The Second Messiah (35 page)

KELLY SLIPPED ON
a pair of reading glasses and consulted the slip of paper that contained a handwritten series of numbers and letters. He ran his finger along a shelf and selected a box file. A faded white sticker was glued on the spine. Written on it was a date and a couple of lines in indelible black ink.

Kelly said, “This is what you’re after. ‘A report compiled by Father Franz Kubel concerning the Qumran archaeological dig.’”

In front of them was an old beech desk and on top lay a magnifying glass with a worn wooden handle. Kelly placed the box on the desk and opened the lid. A smoky aroma of aged balsa wood wafted out.

Jack’s attention was drawn to what looked like a list that lay on top of the thick batch of documents inside. “What’s that?”

Kelly plucked out the page, studied it, and began to sift the papers. “An index of the file contents. It lists mundane details of the dig, the financing, the finds discovered, along with Kubel’s report.”

“I’d like to have some time to study all these documents alone.”

Kelly looked taken aback. “All alone? I hardly think that’s possible, Jack.”

“Don’t you think I’m due that right? Father Kubel’s report was only written because of what happened to my folks.”

Kelly shook his head vigorously. “I can tell you now, Jack, there’s nothing new or startling among these papers. I must also remind you that Vatican archives are only permitted to be handled by authorized experts.”

“I’m an archaeologist. I’m used to handling delicate and valuable documents.”

Kelly’s face flushed. “Well, it may do, but there’s bureaucratic protocol to consider. And that would require high authority.”

“Cardinal, we both know that you have the authority.”

“Well, perhaps, but—”

“The report’s twenty years old. If there’s nothing in there I don’t already know, is it really such a big deal? All I’m asking is an hour to look through the material. And think of what you’re getting in return.”

Kelly removed his reading glasses, considered, and sighed. “Very well. But you must confine yourself only to this file.” He consulted the wall clock: it read 5:15.

“You have forty-five minutes. Not a minute more. I have an important church appointment and I can’t delay, Jack.”

“Done.”

Kelly slid over the box file. He pointed past the bronze Madonna statue to a coffee machine. “I’ll be sitting over there. Call me the second you’re done.”

Jack and Yasmin stood alone in the glass-walled alcove. Yasmin studied the arrays of security cameras. “They’re not taking any chances, are they?”

“You can say that again.” Jack could almost feel the heavy silence in the chamber. The only noise was an occasional cough from one of the archivists or feet softly crossing the carpeted areas of floor. He looked past the bronze Madonna statue. Kelly had slumped into a chair by the coffee machine and was restlessly flicking through the pages of a magazine.

Yasmin said, “He seems eager to be out of here.” She stared down at the file. “Can we start? The suspense is killing me.”

Jack stacked the paper bundle from the box in a neat pile on the table.

Yasmin looked at the thick wedge of papers. “There’s no way you’ll get through all of this documentation in forty-five minutes, Jack.”

“You take one half and I’ll take the other. Try to speed-read.”

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

Jack next separated the documents into two equal piles, keeping Kubel’s document for himself. “I wish I knew. But if you notice anything unusual, anything that stands out or seems intriguing, holler.”

“In a library?”

“Bad word choice. Whisper. Now let’s get started.”

JACK CURBED HIS
mounting curiosity and placed the report by Father Kubel aside for now. He separated his documents into neat stacks.

They consisted mostly of official Vatican letters inquiring after the dig’s progress and querying expenditure. Nothing stood out. Next, he scanned Kubel’s report—eight neatly typed pages—and then read it twice.

After ten minutes, Yasmin broke off from what she was reading. “Any luck?”

“The report’s pretty basic. Kubel gives a testimony of the accident and states the police investigation concluded that the deaths of my parents and Basim Malik were an accident.”

“Who’s Basim Malik?”

“The driver who died with my folks. He worked on the dig, much like Josuf. Kubel reported that foul play wasn’t suspected, and that the scroll was vaporized in the accident. But he makes no mention of the scroll’s content. That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“My dad allowed Kubel and Father Becket a good look at a small portion of the scroll he’d managed to unravel, before we headed off in the pickup to the Israeli Antiquities Department in Jerusalem. Kubel and Becket were familiar with Aramaic. It just seems weird that Kubel didn’t mention whatever they’d read that day.”

Puzzled, Jack handed the document to Yasmin and said, “Take a look for yourself. Have you come across anything?”

Yasmin put aside some pages “Not yet. Trawling through a bunch of correspondence from Vatican bookkeepers doesn’t exactly ring my bell.”

“Here, let me check your stuff.”

“You’re welcome to it.” Fifteen minutes later Yasmin had examined all the file material. “You’re right. Kubel’s report is bare-bones. It reads more like a back-covering exercise than a testimony.”

Jack finished checking Yasmin’s documents. He scanned the wall clock: thirty-seven minutes had passed. He rummaged in the files. “Do you have document number nine?”

Yasmin checked her pile. “No, why?”

Jack’s fingers traced words on some notepaper pages in the stack. “The index says that document number nine is titled ‘Father John Becket’s statement.’ Except it’s missing. Look for yourself. But another note here says: Refer to file number QUM121B. Could that mean it’s been replaced in another box file?”

Yasmin studied the shelves. “I see file number QUM121B.” She pointed beside where Kelly had located their file. “It’s written on the spine of that box.”

