Yusef Sartawi listened to the tall, distinguished Israeli and he was struck by the integrity of this prime minister. He wondered whether this time the Israelis and their US backers might mean what they said; perhaps this time there might be a chance for Palestinians to lead normal lives. Maybe after all these years of hating the Israelis, he could begin to let go and forgive. Maybe Ahmed had been right after all to adopt a peaceful path. He turned, and saw that the coverage on the Arab Channel on the banks of televisions in the control room was being interrupted by a live telecast from CCN.
‘Even before the peace agreement has been signed in Jerusalem tonight, and as the ceremony behind me continues, pressure is mounting on the White House to step back from the commitment to support the removal of the Jewish settlers from what, at least in name, is now the country of Palestine.’
Yusef watched, his anger rising as Tom Schweiker’s authoritative delivery was dubbed in Arabic and subtitles rolled across the bottom of the screen.
‘The Jewish lobby,’ Tom continued, ‘has objected to any American tax payers’ dollars being used for Arab development and has called for the United States to continue to provide the billions of dollars Israel is seeking to spend on American arms and military equipment to fight Palestinian militants in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. A spokesman for the White House has said the US Government is committed to a just peace in the Middle East, but has refused to comment on the provision of the large amount of military aid requested by Israel.’
‘What about the Jewish settlers, Tom?’ Geraldine asked, reading from the script Daniel had given her.
‘There are reports, Geraldine,’ Tom replied, quoting his News Director’s sources, ‘that the White House is under fire from the strong Jewish lobby and the Christian right in the United States to pressure the Israeli Government into allowing the settlers to continue living on Palestinian land, especially those in the West Bank.’
‘Wouldn’t that derail the peace agreement, Tom?’
‘In all likelihood, yes. It would mean a Palestinian State in name only. In reality, the country of Palestine would consist of a series of isolated Palestinian towns and cantonments overlaid with dozens of Jewish settlements and roads.’
‘And the investment for the region?’
‘Despite the support from European countries, the United States has yet to indicate it will provide any funding, but analysts here are suggesting that unless the United States provides strong support for the Kaufmann/Sartawi Peace Plan, resentment against the West will simply resurface.’
‘Tom, thanks for joining us. We now return to our live coverage of the peace ceremony.’
Yusef Sartawi looked at the Israeli Prime Minister who was coming to the end of his speech and his hatred for the infidels and his brother’s treachery reignited.
‘This is a new beginning,’ Yossi said, ‘but it is only the beginning. Neither I nor President Sartawi underestimate the difficulties of the road ahead. There will be disagreements. When we negotiated the terms of this agreement there were some on our side who maintained that we’d given up too much. There were others on President Sartawi’s side who believed Israel had not given up enough. The choice is clear. For there to be an equitable peace there has to be compromise on both sides.’
Deafened by his rage, Yusef didn’t hear any of it. He didn’t see his brother sitting between Marian and Giovanni. All he saw was a president who had sold out to the infidels who had demonstrated their treachery yet again. For once Yusef’s calculating calm was overcome with emotion. He forgot to dial the encryption on Tom Schweiker’s mobile and he didn’t wait for the three targets to gather at the table. He raised his fist defiantly.
‘Allah be praised,’ he shouted, pushing the button on the transmitter. Yusef Sartawi died convinced of his place in heaven.
The production crew in CCN watched in shock and disbelief as an apocalyptic blast engulfed the official dais. Body parts and chairs were thrown into the air. The colours of the orchestra and choir were scattered across the back of the dais as metal and glass rained down on what was left of the audience. After the massive boom of the explosion the eerie silence of death fell over the gathering, and only the sound of spot fires and sparking electrical equipment could be heard. Then the crying and calls for help started – children sobbed, people called on their God for mercy. People horrifically burnt and injured dragged themselves upright and were starting to run, panicking, trying to escape the scene of devastation. Bodies were trodden underfoot as the chilling cry of wounded humanity was pierced by the shrill wailing of sirens. Convoys of ambulances were racing towards the carnage at the Damascus Gate. The Semtex and the five thousand ball bearings hidden in the panels of the lectern had created total devastation.
Cardinal Petroni watched dispassionately as the cameras took in what looked like a battlefield. He was searching for evidence that Donelli and Bassetti were dead. The cameras captured the frantic ambulance crews working desperately around the official dais. One of the crews raced a stretcher to the ambulance and Petroni saw the blood-spattered form of Donelli. He smiled thinly until there was a movement on the stretcher. Donelli was obviously not dead yet and Petroni’s smile was replaced by a seething snarl.
The news commentators were speechless as the grinding of metal on cobblestones signalled the arrival of lumbering tanks. The air was filled with the menacing sounds of combat helicopters. After so many years of practice the Israeli Command swung immediately into gear.
‘Good evening, Hafiz,’ David had said earlier as the old security guard got out of his car.
‘Oh it’s you, Dr Kaufmann. Evening Dr Bassetti,’ he said, tipping his cap.
‘Evening Hafiz,’ Allegra said, keeping her voice steady.
‘Would you like to look in the briefcase?’ David asked.
Allegra stifled a gasp. Had he gone mad?
‘We could be taking those biros and paperclips back in you know!’ David grinned at Hafiz mischievously.
‘No, that’ll be all right, Dr Kaufmann. Sorry to bother you, but we have to know who’s here. I thought you would be at the ceremony.’
‘We’re on our way, Hafiz. I just need to get something from the office,’ David replied easily.
‘A chance for peace at last. I can hardly believe it,’ the old Palestinian said with a warm smile, returning to his car.
‘I thought you’d taken leave of your senses back there,’ Allegra said as they made their way to the vault.
‘Fortune favours the brave,’ David replied, draping the black cloth over the security camera. He got down from the ledge under the camera and made his way towards the vault doors.
Less than an hour later, the fragments of the Gospel of Thomas were safely back in the old olive wood box on top of some fragments of paper that David had added for bulk.
Mission accomplished, David and Allegra emerged from the depths of the museum but they knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. The sky was filled with helicopters, the blat blat blat of the rotors shattering the night. A pall of smoke hung over the Damascus Gate and a cacophony of sirens reverberated around the city.
‘David, no!’ Allegra held her hand to her mouth.
‘Come on,’ he said quietly.
The soldier at the checkpoint brandished his rifle and David brought Onslow to a halt.
‘You can’t…’ The soldier recognised David and he pulled up short. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, there’s been a bomb explosion at the ceremony.’
‘Any word on casualties?’
The soldier shook his head.
David swerved Onslow away from the roadblock and headed towards the Hadassah Hospital, getting behind a speeding ambulance.
As they pulled in to the hospital, the ambulance in front of them screeched to a halt. Two orderlies jumped out and two more ran to meet them. The young girl on the stretcher was not yet in her teens. Her head was covered in a bloodied bandage but the blood was seeping onto her face that was now very pale as her life ebbed away. The overstretched doctors on duty would do what they could, but they would be too late to save many of those now arriving in a never-ending stream.