The Second Messiah (37 page)

Nidal’s eyes glinted as he stared past him. “You’re wrong. Our wait’s over.”

The Serb spun round to see the couple stroll out of the Vatican. He clutched the bag on his shoulder. Tucked inside he felt the firm outline of the MAC-10 machine pistol next to the video camera. “Get ready. This is where the fun starts.”

Cardinal Liam Kelly hurried along the corridors to his Vatican office. He stepped into a room with high ceilings and decorated with exquisite antiques.

A young priest-secretary was at a desk and as he started to rise, Kelly said, “I need to make an urgent private call and don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Of course, Excellency.”

Kelly entered his sumptuous office. He closed the door behind him, sat at a polished teak desk, and dabbed his brow with a handkerchief as he picked up his desk phone. He hastily punched a number. A soft voice answered, “Yes?”

Kelly recognized an anxious quiver in his own tone. “It’s Liam. We need to meet and talk. Cane visited the archives as arranged.”

“And?”

“Bad news. He knew about the marble. He also talked about the Atbash code and about what happened in Maloula.”

“What’s your opinion, Liam?”

“I think we’re looking at dangerous trouble. It’s a cancer that needs to be cut out or this thing is going to destroy us all.”

ARI PEERED THROUGH
the binoculars. “We’re in business. Here they come.”

Lela observed Cane and Yasmin exit through the Vatican security hut. They talked briefly with the cabdriver, then crossed the square toward a café. Ignoring the tables on the pavement, they moved inside and sat by a window.

At that precise moment Cohen’s cell phone rang. He answered and turned to Ari. “That was Mario. Cane just asked him to wait another twenty minutes while they go have a coffee.”

Lela concentrated on the two men. The brutal-faced, leather-jacketed one now wandered closer to the café, clutching the travel bag hanging from his shoulder. The Arab was still seated in the silver Lancia and facing in the café’s direction, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

Ari swept the scene with the binoculars. “My gut tells me we’re going to see some action pretty soon. The Arab and his buddy are circling like buzzards, waiting for their chance.”

“What do you think’s going down?” Lela asked.

“Who knows? Maybe they’re potential buyers and want Cane’s scroll.”

“What should we do?”

Ari tossed aside the binoculars. “Play the cards as they fall. You and I will try to move a little closer to the action, see what goes down. If we notice anything being exchanged, we move in.”

“And do what?”

“Snatch Cane and the woman. The Arab and his buddy are not our
concern
at this moment. Unless it looks like they’re taking possession of the scroll, then it’s a different matter.”

“Making a snatch in broad daylight is crazy, Ari.”

“We’ve no choice. Cohen has a safe house ten minutes away we can use for the interrogation. Mario and Cohen will stop the Arab and his buddy from leaving if we think they’re in possession of the scroll or if they try to follow us.”

“We’re spreading ourselves thin, Ari. There are only four of us.”

Ari grinned. “Cohen and Mario might not look it, but they’re trained Mossad professionals. I’ve every confidence in them.” He reached under his seat and handed another Sig pistol and three loaded magazines to Lela. “Just in case.”

Lela took the pistol and magazines.

They saw the leather-jacketed man casually walk back toward the Arab, lean in the driver’s window, and engage him in conversation. Both men stared in the direction of the café, and Jack and Yasmin.

Ari racked the Sig’s slide to chamber a round before he tucked the weapon in his jacket pocket. “Pay attention, everyone. I’ve got a feeling the Arab and his pal are debating a move. Cohen, you know the drill. Keep your engine running and follow close behind us. Lela, you come walk with me. What’s up? You look worried.”

“I—I’m fine.” Lela cocked her Sig and slid the pistol inside her jacket. “I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

Ari moved to open the car door. “If Cane doesn’t make a fuss that shouldn’t happen. Okay, let’s get in position. Cohen, call Mario, put him in the loop. And caution’s the word, everyone. I don’t want any of us going home in a body bag.”

The busy café smelled of espresso and delicious pastries. Jack and Yasmin each ordered coffee and sat by a window with a partial view of the Vatican. When the waiter brought their coffees, Jack took a sip. “Sorry about the indignity back there. How do you feel?”

Yasmin stirred sugar into her cup and looked as if she was trying not to break a smile. “I never thought I’d find myself being searched from head to toe in the Vatican, of all places. That woman probed me everywhere. And I do mean
everywhere
. What did you make of Kelly’s answers?”

Before Jack could reply, Yasmin stared out of the window and said, “I hope I’m not being paranoid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her gaze was fixed beyond the glass. “I think I saw a man following us just before we entered the café. I just saw him again.”

Jack frowned and stared past the glass at the crowds toward St. Peter’s Square. “Where is he?”

