy behind the body to act as the body’s voice, and convened a Church Synod to put the rotting corpse on trial.”

Agretti reddened and pointed at Gustuv. “This has no bearing on anything. It was… it was an aberration.”

“And papal aberrations are exempt from the watchful eye of the Holy Spirit?” Gustuv shot back. “We dismiss what we don’t like as an aberration? I guarantee the rest of the world knows what happened just as well as we do.”

“If I recall,” said Cortese, “Pope Stephen nullified everything Formosus did as Pope, including all his ordinations of priests and elevations of bishops.”

“Yes” said Agretti, “but you forget that in November of 897, after the death of Stephen…”

“Murder,” Gustuv interrupted.

“…after the death of Pope Stephen,” Agretti continued, “Pope Theodore convened another synod invalidating everything Stephen’s synod had done.”

“Wonderful.” Gustuv laughed. “Now we have dueling synods. Which team was the Holy Spirit on?”

“This is not a laughing matter, Bishop.” Agretti wiped his sweaty hands on his cassock.

“Ok.” Cortese leaned an elbow on the table and looked down at Agretti. “You’re right about Theodore invalidating Stephen’s actions. But then we have Pope Sergius a few years later invalidating Theodore’s invalidation, and reinstating Stephen’s Cadaver Synod.”

“And that’s where the matter rests today,” added the Pope. “Nobody has touched it since Sergius.”

“Those ordinations and elevations to bishop that Formosus did…” Gustuv spoke slowly. “Two Popes say they were good, and two Popes say they were bad. That sure doesn’t sound like Papal Infallibility at work. Somebody’s wrong. So, a Pope has to be wrong about a matter of faith and morals, intending to teach it, and meaning for it to be accepted by all Christians.”

“Those times just can’t be counted. It was a lawless and chaotic period.” Agretti hated any mention of Formosus. It was a crutch for enemies of the Church.

“Then the Church is just something for the good times?” asked Gustuv.

Agretti said nothing.

The Pope gave a slight shake of his head as Gustuv prepared for the kill.

The Pope looked at each man. “Ok. We have a very real and practical problem with Papal infallibility from a thousand years ago. If Formosus’ ordinations were valid, then Stephen and Sergius are wrong. If Formosus’ ordinations are invalid, then Theodore and Formosus are wrong. If it’s a doctrine, then it better apply in all times and all places.”

The Pope got up and went to his hidden cooler. “Anyone want anything? Coke, Pepsi, water, beer?”

Agretti shook his head in disgust. The Pope didn’t act like a common waiter taking orders for drinks. It wasn’t right. He had to bite the insides of his mouth when Gustuv asked for a Coke and Cortese asked for water.

“Alberto?” asked the Pope.

“No thank you, Holiness.”

“Ok.” The Pope very carefully popped the top of his Coke can. “Let’s jump forward about three hundred years. 1189. Two Popes say God wants all Christians to eliminate Islam from the world.”

“Error has no rights,” said Agretti.

“I presume you mean Islam?” asked Gustuv. “Error might have no rights, but human beings do.”

“Like I said,” the Pope continued. “It’s 1189 and two Popes put out a bonehead document. Do we really say they are infallible? Really? The Holy Spirit made it impossible to err?”

“It has to be a forgery.” Agretti set his jaw and stared at the Pope. He couldn’t tell this Pope the treaty was real, taken from the Vatican Library, and said everything Hammid Al Dossary claimed.  Maybe some other Pope, but this one would march to the TV cameras and deny Papal Infallibility. Agretti couldn’t allow that.

“Well, after the performance of Popes Formosus, Stephen, Theodore, and Sergius?” The Pope held up his palms. “Why? Why can’t the treaty just be a stupid idea they cooked up that is rejected by every principle of decent men?”

“The Holy Spirit would make it impossible for them to create such a document.”

“Impossible? The Holy Spirit didn’t make it impossible for those guys in 897 to make a hash of things. Somebody had to be wrong.”

“Consider this,” said Gustuv.  “In 1870, the First Vatican Council knew about the Cadaver Synod, but they went ahead with Infallibility anyway. Suppose they also had this treaty handy, and suppose they thought it was authentic.  Would they have proclaimed Papal Infallibility? With both the Cadaver Synod and the Treaty of Tuscany staring them in the face, would they have done the same thing?”

