The Second Messiah (45 page)

“Who?”

JACK WAS WOKEN
by the sound of screeching tires. He came awake groggily and stared at his watch: 6:45
A.M.

It still looked dark outside, a silver crack of streetlight flooding into the room through the curtains. When he put out his hand for Lela, she wasn’t there. He climbed out of bed, flicked on the light, and saw her sitting in the chair near the window, wearing a hotel bathrobe.

He rubbed his eyes. “Some crazy Italian driver burning rubber woke me. Didn’t you sleep?”

“I managed a couple of hours but tossed and turned.”

“Any reason?”

She looked into his face. “You want the truth? I’m trying to figure out where we go from here, Jack. In case it hasn’t registered, we’re both in trouble deep enough to sink an elephant.”

Jack crossed to the minibar and saw Lela’s pistol on top. “Is that thing loaded?”

“Of course.”

“How’s your friend, Ari? Did you call again?”

“A couple of hours ago. Ari’s recovering. A doctor tended to his wound. Don’t worry, I kept it short, then I switched off my cell and removed the battery again in case the coordinates were traced. Ari will be fuming.”

“You’re right; you’re going to be in big trouble.” Jack twisted open a bottle of mineral water from the minibar. “Maybe it’s about time I helped save your career and earned you some brownie points.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack drank from the water bottle. “I have the scroll. It’s in a safe place. I switched it at Maloula for another old parchment. Pasha must
have
realized afterward and he’s probably out to kill me. For all I know, he could be working for Hassan Malik.”

Lela stared disbelievingly at Jack. “But—you told me you didn’t have the scroll.”

“No, I didn’t. I told you I didn’t steal it from Professor Green.”

Lela said angrily, “Don’t play with words, Jack. Where’s the scroll?”

“In a safe place.” He held up his cell phone. “For good measure I have photographs I took of the parchment. I figured no one would think of looking in my cell phone memory.”

Lela flushed. “Jack …”

“Don’t accuse me of lying or twisting words. I had a valuable document to retrieve and preserve, and I was prepared to use any means to do it, Lela.”

“But you did lie to me, Jack.”

“Maybe a small white lie. But I had to keep the scroll safe at all costs. I just didn’t know who I could trust.”

“And you trust me now, is that it?”

Jack looked into her face. “Honestly? I’m not sure. But I obviously trust you enough to let you in on this.”

“Where does that leave us?”

Jack drank from the bottle. “I wish I knew. But if you’re right about us hearing from Hassan, then he’ll want to trade: everything I know about the scroll in return for Yasmin.”

“Do you want her that badly?”

“I’d like to know who she really is. And why she’s been lying to me.” Jack took his notebook from his back pocket. “Now that we’re being totally up front with each other, how about I show you these?”

“What are they?”

“A couple of interesting translations. Another from the scroll I found and one I discovered inscribed under the streets of Rome.”

Lela read the translations, and after Jack had explained, she stared down at the words. “You’re certain that you interpreted them correctly?”

“They’re accurate, Lela. My Latin’s okay. I’ve translated enough Roman inscriptions in my day. And my Aramaic’s pretty passable.”

“They’re … incredible.”

“It makes me even more convinced that religion, history, everything could be changed by the scroll’s contents. That’s why I made the phone call.”

“To whom?”

Jack snapped shut his notebook and put it away. “Dr. Alfonse Gati, to be precise, Harvard-educated historian extraordinaire. Fonzi to his friends. Fonzi’s a little … well, odd, to put it mildly. But he’s one of the foremost scrolls experts and he’s familiar with the Atbash code. He worked with my folks in Qumran years ago and he’s a friend of Buddy’s. I’m hoping he may be able to help us decipher the code.”

She sat there for a long time, looking at him, saying nothing.

Jack said, “What’s up?”

Lela hesitated. “It’s personal. I just wanted you to know something.”

“What?”

“After your parents died, after you left Qumran, I thought about you all the time.” Lela put a hand to his face, touched his cheek, let her hand fall away. “I’ve often thought that maybe I could have helped you heal back then.”

Jack smiled bleakly. “It was something I had to go through myself. But there were often times when I thought of you. Wondered what had become of you. The truth is, I used to hope that we’d meet once more, that I’d have the courage to tell you why I didn’t see you again.”

Lela searched his eyes. “Kiss me, Jack.”

Jack didn’t answer but gently cupped her face in one of his palms. In response, Lela brushed a finger against his lips and then her arms went around his neck. Her eyes sparked, and he kissed her mouth.

A second later the bedside phone rang.

ROME

9:15
A.M.

THE RUINS NEAR
the Colosseum were crammed with tourists that morning. Despite the rainy weather, hundreds had disembarked from tour buses parked along the curb.

Julius Weiss grunted as he handed some coins to a street food vendor. In return he received a hot slice of salami pizza. The Israeli spy chief bit into his snack as he watched across the street.

The café bar wasn’t yet crowded with patrons, the polished metal tables outside mostly empty. Weiss recognized the small, scrawny Sicilian with bushy eyebrows. He sat alone at one of the tables, reading the
La Scala
newspaper. Like most clerics, he wore civilian clothes uncomfortably. His dark suit looked a size too big for him and at least twenty years out of date.