“I’m going to take it down and have a quick look.”

“But Jack, Kelly said—”

“Tell me a rule that hasn’t been broken.” Jack saw Kelly shoot a brief look in their direction before returning to his magazine. Jack whispered to Yasmin, “I’ll keep an eye on him. You pluck down the file. Situate yourself in front of the Madonna statue so that Kelly doesn’t spot you.”

“Why
me
? And what about the cameras?”

Jack smiled. “You’re slimmer and can hide behind me and the statue. The people who man the security cameras won’t know Kelly’s conditions. And if he spots what you’re up to, all he can do is have security throw you out.”

“Funny.”

“Get the box down. Lay it flat on the table so that Kelly won’t see it.” Jack turned and studied a document from the file, placing himself beside the Madonna bronze. Kelly was still reading. “You’re all clear, Yasmin.”

Jack heard a scraping noise behind him, then a slapping sound
as
something hit the table hard. “What the heck happened?” he hissed.

“I—I dropped the file,” Yasmin said.

Jack saw Kelly’s head jerk up, as if he’d heard the noise. He stared over. Jack gave him a silent wave, then continued to pretend to study the document in his hands. Kelly returned to his magazine.

Jack said without turning round, “We’re okay, Kelly’s reading. Have you put the file on the table?”

“Yes.”

“Try to keep an eye on Kelly from over my shoulder.” Jack turned back to the table, flicked open the second box file, and the same balsa wood scent hit his nostrils. A typed page lay on top of a thin pile of papers. It said:
“Qumran dig, Additional documents from Fr. Franz Kubel.”
Jack searched in the paper pile. “It doesn’t look like Becket’s statement is—”

He stiffened, his gaze fixed on a roughly made drawing in front of him in the shape of a Roman scroll—embellished with vivid pen-and-ink engravings, dramatic images of animals, monsters, and sylphs.

Yasmin asked, “What’s wrong? What have you found?”

“Something pretty remarkable indeed.”

“YOU ASK ME,
those guys are definitely on a stakeout. What do you think, Lela?”

In the back of the Fiat, Lela handed the binoculars back to Ari and said, “Where’s your agent who tailed Yasmin and Jack?”

Ari flicked his head to indicate the white Fiat taxi parked near the security gates. The middle-aged, unshaven driver stood by his cab, chewing on a toothpick as he watched the Vatican entrance. “Actually, he’s the cabdriver, Mario, who picked them up at the airport.”

“How did you manage that?”

Cohen answered, “We’ve had half a dozen people keeping tabs on Cane since the moment his flight touched down. We chose our moment at the taxi stand to try to get him to pick one of our cabs. Even if he hadn’t it wasn’t a big deal; we could still have tailed them.”

Ari peered through the binoculars and said to Cohen, “Did Mario overhear anything they said during the drive?”

“The couple kept their voices low but he definitely heard the word
scroll
mentioned.”

Ari sounded excited. “Good stuff.”

Cohen added, “Mario offered to be their guide for the day and take them wherever they wanted to go. They took the bait and had him drive them to the Vatican for an appointment. Then they left Mario at one of the entrances, saying they’d be back.”

Ari looked toward the busy St. Peter’s Square and rubbed his jaw. “Question one is, what are they doing in the Vatican? Question two is, who are the guys on their tail?”

Lela studied the men from the silver Lancia. One wore a dark leather jacket. He had stepped out of the car and moved across the square. A brutal-looking specimen, he had a broken nose, his body muscled by too many steroids. Lela thought that his high cheekbones gave him a Slavic appearance. He stood near the Vatican entrance, a carry-on bag draped over his shoulder, trying to look like a tourist as he studied a guide map.

The driver was Arab, slender and with a trimmed beard, in his twenties. Lela said, “Any ideas who they could be?”

Ari laid down the binoculars. “No, but it might be worth downloading their pictures to Tel Aviv and running a check on them, like we’re doing on Yasmin Green. Get your big ugly head out of the way, Cohen.”

The Mossad driver shifted in the front seat as Ari raised a zoom-lens digital camera and clicked off at least a dozen shots. When he finished he studied the results in the camera’s viewing window. Satisfied, he connected a short coil of black cable from the camera to his cell phone. “I got a few good ones.”

Ari pressed a series of buttons on his cell phone. As he waited for the data to transmit he was deep in thought and tapped his lips with his forefinger.

Lela asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve been thinking. Why would they come to Rome? There’s an obvious answer.”

“What?”

“This city’s got a reputation as a hub for black-market antique dealings. What if Cane came here to offload the scroll?”

“We don’t even have a shred of evidence that they have it, Ari.”

“My gut instinct’s screaming at me that Cane’s here to sell the parchment.”

“Ari—”

“He and Yasmin aren’t here as tourists. They’re up to something.”

Before Lela could reply, Ari’s cell phone flashed a message and he said, “The pic data’s downloaded. We’ll see if our people can get lucky
by
matching those guys and Yasmin Green to any criminal or terrorist in Israel’s data banks. We can trawl even wider if we need to.”

“How long will it take?”

Ari disconnected the cable, coiled it up, and replaced it in the camera case. “Depends on how busy they are.” He reached under his seat and pulled out a Sig 9mm automatic pistol. “It’s time we grabbed Cane and his girlfriend and interrogated them. We make our move as soon as they show their faces.”