 “Very good question, Bishop, very good. But, let’s get back to my original question,” said the Pope. “What if I actually do denounce the Infallibility Doctrine?”

Gustuv shrugged. “Not much. Half the Catholics don’t buy into it anyway. The other half… the ones who do believe it… will keep believing it anyway. They have already decided.”

Cortese cleared his throat. “There would be a lot of arguing, thousands of pages in journals, Protestants would dance for joy, and TV shows would feature talking heads for a few weeks. But face it, what would the advocates of Papal Infallibility says? The Pope is wrong? That doesn’t make sense. According to them, he can’t be wrong.”

“It would be tragic. Tragic.” Agretti clasped his shaking hands tightly together in front of him. “It would deny the sacred link between God and the Church. It would negate the purpose of the Church, and make a mockery of the sacrifice of Jesus for the salvation of all humanity. It would be the end of the Church. The end because we killed it.”

The other three just looked at Agretti. Nobody said a word.

The Pope cleared his throat and said, “Well, I suppose some future Pope could always dig me up, have a trial, and reverse it.”

Agretti glared at the Pope, but maintained his silence.

The Pope smiled. “Ok, gentlemen. Think on this. We’ll talk again.”

As they left, the Pope glanced at Carlos, looked toward Gustuv, and cocked his head. Carlos nodded and followed Gustuv out of the office. “Bishop Gustuv, let’s just wait here for a bit until the others are gone. The Pope wants to see you.”

The Pope rose when the bishop reentered the office. “Thank you, Bishop. I wanted a moment alone. I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything, Holiness.”

“The Vatican gets to send an observer to the meetings of this panel investigating the treaty. Not a panel member, just an observer. I’d like you to go.”

“Of course. I’d be honored.”

“And you play it straight.  We follow the facts and evidence. If there are any games to be played, we’ll play them from here. Your job is to be an honest observer and report back here.”

 

Dhahran - Thursday, May 14

Berrera drove the ATV north along the beach with Callahan and Eguardo hanging on the utility rack on the back. They all wore white thobes and red and white checked gutras like the Saudi kids who had been joy riding all day. It was past 11:00 pm and even the hardiest beachcombers had left for the day, but they took no chances.

They scanned the dunes, matching the terrain to the GPS units, and Berrera steered the ATV toward where the green dot on the GPS said the wadi entrance was.

Callahan and Eguardo jumped off the back of the AVT at the mouth of the wadi, then Berrera turned back south along the beach and west along the ridge line to a position where he had an unrestricted view of the villa’s south side.

They moved up the wadi, keeping their heads below ground level until it narrowed to about fifteen feet and five feet deep. The wadi ran along the east side of the villa, and they could clearly see it when they poked their heads up. Callahan scanned the area with his goggles, but saw no movement outside the walls or on the balconies. But he did notice every light was on and the perimeter lights covered everything for a hundred feet beyond the ten-foot walls.

The flaw in the external light system was their mounting on the walls and the roof pointed them away from the villa. That meant there was a dark shadow at the base of the walls.

When they reached the closest point to the southeast corner of the walls, they stopped and called Berrera.

“I’m in position,” said Berrera over their tiny earphones. Callahan hit few keys and a new green dot appeared where Berrera was. “All quiet. Nothing moving. Suggest you guys wait until we see some activity. They have to have someone on patrol.”

 “Ok. We’ll maintain position.”

They sat with their backs to the side of the wadi nearest the house in case someone might be using thermal detection equipment. Callahan moved a rock up on the edge of the wadi so he could look from behind it. He was nervous, but noticed Eguardo was the picture of serenity, alert and ready, but calm. Professional.  The Templars could use this guy, he thought. Maybe when this was over.

“Ok. Heads up. One guard coming around the southwest corner of the wall. Coming your way. Looks half asleep.” Callahan and Eguardo peeked around the rock and watched the guard sauntering along the wall, watching the ground in front of him rather than the dunes around him.

“Hey, Callahan,” Eguardo whispered, “look, that dumb-ass is fiddling with his iPod. Probably can’t hear a thing.” Callahan focused on the guard’s head and saw the tiny white wires coming from his earphones.

The guard continued toward them and turned the southeast corner less than thirty feet from them.

“Ok,” said Callahan, “let’s wait until he turns the next corner and can’t see us. Then we break for the shadow under the wall.”

“Got it.”

When the guard disappeared around the corner, Callahan whispered, “Berrera, how’s it look?”

