The Messiah Secret (42 page)

‘Oh, God,’ Angela muttered, and even Masters looked a little pale.

‘Yeah, well, he’ll just be another stiff, won’t he?’ Cross muttered, and with a massive single blow of the hammer drove the second wedge completely through the door.

Immediately the whole stone wall shifted very slightly, a movement they heard rather than saw.

‘Looks like we could have lift-off,’ Cross said. He dropped the hammer and chisel and picked up the crowbar again. He slid one end into the hole he’d found before, and pulled as hard as he could on the other end. This time, the massive stone door moved perhaps half an inch to the right.

Cross changed the position of the crowbar slightly and pulled again. Within fifteen minutes, the three of them – Cross, Masters and Bronson – had moved the door as far
as it would go to the right, so that the top edge was resting against another block of stone.

Masters glanced at Bronson and Angela. ‘Your privilege, if you want it,’ he said. ‘You’ve earned it.’

‘What about me?’ Donovan called out angrily from behind them.

‘You can wait your goddamned turn,’ Masters snapped.

‘Let me go first,’ Bronson said. He picked up his torch and stepped forward. But before he entered, he bent down and looked down at the channel in the stone floor that had been exposed by sliding the door over to one side.

‘I was right,’ he said. ‘They used stone rollers.’ Then he straightened up and walked into the inner chamber.

For perhaps two or three minutes the others watched the beam of the torch dancing around the inner chamber, fitfully illuminating the walls and floor and an oblong stone shape. Then Bronson reappeared.

‘It’s safe,’ he said, ‘and there’s at least one really old corpse in there, though he’s just bones and rags. We’ll need as much light as possible.’

Masters grabbed a couple of torches and followed Bronson and Angela inside.

All three of them paused just inside the inner chamber and looked around them.

‘Did you touch anything?’ Angela asked, sending the beam of her torch travelling around the small room.

‘Apart from the corpse, nothing at all.’

Directly in front of them was an oblong stone structure,
the top made of large flat stone slabs, the sides from smaller, cubical stones, the whole thing standing about three feet tall, four feet wide and eight feet long, and at first sight apparently devoid of markings or decoration. But Bronson had spotted something.

‘There’s a mark on the middle slab,’ he said.

Angela walked forward to the stone structure, shining a torch directly at the carving. ‘It looks to me like an early Tibetan script, and I think the letters are probably Y and A.’

‘Yus Asaph,’ Bronson murmured.

But it wasn’t the marking on the slab that was holding anyone’s attention. At the foot of the structure, in what looked like the foetal position, lay the crumbling bones of a skeleton clad in a few wisps of cloth.

‘I think,’ Bronson said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the silent room, ‘that he might have died on his knees and then fallen sideways.’

‘In prayer, you mean?’ Angela asked in a whisper.

‘Maybe.’

‘You think that’s what’s left of the guy who sealed the door?’ Masters asked.

Bronson nodded. ‘The bones are really fragile. I touched one of them and it just crumbled away to nothing.’

‘And what we’re looking for is in that stone thing at the back? The thing that looks a bit like a big altar?’

‘Probably,’ Angela said, sounding oddly subdued.

‘Right, then,’ Masters said briskly. ‘You can bet the
Indian Army will be heading this way pretty soon, so we’d best get on with it. I’ll get Cross in here, and I suppose Donovan as well. After all, he paid for this little adventure.’

With Cross and Masters doing the shifting, removing the stone slabs from the top of the altar-like structure didn’t take long.

When the last one had been lifted off and stacked against the wall, they all stepped forward and peered into the cavity. As well as Bronson and Angela, Masters had allowed both Donovan and Killian to witness what he called ‘the unveiling’.

The stone cavity appeared to be just that, three low stone walls abutting the back wall of the inner chamber, and inside it was a large wooden box, much bigger than a conventional coffin.

‘Come on, then, get it open,’ Donovan demanded, some of his old bravado reasserting itself now he was no longer facing the direct threat of Bronson’s pistol.