Weiss dumped the remains of his unfinished pizza slice in a garbage bin, dusted his hands, and crossed the street to the café bar. Cardinal Umberto Cassini looked up. “Julius, it’s good to see you. What’s it to be? Coffee? Tea?”

The Israeli eased his frame into the seat and grunted. “Something stronger. A grappa. Ice and water, a slice of lemon.”

Cassini called the waiter and ordered a double espresso and the grappa. When the man had gone Cassini said, “It’s been a long time, Julius.”

“What made you pick this place?”

Cassini glanced around the café with tired eyes. “An old haunt of mine from when I was an archaeology student. The kind of bar where
everybody
’s too busy admiring the Colosseum and the pretty girls passing by to pay attention to two old friends chatting.”

Weiss removed his sunglasses and wiped them briskly with a handkerchief, his face mournful. “Acquaintances, Umberto. You and I have never been more than that. So, what’s such a big secret that you have to drag me all the way from Tel Aviv to hear it from you in person?”

The waiter returned with their drinks. Julius Weiss sipped his grappa and studied Cassini’s face. It was scoured with worry lines as deep as canyons, as if the cardinal was privy to too many secrets.

When the waiter had gone, Cassini ignored his espresso and said as quietly as a conspirator, “First, tell me what progress you have made, Julius.”

“We’ve lost the woman. We think she may be with Cane and to tell the truth it has me worried.” Weiss explained the details he’d learned from Ari Tauber. “It seems another party is interested in Cane’s scroll.”

“Who?” Cassini’s eyebrows arched into twin peaks.

Weiss had dealt with Cassini for many years on matters of mutual interest. He grudgingly admired the Vatican’s intelligence apparatus, considered it one of the best in the world. He took an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. “One of our agents took photographs of two men in St. Peter’s Square, the same pair they followed into the tunnels. There was also a shooting near the square. Our agents engaged fire with the men.”

Cassini’s eyebrows arched higher. “The Vatican security service is looking into the shooting. So that’s what it was about.”

Weiss tapped the photograph with the tip of his finger. “We identified the one on the left as Nidal Malik. A brother of Hassan Malik. Does that last name ring a bell?”

“Should it?”

“Hassan Malik’s an Arab—of Bedouin extraction to be precise. He’s an international businessman. His full surname is Al-Malik but the family is known by the shortened version. He owns a villa near Rome.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more?”

“Israeli authorities investigated Malik on suspicion of being involved in illegal digs at historical sites. There were rumors he had smuggled precious artifacts out of the country and sold them to black-market dealers in Lebanon and Syria. Whatever the truth, he became a rich man.”

“Go on.”

“Other rumors suggest he helps the Palestinian cause with generous gifts of money. And that he has brokered arms deals for the same cause.”

“That’s a lot of rumors.”

“Hassan’s a crafty fox who keeps a low profile. Nothing’s ever been proven and no charges pressed.”

“Why should I know him?”

“Hassan’s father was a laborer who worked on several of Robert Cane’s digs. In fact, Hassan’s father died in the same accident twenty years ago.”

Cassini put down the photographs, pursed his lips, and tapped them with his finger. “How did Hassan learn about the scroll?”

“I’ve no idea. But he must want it badly if his own brother’s involved. That kind of direct family involvement is unheard-of for Hassan. We also think Nidal may have been wounded in the tunnel shootout.”

Cassini worriedly slipped the photos back in the envelope and slid it across the table. “I thought you had everything under control! This doesn’t sound like it, Julius.”

Weiss grimaced. “I’m doing my best, but right now we’ve hit a dead end.”

Cassini’s lips pinched thin as a razor. “You must try harder. Remember, we both have an agreement to honor.”

Weiss didn’t need reminding. Some years after the mammoth task of translating the scrolls had begun and extraordinary examples of Scripture material were revealed, some of it controversial, the Vatican and Israel had set aside their differences and agreed to a secret pact that sought to avoid the ultimate disaster. The core of that disaster was simple.

What if, among the rich mother lode of Qumran’s scrolls, there was evidence that irrefutably revealed Jesus as the true messiah? Not just the messiah of Christian tradition but the true messiah expected by the Jews two thousand years ago? Such a revelation would have devastating implications for the state of Israel and its people. It would also rock the foundations of Islam.

Equally, what if a scroll revealed that the Jesus of history and the Jesus of faith were two different people? Or doubt was cast upon Jesus’ resurrection, or his claim to be the Son of God? Such disclosures would destroy the Christian creed.

Israel and the Vatican had therefore agreed on a simple strategy: digs would be secretly monitored. Any discovered material deemed controversial to either religion would be withheld. It was a pact Weiss knew had worked well to date. “You don’t need to remind me, Umberto.”

Cassini’s flinty Sicilian eyes glinted darkly. “Maybe I do. Our collaboration hasn’t been needed in many years because there were no major finds. Otherwise your Antiquities Department would have confiscated Jack Cane’s scroll on site. They would have confiscated it anyway and alerted you once they had translated the scroll.”

“True.”

“I have a confession to make, Julius.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cassini scowled, his face troubled. “You already know my opinion that Cane’s discovery may contain a coded revelation buried deep within the text. And that I fear this revelation can harm our status quo.”

Weiss nodded. “I only have your word of that, Umberto. You said you’d provide solid proof. I’m still waiting.”

Cassini whispered, “You will wait no longer. I am about to expose to you a dark secret.”