“All clear. Go, Go, Go.”

Eguardo rolled over the top of the wadi, sprinted to the corner of the south wall, and flattened himself up against the foundation. “All clear,” came Eguardo’s whisper in Callahan’s earpiece.

“All clear,” said Berrera. “Go, Go, Go.” Callahan followed Eguardo’s path and both of them lay up against the wall. Callahan figured they had about two minutes before the guard came back around the southwest corner.

They crouched in the shadow and slid down the south wall to a point about twenty feet from the end. Callahan braced himself against the wall and Eguardo scrambled up his back to the top, then dangled an arm and Callahan climbed up and over Eguardo. Both dropped into the courtyard and froze.

Eguardo knelt and pulled out the rope with the small grappling hook. He had wrapped the metal in towels and then wrapped that in duct tape so it would make no sound when he threw it.

“Go to the house wall now, now, now! Go, Go, Go.” Berrera whispered urgently. No questions. No time for questions. Callahan and Eguardo raced to the wall.

“Drop and Die, Drop and Die,” said Berrera in their earpiece. They rolled face down against the wall of the house, willing themselves invisible. The wall ran straight up and met the railing around the second-story balcony. Shoes scuffed above them, and both knew they would have been spotted if Berrera hadn’t warned them. They heard his soft voice in their earpieces.

“Guard right above you. Smoking. Looking out, not down at you. Freeze.” The bright orange glow of a cigarette landed three feet in front of Callahan. A raspy cough, then retreating footsteps.

“Clear to go up. Go, Go, Go.”

Eguardo played out some rope, then swung the hook up and over the railing of the second story balcony. It made a dull thud on the metal railing, and they aimed their guns up in case anyone looked over the edge.

Eguardo tested the rope and scrambled up, walking up the wall and pulling with his hands. He slipped under the railing, pivoted, saw nothing, and motioned for Callahan to come up.

When Callahan rolled under the railing, he pulled the rope up while Eguardo took the hook off the railing.

“All clear… go for the door. Go, Go, Go.”

Callahan tried to move the full length sliding glass door to the right, but immediately saw it was blocked by an aluminum bar nestled in the floor track. That wasn’t good, but just like Anna had said. Eguardo was already attaching his suction cup to the glass on his side. Callahan deployed a second suction cup. Each slipped a sharpened pry bar into the lower track of the door and levered it up and off the small wheels that suspended it from the top rail. The suction cups kept it from falling in and shattering.

They stood up and stepped into the room, holding the glass in front of them. Then they removed the aluminum bar that prevented the door from sliding open, rehung the door from its upper wheels and slid it closed. Remarkably, it had worked just as they had practiced it on the door in Callahan’s apartment on the Aramco camp.

They were in a bedroom, just as Anna had described. The treaty room should be the third room down the hallway. Callahan listened at the door, eased it open, and glanced down the hallway. All clear. Eguardo had his lock picks out and glided out of the bedroom and down to the treaty room door.

 

Dhahran - Thursday, May 14

With all the music, shouting, laughter, and foot stomping from Hammid’s people it was hard to hear if anyone was approaching. Eguardo took over four minutes to pick the lock on the treaty room, way too long, and by the time he got it Callahan was on the verge of aborting the mission.

“I’m in. I’m in.” Eguardo carefully removed the tension tool from the lock so he could reinsert it and just turn the lock to the closed position when they left. He didn’t want to spend another four minutes picking it closed again.

He silently closed the door behind him and crouched down listening. Darkness. Silence. Nothing but the shouting from the party.  He lowered his night vision goggles, turned on the infrared, scanned the room, saw no windows, and no way for light to escape, so he flipped on the room lights. The only furniture in the room was a single table in the middle supporting a glass-topped display case.

“Clear to come on in, Callahan,” Eguardo whispered in his earpiece.

Callahan took a quick look out the bedroom door, then raced the two doors to the treaty room. He closed the door, slipped the optical cable under the door, and adjusted the small video screen until he had a clear picture of the hallway. “We have eyes on the hall. Did you find the treaty?”

“It’s sitting right here.” Eguardo lifted the glass top of the cabinet and removed a plastic case and laid it on the table top. “This sure looks like the pictures.”

“Well, you can look at it as well as I can. If it looks like the pictures, then that’s it. Let’s get it done and get out of here.” He moved the optical cable under the door from one direction to the other so he could see both approaches to the treaty room.