“He disappeared into the crowd.”

Jack smiled, trying to make light of it. “You’re sure he wasn’t just an admirer? I’ve known guys to traipse behind women for miles just to admire their legs. Remember, we’re in Rome, testosterone capital of the world.”

“Jack, I’m deadly serious. I had a problem with a stalker once. I know when I’m being followed. This guy wasn’t checking me out. He was too intent.”

“What did he look like?”

“Eastern European. He was about forty, wore jeans and a dark leather jacket and had a boxer’s flattened nose. He carried a travel bag over his shoulder. At one point he went to talk with a thin Arab-looking guy, seated in a silver Lancia.”

Jack picked up his coffee, scanned the crowds on the square, and felt a rising anxiety in the pit of his stomach. “Describe the Arab.”

“He had a trimmed beard and looked young, in his mid-twenties. What if they’re Pasha’s men?”

Jack’s cell phone suddenly rang. He checked the calling number. “It’s Buddy. He’s got lousy timing. I’ll have to call him back.” He silenced the cell, finished his coffee, and got to his feet. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

Jack slipped on his sunglasses. “To see if I can spot anyone on the street who resembles either guy. Keep watch from the window but put on your sunglasses. I don’t want you making eye contact with them if they reappear. They may suspect we’re on to them.”

She touched his hand. “What if it’s dangerous?”

Jack winked down at her and slapped some euro banknotes on the table. “Relax. Have more coffee. I’ll be back.”

Yasmin looked up at his face. “You never told me what you thought of Kelly’s answers.”

“The questions I asked were deliberate. Especially about Father Novara and the Nero marbles. I needed to see Kelly’s reaction.”

“And?”

“He looked up and to the right when he gave his answer and focused on an imaginary point above eye level. Some behavioral psychologists might tell you that kind of look is a clear pointer.”

“Of what?”

“That someone’s lying through their teeth.”

WHEN JACK STEPPED
outside the café it took him only seconds to spot the man in the leather jacket. He was standing across the street and had high Slavic cheekbones and the broad, broken-nosed face of a boxer. He wore sunglasses and carried a canvas travel bag over his shoulder. The moment Jack locked eyes on him the man looked away.

Jack felt a hand lightly touch his arm and he tensed. Yasmin stood beside him, wearing her sunglasses.

“I said to wait inside, Yasmin.”

“I thought it might help if I tried to help you spot the men.”

Jack didn’t protest but took hold of her arm and linked it with his. “See the guy wearing the leather jacket? He’s across the street.”

“Yes, that’s him,” Yasmin whispered.

“Let’s take a walk. Try to make it appear as if we’re taking a casual stroll.”

Jack started to walk. “You see the other guy near the lamppost?”

He felt Yasmin’s grip tighten on his arm. “That’s the Arab I saw watching us. Do you think they’re Pasha’s accomplices?”

“It’s always a possibility. We’ll make a dash for the cab and try to lose them. Whatever happens, stick close to me.” Jack looked to the right and saw their cab still parked near the Vatican side entrance. “Ready?”

Before Yasmin could reply, a gray Fiat drove at high speed toward them, scattering tourists and pedestrians in its way. It screeched to a halt and Jack got the shock of his life as a man and woman jumped out. The woman was Lela Raul.

Yasmin said, stunned, “It—it’s the inspector.”

“What the …?” Jack felt riveted to the spot. While the Fiat’s driver remained in the car with the engine running, Lela and her companion approached Jack. He locked eyes with Lela but suddenly she raised her hand as if in warning and screamed, “Behind you, Jack, look out!”

Jack saw that the leather-jacketed man with the brutal face was pushing toward him, wrenching a compact machine pistol from his travel bag. The man spotted Lela and her companion drawing weapons.

He raised his machine pistol. The weapon stuttered, raking a burst of gunfire across the ground in front of Lela and her companion, sending chunks of asphalt flying as screams erupted from the scattering crowds.

Lela’s partner managed to draw his gun but the Serb fired another burst. As the crowd went wild to escape, Jack lost sight of Lela and her partner, who were masked by fleeing tourists.

Jack felt his pulse race and sensed danger all around, his fear surging as he tried to catch sight of Lela. Then another two shots rang out somewhere in the crowd and more screams erupted. Yasmin grabbed hold of his arm. “Run, Jack.”

But Jack’s eyes were on the brutal-faced shooter who struggled out through the mob. He was joined by the bearded Arab who burst through the crowd, an automatic pistol in his hand as his eyes locked on Jack and Yasmin.

“For heaven’s sake, run before we’re killed,” said Yasmin, and Jack dragged her by the arm and they darted into the nearest backstreet.