Killian opened his mouth to say something, but noticed Cross watching him closely, and changed his mind.

‘I don’t think we should be doing this,’ Angela said suddenly.

‘Why not?’ Bronson asked.

‘I don’t mean we shouldn’t do it at all. It’s just that I think this should be done under controlled conditions, in a museum or laboratory somewhere.’

‘Not an option,’ Donovan snapped. ‘We’re in the middle of Kashmir. The sort of facilities you’re talking about don’t exist anywhere within a couple of hundred miles of here, and there might not be any even as close as that.’

‘But we don’t know what’s inside that box—’ Angela began.

‘I do,’ Donovan said. ‘A multi-billion-dollar resource for the genetics industry.’

‘All you can think about is money, about how you can exploit this situation for your own personal gain,’ Killian shouted, unable to keep silent any longer.

Cross waved his pistol again threateningly, and Killian lapsed into silence once more.

Masters looked at the tomb, then nodded, as if he’d just made a decision.

‘I’m not coming back here,’ he said, ‘and nor are my men, so we need to find out what the hell is inside this, and then leave. And, Donovan, if it’s what you believe it is, then we’ll be taking charge of it until you make the final payment. And the price has just gone up. If this really is a billion-dollar resource, like you just said, then I’m charging you five million for delivery, plus expenses.’

‘Agreed,’ Donovan muttered. ‘Just get on with it, will you?’

‘I still think we should wait,’ Angela said.

‘You’re out-voted, I’m afraid,’ Masters said. He turned to Cross. ‘Get the lid off that wooden box.’

Cross took the crowbar and jammed it into the wooden
crate, where the lid met the side. But as he did so, the two-thousand-year-old wood disintegrated to reveal the dull gleam of metal within. He pulled out the remaining bits of wood and tossed them away.

With the wood removed, a heavy but entirely plain and unmarked metal coffin became visible, resting on the floor of the stone oblong. Cross pulled out a knife and slid the point along its lid.

‘I think it’s made of lead,’ he said, looking at the silvery gleam of the cut surface in the light from his torch.

‘That settles it,’ Donovan said. ‘Even if we wanted to lift it intact and take it somewhere, it’s too heavy. We’d never get it out of this room, let alone down to one of the jeeps. We’re going to have to open it right here, right now.’

Angela shook her head, and took a half-step backwards. She looked pale and shocked.

Bronson felt a lurch of concern.

‘The lid’s sealed,’ Cross said. ‘There are half a dozen separate seals between the lid and the base, and there’s a kind of reddish stuff in the joint as well. Looks to me like they did their best to keep the whole thing air-tight.’

‘So in that case you might get a decent sample, Donovan,’ Masters remarked.

‘I should bloody well hope so, after all this,’ Donovan said, while in the background Killian snorted his disgust.

Using his knife, Cross sliced through the seals that linked the lid and the base of the coffin, then ran the tip of
the blade all the way around the joint, to try to break the seal between the two sections.

‘You’ll need to give me a hand,’ Cross said, motioning to Masters to help him lift the lid. The two men stood side by side as Cross drove the tip of the crowbar into the gap below the coffin lid and levered it upwards. There was a sudden hiss of escaping air as the seal was finally breached. They seized the lid and levered it up and to one side, where it thudded heavily back against the stone wall that surrounded the coffin. Then they both stepped back.

For the first time in two thousand years the contents of the coffin were revealed in the yellow light from a handful of electric torches. For a few seconds nobody spoke.

‘So Josephus was right,’ Killian muttered.

There was a sudden clang as Angela dropped her torch. She gave a sharp intake of breath that was almost a sob. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she whispered, and almost fell into Bronson’s arms.

‘It can’t be,’ Donovan muttered. ‘That’s wrong. That’s so wrong. That can’t be Him. That’s not Jesus Christ.’

Behind him, Masters crossed himself.