Eguardo opened the clasps on the plastic case, took the real treaty out, and slipped it between the pages of his TIME magazine. Then he took the forgery from its transparent envelope in the magazine and replaced it in the plastic case. He closed the clasps on the plastic, and carefully placed the forgery into Hammid’s larger display case.

He was closing the lid on the glass display case when Callahan said, “Heads up. Two guys approaching.” Callahan could see them clearly on the small video screen. Each carried an M16, but each also carried a drink, and from the way they moved, Callahan judged these drinks weren’t their first. He reached up and flipped off the room light and pulled the optical cable back.

Eguardo let the lid on the display case close, but shoved the sealed plastic case with the forged treaty into his pack. That was the plan. If it all went to hell, they would take both treaties with them and run for it. If not, he would just put the plastic case with the forgery back under glass and leave.

The door handle rattled and a key twisted a few times in the lock. Callahan and Eguardo were in opposite corners against the door wall, aiming their guns toward the door between them, each aware that his position put him in the other’s line of fire. But with a bare room, and no cover, there was no choice.

Callahan heard one of the guards say in Arabic, “Is it still there? Has it taken a walk? Take a look and let’s get back to the bar.”

“How do I know? Let me take a look. You know how Hammid is. ‘Did you see it with your own eyes?’ I think he comes down here and makes love to his treasure.” Both guards laughed.

The door opened and the guard entered the room, flipped on the lights and focused on the table in the middle. He didn’t notice either Callahan or Eguardo, but that would change as soon as he turned around again. He walked to the table, looked down, looked again, and then spun around and raised his M16. Trapped. Eguardo’s silenced Beretta gave a dull thump when he shot the guard in the head, while Callahan spun and shot the other guard who was just outside the door. He grabbed him by the collar before he could fall, dragged him into the room, and closed the door.

“Busted,” said Eguardo. “Now what?”

“Damn.” Callahan glanced around and cursed the alternatives. There were none. He slipped the optical cable back under the door and scanned the hallway. “You have both treaties?”

“Got them both,” whispered Eguardo.

“Ok. Now the best we can do is escape alive.”

“Berrera, we’re busted. Two enemy down,” reported Callahan. “Coming out with both treaties.”

“All clear,” said Berrera calmly. “Ready to provide cover fire.”

Callahan took an explosive charge about the size of a paperback book from his pack and clipped a flipper switch to it. Eguardo looked out the door. “All clear.”

“Go.” When Eguardo left the room, Callahan backed out, hung the charge from the inside doorknob, and trapped the flipper between the door and the doorjamb. Eguardo was down the hall by the bedroom door, and when Callahan came toward him he whipped his gun up, pointed it at Callahan, and fired two more silenced shots. Callahan heard the grunts behind him and pivoted around to see two new guards on the floor.

When Callahan reached the bedroom, one of the wounded guards raised himself on an elbow and managed to fire a burst into the ceiling before Callahan shot him twice. “Goddamn, the whole world heard that. Now all those guys will be after us.”

Now the party revelry stopped and the shouting and running began. Shadows would be their only friend. Eguardo went over the edge of the balcony like a cat and lay prone up against the house wall. Callahan hung from the edge and dropped lightly beside him.

“Berrera, we’re going for the wall.”

“Got it,” Berrera replied from his position on the ridge. “Nothing on the outside yet.”

Callahan took a second charge from his pack, set the timer for sixty seconds, and lobbed it up on the balcony they had just left.

Eguardo looked both ways. “Time to…” the explosion from the second floor treaty room cut Eguardo off. That was the first place Hammid’s guards had gone. “That your little doorknob friend, Callahan?”

“That’s him. Got another here. He pushed the arming button that started the sixty second count down and dropped it off to the side. “At least we know they got to the treaty room. Let’s hit the wall.”

They sprinted to the wall and Callahan bent over while the lighter man ran up his back and laid on top of the wall reaching back for Callahan. They both rolled off the top of the wall and fell to the ground outside.

 

*     *     *

They crouched in the shadows on the outside of the wall, scanning the brightly lit area between them and the ridge. They could hear shouts from every direction, and a car started up and sped down the drive. “Let’s move, Eguardo, there’s way too many of them. You got both treaties? Right?” Eguardo nodded and slammed a new magazine into his Beretta, just as Callahan’s sixty second bomb on the balcony shook the whole villa.

