The Second Messiah (25 page)

BRACCIANO

NEAR ROME

THE LUXURY VILLA
looked as if it had been built for a Roman emperor, all lush gardens and gushing ponds. As the sleek black Alfa Romeo drew up outside the wrought-iron gates, the Serb removed his Ray-Bans. He had a broad, brutal face, with high cheekbones and a broken nose.

Beyond the gates, two men in suits came forward and peered at the vehicle, then one of them flicked on a walkie-talkie and began to speak into it.

Bruno Zedik, 240 pounds of muscle and seated in the Alfa Romeo, brushed a fleck of dirt from his suit and turned to the tarty-looking girl beside him in the passenger seat. She wore a tight black Lycra skirt and a low-cut top.

Zedik, a former Serb army commando, smiled. “This is the kind of villa I want to own one day. My own pool, servants, a view of the sea.”

“That’s if you’re still alive, Bruno,” the girl said moodily. She pouted, her arms folded. “Still, I suppose as long as you know what you’re doing.”

Zedik sighed. He often wondered why he tolerated Regina Rossini but he knew the answer to that question immediately. During the hour’s drive from his apartment the trouble had started when he told her who he was going to visit.

Zedik pushed the Ray-Bans back on his broken nose. “Did anyone ever mention you’re hard to please?”

“You do, all the time.” Regina sulked. “Now can we just get your business done with and get out of here? This boss of yours gives me the creeps.”

“You ought to show more respect.”

The girl flicked her mane of dyed blond hair. “You ask me, the guy’s got to be a gangster, Bruno. And in case you didn’t know it, gangsters kill people. You do wrong by people like that you’ll get your dinky cut off. It happened to one of my relatives in Palermo.”

Zedik scoffed. “You see too many American films. Some of those Roman and Greek statues on the villa grounds, they’re genuine, thousands of years old. My boss is a respected international businessman and art collector.”

“I’m supposed to be impressed?”

“Behave yourself, Regina. He’s not mafia.”

“If he’s just a businessman, I’m still a virgin.” The girl pouted. “And don’t tell
me
how to behave. No one tells Regina Rossini how to behave.”

She was starting to get on Zedik’s nerves.
Stupid woman
. “You’ve got a really big mouth, you know that?”

She grinned wickedly. “How come you never complain about it in bed?”

The guard behind the gate put away his walkie-talkie. The second guard gestured for Zedik to drive forward as the gates whirred open.

Zedik snorted, his muscled chest straining under the suit as he suddenly lashed out and struck Regina Rossi a stinging blow across the face.

She reeled back into her seat with the force. A steely look that always lurked just beneath the surface erupted coldly in his eyes, a dangerous stare that told her she had pushed him too far and it was time to shut up. She whimpered. “I—I’m sorry, Bruno. Don’t hit me again, please.”

Zedik grabbed her savagely by the hair and gritted his teeth. “Just stay out of the way when we’re inside the villa. Understand? Now shut up and try really hard to behave like a lady.”

The gardens were dazzling in the sunshine. Beds of roses and frangipani ran along one side of the turquoise swimming pool, and the whole place had an air of luxury.

Zedik inhaled the sweet scent as the butler escorted him past the
pool
to a small garden. There was an amazing collection of exotic flower beds and a well-trimmed maze. A man stood among the flowers, pruning scissors in one hand, a solid gold Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. He had the kind of powerful aura only wealth can bring. His face was rugged rather than handsome and he wore an old pair of designer jeans, crisp linen shirt, and scuffed moccasins. “Bruno. Thank you for coming.”

Zedik shook his hand. “Always a pleasure to see you, boss.”

His boss gestured to his flower beds with obvious pride. “Well, what do you think of my garden? You like my new roses?”

“They’re terrific.” Zedik smiled. Personally, he could tell zilch about flowers, and each one smelled the same to him, but his boss was a passionate gardener and Zedik always tried to stay on his good side.

He pointed with the pruning scissors and said to Zedik, “I’ve got a Spanish variety in the corner. Very rare. If I’m lucky, it will finally bloom after three years of hard work.”

Who could have the patience to wait three years for a flower to bloom
? Zedik thought. Only his boss had that kind of staying power. Zedik looked at the roses admiringly. “I’ll have to get some slips from you. One of my sisters is crazy about roses.”

His boss looked at Zedik as if he were an errant wasp. “All my flowers are rare and special. I never give slips, Bruno, you ought to know that.”

Zedik laughed nervously. “It’s just a joke, sir.”

A tiny smile flickered on his boss’s face. “I hear you brought the same girl with you as last time. The one with the mouth as big as her bust.”

Zedik grinned. “I’m afraid so, boss. I left her back in the villa.”

His boss put down the pruning scissors. “Let’s sit by the pool. We need to talk some serious business.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Malik.”

THE BUTLER BROUGHT
them espresso and sweet almond biscuits. They sat at a table by the pool under the shade of a huge sun umbrella. Zedik admired the rolling lawns. He put down his cup. “What’s so important, Mr. Malik?”

“You like this place, don’t you, Bruno?”

Zedik nodded. “I love it, boss. Someday I’d like to own a place just like it.”