‘He wasn’t called Jesus Christ,’ Killian said, his voice echoing around the tomb. ‘Now that we’re finally in this sacred place, at the very least you should use His correct name. He was called Yehoshua or Yeshua, and that name in Hebrew means “God is saviour”. The appellation “Christ” is just a translation of the Greek
Khristos
or Latin
Christus
, meaning “the anointed one”. He was never called that when He was alive.’

Nobody in the cave took the slightest notice of what he was saying. Everyone was looking into the coffin, with varying expressions of disbelief.

‘That’s not what I expected,’ Bronson muttered. ‘Not what I expected at all.’

‘You’re simply showing your ignorance, all of you,’
Killian snapped. ‘What
did
you expect? The skeleton of a man six feet tall, maybe still showing the remains of long hair and a beard? The image that almost everyone, Christian and non-Christian alike, has of Jesus Christ? The image that has not the slightest shred of historical evidence to support it? The image that only became accepted as a true representation over eight hundred years after He died? That image?’

Still nobody responded.

What the coffin contained wasn’t a skeleton. It was a body. The body of a man which looked so fresh and so vibrant that it was almost possible to believe he was still alive. It was wrapped in a discoloured but probably once-white cloth, the arms lying by its side, bare feet exposed at the end of the coffin.

But the body wasn’t six feet in height, nothing like it. Bronson, who was used to estimating heights and distances as part of his job as a police officer, guessed the man had stood little more than five feet tall. He was heavily tanned and almost clean-shaven, just a few wisps of coarse hair dotted on his cheeks and chin. And his patchy fair hair was almost reddish in colour, and parted in the centre.

But it was the face that shocked them the most. Every person standing in that cave – even Bronson, who was a committed atheist – had a mental image of Jesus as a man of noble, even patrician, bearing, but the body in the lead coffin had a face that was almost startlingly unattractive.
It was pinched and narrow, dominated by a long and thin nose under thick eyebrows that almost met in the middle, giving the face a mean and unpleasant, almost equine, appearance. The corpse was about as far removed from the traditional picture of Jesus Christ as could possibly be imagined.

‘This must be a mistake,’ Donovan muttered, shaking his head.

‘If it is, you made it,’ Killian retorted. Of all the people in the cave, he was the only one who seemed unaffected by the sight of the corpse. In fact, from the moment the coffin lid had been removed, he’d acted as if the body inside it had been exactly what he’d expected.

‘What did you mean when you said “Josephus was right”?’ Angela asked him, staring wide-eyed at the corpse. She seemed to have recovered her composure somewhat, and was leaning forward, right over the base of the open coffin.

‘There are no extant first-hand contemporary accounts of what Jesus looked like,’ Killian said. ‘But in a very early Slavonic copy of the
Capture of Jerusalem
, Josephus – you do know who he was, I hope? – describes Jesus as being small in stature with a “long face, long nose and meeting eyebrows”. He also said He had dark skin, scanty hair parted in the middle like a Nazarite and with an undeveloped beard. And I think that’s a pretty good description of this man, wouldn’t you agree?’

There was another long silence. ‘Could this really be the
founder of Christianity?’ Donovan said at last. ‘Just look at him. Short – he’s almost a dwarf – and ugly with it.’

‘It’s not what He looked like that’s important,’ Killian said, his voice rising in anger. ‘It’s what He did, what He said and the lessons He gave us. Those are the building blocks, the very foundations, of the greatest religion the world has ever known.’

‘Look at the hands,’ Donovan said suddenly, and everybody’s focus shifted. ‘Do you see any nail marks? Stigmata?’

But the corpse’s hands and wrists were unmarked.

‘That proves nothing,’ Killian said. ‘Nails were expensive. The Romans often tied their victims to the cross with ropes. It just meant they lasted a bit longer, made them suffer even more.’

‘What about the feet?’ Bronson asked. He couldn’t quite see into the base of the coffin. ‘Or did the Romans lash their legs to the cross as well?’