“We can’t go back through the wadi. It takes too long. We’d never make it. Let’s break for that pump house.” Callahan pointed at a small shed that controlled the irrigation for the villa. “Let me get there, then you follow while I cover. You get that, Berrera?”

“Got it. All clear to the pump house. Got you covered. Give me a minute here.” Two rifle shots doused the lights covering the area between them and the pump house.  “Ok,” said Berrera, “Go, Go, Go.”

Equardo nodded his head and adjusted the small pack with the treaties.  “Ok. So shut up and go, Callahan.”

Callahan broke into a sprint, heard his third charge explode, headed at an angle to the pump house, then darted toward it when he heard fire behind him and saw bullets hitting to his left. He dove on his belly behind the shed and scrabbled around to aim his gun back toward the villa. He saw two men carefully coming up the west wall, then heard Berrera whisper, “Two moving up the west side. Eguardo, Go, Go, Go, I have them.”

Eguardo crouched and ran a zigzag course to toward the shed. A powerful shot rang out from Berrera’s rifle on the ridge, and one of the men fell. Callahan carefully aimed at the second man, missed, but Berrera’s rifle didn’t, just as Equardo skidded to a stop next to him at the pump house.

A group of five clustered at the southeast corner of the villa’s walls by the wadi. “Big target. Let’s hit ‘em.” Eguardo shot around the right side of the pump house, while Callahan shot around the left. Two of the five men immediately fell, Berrera hit a third, and the other two ran back around the east wall.

“Let’s go before they get it together again. Now!”

Both men raced across the hard-packed sand toward the ridge. They saw the multiple flashes of Berrera’s rifle ahead of them, from a new position he had taken, and heard more confused shouting and shooting from behind them.

Callahan looked around and saw Eguardo just ten paces behind him. Berrera waited behind the ridge about fifty feet ahead. Then Eguardo was next to him pumping his arms like an Olympic sprinter.

“God be with you, Callahan. Pray for luck! Remember my mass!”

Callahan looked at Eguardo, and watched him turn on a dime and charge back toward the villa, crouching and expertly weaving with the shadows. Callahan hurled himself over the ridge next to Berrera and turned back to the villa. “What the hell is he doing? What’s he doing?”

Eguardo ran parallel to the ridge until he reached soft sand, lay flat for a few seconds, then came out of the shadow into the lights from the villa and began to slog through the sand back toward the ridge. He was hit once, spun when another shot hit him, and he went down. But he switched magazines turned and started limping toward the guards, firing all the way. The third time he was hit he didn’t get up. Eguardo lay in a twisted clump on the sand and the guards ran past him up toward the ridge where Callahan and Berrera were hidden.

“Damn. Let’s move,” said Callahan. He jumped on the ATV, felt Berrera behind him, pushed the start button, and bounced away over the sand. Shots rang out behind them when the guards topped the ridge, but the guards could see nothing and the bullets went wild.

Callahan kept the ATV to the low ground and the hard-packed sand, weaving between the much softer dunes. With no lights, it was difficult to see even with the night vision goggles. After what he judged was about a mile, he took a hard left turn toward the beach and ran almost to the water where the wide, flat sand allowed him to push the ATV to nearly fifty miles per hour.

“Quarter mile more,” Berrera shouted in his ear. He had fished his GPS unit from his pocket and was watching their progress while Callahan drove. Just a quarter mile more, Callahan thought, a quarter mile without logs, birds, fishnets, or beached boats. He knew if there was anything out there, he would first know it when he hit it.

Berrera whacked him on the shoulder. “Right here. Just head up there.”

Callahan wheeled the ATV in a right turn and carefully picked his way between the picnic tables and concrete slabs on the beach until they bounced over the curb and were next to the Impala.

“Let’s go,” Callahan said as he jumped into the driver’s seat. Berrera threw his rifle into the scrub, took a quick look around with the night vision goggles and joined Callahan.

They dimmed the headlights until they reached the main road, then waited until there was no traffic and turned south, away from the direction of the villa.

Total failure, thought Callahan. Now Hammid had both the original treaty and the forged treaty. Eguardo was dead. Everything Jean Randolph did was wasted. The Knights Templar had entrusted him with the mission, and it was a total failure. The Templars lost, the Hashashin won, and they now had a good chance to keep on winning. Templars never left the battle while they could still fight, but there was nothing left to fight for. So Callahan left. Total failure. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Callahan flipped open his cell phone. Out of range.