Hassan Malik looked out at the immaculate gardens. “Ever since I was a small boy I wanted such a house. But my family were poor goat herders with only a filthy hovel for a home. I had a brother and sister. We all slept in the same room as my parents. My father died and then my mother. I was fifteen.”

“That’s tragic, Mr. Malik.”

“I begged, I stole, did anything to earn a crust to feed my brother and sister. Sometimes, to forget about my hardship, I used to ride a bus into Jerusalem and walk past the villas of the rich with their splendid gardens. I used to tell myself that I would have such a house one day. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.”

“I can imagine, Mr. Malik.”

Malik shook his head fiercely. “No, you cannot imagine. You can’t know what real poverty is. To never have enough food in your belly or money in your pocket.”

Zedik reckoned his boss didn’t seem like himself today. Normally he was direct and to the point. He hardly ever spoke about his past or stuff like that but this morning the man seemed distracted. “Mr. Malik, I apologize—”

Malik raised his hand, a serious look on his face. “Let’s get down to business. I have a job for you.” He reached in his shirt, plucked out an envelope, and placed it on the table. “You have always been loyal to me, Bruno. And that is why I am going to tell you a secret. It will help you understand why I have asked you here today and how important the job is. But I must be certain of your discretion.”

Zedik said, “You know you can count on me, sir.”

“Good. Because if a word of this ever leaks out, I assure you, Bruno, I will kill you. Slowly, painfully. It hurts me to have to make the consequences so clear to someone I trust, but I don’t make such a threat lightly.”

Zedik saw icy danger in Malik’s eyes. In the ten years he had known his boss he had committed a catalogue of unlawful deeds on Malik’s behalf—some of them brutal—but Zedik had never once heard him utter such words. He swallowed. “Mr. Malik, I’d never break my word to you.”

Malik smiled gently, tapped Zedik’s knee, and leaned closer. “Of course, I know you wouldn’t but I’ve got to make the rules clear. And a wise man should always know the rules of the game.” The smile vanished. “Especially a game as dangerous as the one about to begin. Take the envelope on the table, Bruno. It’s a sign of my trust.”

Zedik picked it up. “What’s in it?”

“A check. Think of it as a bonus. When your work is completed to my satisfaction, you may cash that check.”

Zedik opened the envelope and saw the generous amount written on the check. He turned pale. “Mr. Malik, I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing. Just take it. But against my advice my brother insists on being involved in this enterprise. Nidal can be hotheaded. So I want you to watch his back, Bruno. Make sure he doesn’t get hurt. I have trust in a man like yourself, a man well versed in violence, able to take care of himself. You have always served me well.”

Zedik slipped the envelope into his pocket. “Sure, Mr. Malik, I understand. You and Nidal are really close. But what exactly do you want me to do?”

Hassan Malik met the Serb’s stare. “There is an ancient scroll, a precious artifact that has gone missing. You and Nidal will retrieve it for me.”

Hassan Malik sat alone by the pool, sipping an espresso. Nidal stepped out onto the patio and removed his sunglasses. He wore an Armani dressing gown over his reed-thin body and he strolled to the poolside table and eased himself into a chair. “Has Bruno gone?”

Hassan Malik was used to regarding the world with angry contempt, but the sight of his younger brother never failed to elicit a protective feeling in him. “Yes, Nidal. He has gone.”

“Have you told him everything, Hassan?”

“No. But enough so that he knows he’s a player in a dangerous game and that I will require him to do unpleasant things, perhaps even kill.”

Nidal stroked the neatly trimmed beard that covered his delicate features. “What happens next?”

Hassan sipped his espresso, then put down his cup. “Bruno will help you find the scroll. You will use whatever means you have to.”

Nidal’s boyish look was suddenly gone, replaced by a kind of angry madness that erupted in his dark eyes. He slipped a frightening, curved Arab dagger from inside the pocket of his gown. “When the time comes, let me do the killing for you, Brother?”

“That’s our father’s knife. Put it away, Nidal.”

Bitterness flashed in Nidal’s face. “Is it not rightful that I use it? These people deserve to die, Hassan.”

“Put the knife away, Brother. There will be time enough for spilling blood later.”

Nidal reluctantly replaced the knife inside his gown.

Hassan stood. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Nidal? No taking risks. Leave those to Bruno, it’s what he’s paid for.” He touched his palm to his brother’s face in a tender gesture. “I simply want no harm to come to you, ever.”

Nidal’s face sparked, and then he smiled boyishly. “Trust me, Hassan. I’ll be careful. And I’ll get the scroll for you, just wait and see, my brother.”

ROME

JOHN BECKET STRODE
into the narrow streets of the red-light district.

He was free again and this time he wore a plain dark suit and white, open-necked shirt. To avoid being recognized he’d pulled his broad-rimmed hat down over his face. He paused at a corner store window and looked back, his heart pounding.

Behind him, reflected in the glass, he saw the figure of a man rounding the corner. He was well built, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a dark jogger’s rain slick. He wore a woollen hat pulled down over his head. Becket reckoned that the man had been following him since he’d left by the Vatican’s east gate.