‘Yes. The powers of the universe got it right when they put those two together.’
‘Except they produced you,’ Allegra responded quickly. ‘Yesss! I love it when you leave yourself open, David Kaufmann.’
‘You’ll keep. Shalom!’ he said with a grin. ‘A good week, non e vero?’ David said, mixing Hebrew with Allegra’s native Italian.
Allegra smiled. ‘A very good week. No wonder Monsignor Lonergan didn’t want anyone to have access to the fragments he had in that trunk of his in the Rockefeller vault. Once the Vatican gets wind of what we’ve got all hell will break loose.’
‘Yes,’ David agreed, suddenly serious. ‘It looks as if their greatest nightmare has finally surfaced, although ultimately it might not be a bad thing.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning in the long run the Vatican may have to re-examine their dogma. You’ve always said that you left the Church because it was based on fear. Run by old men who refuse to shift their position no matter what the evidence.’ David picked up on the shift in Allegra’s body language.
‘As you know, that wasn’t the only reason,’ she replied, the bitter memory of the Cardinal and a Church she once loved shadowing the usual softness of her eyes.
‘Is there no one you can trust?’
Allegra shook her head. ‘Not in the Vatican. Their response will be ferocious and whatever it takes, they will bury it. But Giovanni Donelli would help. He is one of the few people at the top who would allow debate on this scroll within the Church.’
‘An impressive man, the Cardinal Patriarch of Venice,’ David observed with a small touch of jealousy, aware of the special bond between Allegra and the brilliant Catholic priest. ‘But even if he doesn’t help, couldn’t we release the information here on our own?’
‘Without someone like Giovanni supporting us,’ Allegra insisted, ‘the Vatican will simply denounce the scroll as a fraud. They’re masters of spin control, and this is arguably the most important discovery in the entire history of Christianity. This is the real message, David, a warning that civilisation has entered its final phase.’
‘Do you think anyone else knows about it?’
Allegra shook her head. ‘Lonergan’s trunk in the vault of the Rockefeller Museum was marked “personal” so I doubt if even the Director knows what was in it. We’re going to have to be careful of Lonergan when he gets back.’
‘Do you think he knows what he’s got, or rather had?’
Allegra looked thoughtful. ‘It’s hard to tell with him. He may know more than we think. Although he may not have had time to decipher any of the fragments, and without a DNA analysis to help that could have taken years.’
‘You think he’s on the Vatican payroll?’
‘He’s certainly one of Cardinal Petroni’s boys.’ Allegra shivered. ‘The Omega Scroll is going to shake them to their foundations.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Venezia
F ather Vittorio Pignedoli watched from his position in the chancel of the huge Basilica di San Marco as Cardinal Giovanni Donelli prepared to deliver his sermon to the packed congregation. This cardinal, he reflected, was like no other he had ever known and at fifty-two, one of the youngest. Thick black hair, deep blue eyes and a warm, infectious laugh, slim and fit – he even worked out in the gym. There was no hint of high office, and he was relaxed and accessible. Cardinal Donelli had only been in Venice for a short while and already everybody, both in the Church and outside it, was talking about him. There had been quite a few snide remarks from wealthy and powerful Venetians about Giovanni’s ‘lowly’ southern origins, the little town of Maratea on the west coast of Basilicata. Venetian society relished the pomp and circumstance of their ancient fiefdom and their patrician noses were put decidedly out of joint when Giovanni resisted invitations to the glittering and expensive events he was expected to attend. Giovanni’s distaste for excessive ceremony had Vittorio fielding indignant calls of complaint. The first was from an exasperated Chief of Police who had stumbled on the newly installed Patriarch of Venice out for a walk, dressed in the black soutane of a simple priest. The Polizia had found him in a trattoria near the Canal Grande happily chatting to some gondoliers and eating pizza al taglio .
‘What if something happens to him!’ il Capo di Polizia had complained. ‘The very least he could have done was accepted the ride home.’
Giovanni had politely refused the offer of a police escort and had unwittingly added insult to injury by accepting a lift from the gondoliers. The gondoliers, he reasoned, were a more than adequate and less pretentious substitute. The priest with the big winning smile – it was the first thing people noticed about him. The gondoliers, the fishermen and the rest of the working class of Venice loved him.
Vittorio glanced nervously around the congregation. His cardinal’s choice of a subject that questioned the very beginnings of life on the planet had attracted wide publicity, not all of it confined to the narrow streets and covered alleys of Venice. ‘Science and Religion’ reflected Giovanni’s educational background – a doctorate in theology and an honours degree in science majoring in biology and chemistry. Giovanni’s choice of subject had been prompted by an article in the Corriere della Sera – the respected Italian paper Courier of the Evening. Vittorio knew it was dangerous territory and that the Vatican would denounce any departure from the Church doctrine of Adam and Eve. As Giovanni climbed the marble stairs to his pulpit, a shadowy figure took a seat in the back row of the seats reserved for the clergy.
Giovanni had insisted on using the smaller of the two ornate pulpits. He rested his hands on the marble railing and smiled warmly.
‘ Buongiorno. E molto buono vi vedere! Good morning. It is very good to see you! Some of you may have seen an article on bacteria last week in the Corriere della Sera. For those of you who may have missed it, don’t worry, it’s not a sin to have no interest in bacteria.’ The laughter reverberated off the gold tiled walls of San Marco and Giovanni’s fulsome smile permeated even the coldest and most sceptical of hearts.
‘This particular article was about a different type of bacteria known as archaebacteria, which thrive in boiling water. What, you may ask, has this to do with the Church and theology?’ Giovanni paused and looked around his congregation, drawing them to him.
‘I want to take you deep below the surface of the ocean. Imagine we are all inside the research submarine Alvin several kilometres below the surface. It is pitch black and the waters are very, very cold. Suddenly, the powerful lights on our submarine pick up molten lava spewing out of volcanic vents, and we watch as it comes in contact with the icy water. Deep beneath the seabed the lava and fluids cascading from the vents have been heated to temperatures well in excess of 300°C, but the crushing pressures at this depth prevent these fluids from boiling. Instead, they form tall, lava-encrusted chimneys known as “black smokers”. Imagine our surprise to find that the edge of this inferno is teeming with life. Worms and other forms of life that thrive in temperatures well above that of boiling water. Now, I’ve been wondering whether or not such a discovery is a problem for our theology.’
Giovanni realised he now had everyone’s attention. ‘Here on the surface of our planet we all know that the energy source of life is sunlight. Without it the plants would die, and without plants the animals, including our species, would die too. But at these depths there is no sunlight. In this part of the ocean these forms of life don’t need the sun; they feed on sulphur and hydrogen. There is now a growing body of scientific evidence that points to these oceanic bacteria being the very first forms of cellular life on Earth, from which all other forms of life, including humans, have evolved. It also means that there might be similar forms of life deep beneath the surface of planets like Mars and the moons of Jupiter and further away into the icy wastes of any one of the billions of galaxies like our own.’