“Go about eight miles,” Berrera said, “then we turn off onto a construction site. There’s a construction camp there and we can stay there for the night.”

“Who’s in the camp?” asked Callahan.

“Don’t worry,” answered Berrera. “The labor is all Filipino.”

Neither said a word about Eguardo.

 

Dhahran - Friday, May 15

Hammid woke with a start and immediately felt for the treaty case under his left arm. With his right hand, he grasped the M16 automatic rifle that lay across his lap and thumbed off the safety. The room had no windows, and his Rolex showed 5:15 AM. He had last awakened at 4:47 AM. He was soaked with sweat again, and his heart was racing. It had been like this ever since they had killed that Filipino thief and recaptured the treaty.

He laid his head back in the armchair, closed his eyes again, and tried to sleep, but all he saw was that man in the black T-shirt cresting the dune with his treaty, Hammid’s treaty, stuffed in his grubby backpack. Thank God none of the bullets had hit the treaty.

Who could he trust? His own compound had been penetrated easily, his home violated, his own guards killed. Had they been asleep? Drunk? How had one man… the guards said there were more… managed to come through his twenty guards? And if one had done it last night, how many more were waiting? He had to deliver the treaty to Cairo, where it could be encased in steel and bullet proof glass like the Magna Carta or the American Declaration of Independence. Just let him get it there and into the hands of the experts for the remaining tests. That’s all. Just a few more hours. Zahid had already conducted all the tests the panel would run, and it passed every one. Victory was so close, and would be his forever.

Filipinos, he thought. Saudi Arabia was overrun by six million Indians and Filipinos. His people couldn’t build their own houses, fix their own cars, or maintain an airplane. No, they were too good for that kind of work. So what did they do? Instead of changing attitudes and training their own people, they imported millions of foreigners who polluted their culture. His people couldn’t even take pride in an honest day’s work.

He rose and slipped across the room to listen at the door. Nothing. He silently turned the knob and peered out at two of his men looking back at him, and two more facing outward guarding their backs. When he opened the door wide, one stepped into the room and called to the others that it was clear. Only then did they lower their weapons.

“Good morning, Sheik. I hope you slept well,” said the first guard.

Hammid composed himself. He had to look confident, rested, and in command. “Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you, I slept very well. All quiet?”

“Yes, Sheik. Nothing since we killed that pig last night.” Hammid noticed he failed to mention the guards the pig had killed.

Sure, they killed the Filipino, but it was only blind luck. “Good. I will be going to my room, and I want you with me. We don’t know if there will be another attempt by the infidels to steal the treaty.” Hammid patted the plastic case under his arm. “But that can never happen, can it?”

“No, Sheik. We will all die first.” The others nodded, but with little enthusiasm.

Yes, thought Hammid, and if anymore Filipinos like the guy last night are around, we all probably will.

Hammid vowed to keep the treaty with him every second until it reached Cairo later that day. Who else could he trust? But when he reached his private quarters and laid the treaty on the counter by the sink so he could shower, he wondered about the effects of steam on something that old. “Call Professor Zahid,” he told the guard. Zahid could sit in the next room, under the eyes of the guards while he showered.

When Zahid arrived, Hammid told him to sit, gave him the treaty and instructed him not to move until Hammid came out of the shower. Zahid assured him the plastic case was impervious to external humidity, but Hammid didn’t want to take a chance.

“Humor me, Professor. It’s been a long night. Just sit for a few minutes.”

When Hammid disappeared into the shower, Zahid glanced at the treaty he had spent so many hours examining. It had survived the previous night’s gunfight without a scratch. Was that a message from God, or just dumb luck? Who knew how God operated?

He idly began to read the Latin that was visible without special lighting. It was all so familiar, he could almost recite it from memory. He couldn’t read it all, but it held his interest until he finished. Eight hundred years old, and now it had returned. God certainly did operate in mysterious ways.

When Hammid emerged from the shower, Zahid gave him the treaty. Hammid looked at it and spoke to it. “Do you know how much trouble you have caused me?” Then he glanced at Zahid. “This has to get to Cairo,” he laughed. “Now I’m even talking to it.”

Before Zahid left the room, Hammid told him to be ready to leave for King Fahd International in one hour. “The final leg of a very long journey for us, Professor, and an even longer journey for this treaty and our people. I think we can both be proud of what we have accomplished here.”

“Yes, I’m sure we can.”