The Second Messiah (47 page)

FONZI PUSHED HIS
chair across the checkered hall. “I called Buddy when I saw the reports in the newspapers. He told me all about the professor’s murder. A terrible tragedy. Not that Green and I were bosom pals. He could be overpowering when we worked digs together. Still, he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Buddy told you?”

“Every detail. Including that the police had you in their sights, Jack. Buddy said you were as innocent as a newborn and that’s good enough for me. So when did you two arrive in Rome?”

Jack said, “Yesterday afternoon. I tried calling you after midnight but got no reply.”

Fonzi grinned, pushing the squeaking wheels of his chair in through an open pair of polished, floor-to-ceiling doors. “The multimedia pics you sent kept me busy all evening, so I’d hit the hay by then, exhausted. You gave me a few interesting problems to solve.”

“The images came through okay?”

Fonzi waved his cell phone. “Perfect. They got me so excited I was struck dumb. I never use the word
awesome
, but this is one time it certainly applies. I’m astonished, Jack.
Totally
. I take it you’d shot photographs of the scroll’s text before the theft occurred?”

“I’ll explain about that later.”

“If what I’ve read in the text is true, this is going to have the world’s media beating down your door. You’ll wind up famous.”

“This isn’t about fame, Fonzi. I just want a reliable and true translation.”

“And you shall have it. The first few lines of the parchment are in
clear
, by that I mean unciphered. The rest are in Atbash code, which is why they seemed unreadable. Such a technique isn’t unusual in some Essene documents, but don’t ask me why. The Essenes were a strange bunch, to say the least.” Fonzi led them through an enormous room filled with rows of illuminated glass display cases. “Have you ever been to Rome before, Lela?”

“Never.” Curious, she peered in at displays of coins.

Fonzi said, “Roman currency. Our collection includes gold and silver coins from the sixth century
B.C.
, when the city was first founded. If we have time later, I’ll give you the guided tour.” He gestured to a nearby pair of floor-to-ceiling doors. “In there, if you’re not too faint of heart, are collections of lewd Roman-era drawings, ornaments, and frescos. One of the collections was owned by an infamous Borgia pope, notorious for his shameless sex life.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Actually I’m not. Did I mention what is perhaps our most important collection of all? Our records.”

“What kind of records?”

“Examples of original Roman files, military records, accounts, and diaries. All kinds of writing on wood plate, parchment, papyrus, and inscribed on stone and metal.”

Jack said, “What about the inscription I asked you to check?”

“The records suggest that a centurion named Cassius Marius Agrippa served in Dora, sometime between 27
A.D.
and 36
A.D.
The same man rose through the ranks to become a senior officer commanding Tyre, and later a general and a wealthy businessman and consul.”

“That answers that. Have you got everything set up?”

“We’re good to go. We’ll use the basement projection room.” Fonzi wheeled his way toward a pair of stainless steel elevator doors. He pressed a wall button and the metal doors swished open. “This thing’s barely wide enough to take me and my wheels. The basement stairwell’s through the doors to the right. See you both below.” Fonzi pushed himself inside, turned his wheelchair round, and stabbed a button with his finger. “Arrivederci, kids.”

The elevator doors whirred shut and it descended.

Jack said, “Fonzi once worked for the Rothschild Museum, which sponsored the dig that discovered the first Dead Sea scrolls. He’s translated hundreds of Qumran texts, so if he says the scroll’s astonishing, we’re in for a treat.” He pulled open the stairwell door for Lela. “Maybe at last we’ll be able to understand why people are prepared to kill for this document. And what dark secret it’s been hiding for the last two thousand years.”

ANNA KUBEL CHECKED
her watch. She felt emotionally battered. Two hours had passed since John Becket arrived and by now her brother’s wheezing sounded like a dying croak.

John Becket sat, silently holding Franz Kubel’s hand and staring into his face. It was bone-white, the eyes closed, Kubel’s wispy hair clinging damply to his forehead. “How long has he been unconscious, Anna?”

“He’s been drifting in and out for the last thirty-six hours. Just as you arrived he came awake briefly.”

The pope had anointed the dying priest with holy oils from his black bag, then he had raised his hand and pronounced the absolution. “
Deinde ego te absolvo
… I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Now he patiently held his old friend’s hand as Anna spoke quietly. “You said to call you if he became lucid again. He did, several times, but slipped back into the coma.”

“It’s to be expected, Anna.”

“Franz even insisted that I reduce his morphine because he wanted to keep a clear head when he saw you. But each time you arrived these last few days the pain seems to get too much to bear and his mind shuts down.”

“I had hoped to speak with him. Franz’s letter made it clear that he felt it terribly important.”

Anna stared down at her brother. “It breaks my heart to see him so helpless.”

John Becket grasped Anna’s fingers. “In the end, we are all helpless. We are like children again before we are lifted up into the arms of our Father. Be strong. It will be over soon, Anna.”

She wiped her eyes. “In the past, you and he were once such good friends. He so often talked about you. Yet he never told me why you fell out. Of course, that was Franz, always secretive.”

Becket said, “We were the best of friends. Franz taught me so much. He was a kind and loyal comrade.”

“But something bad happened in Israel, didn’t it? Franz never wanted to talk about your time together there. I could only guess that something happened to sour your friendship.”

“Yes, Anna, something bad happened.”

“When I came across the article the other day about the newly discovered scroll and the professor’s murder, I thought Franz might be interested, so I read it to him. The effect was alarming.”

“In what way?”

“He became distressed and agitated. I never saw him in such a state. That was when he wrote you the note. He asked me to send it to you, along with the clipping from the newspaper. Then I found him searching through his old papers. He found a photograph. He kept praying as he held it.”

“What photograph?”

Anna slipped open a drawer, withdrew a newspaper clipping, and handed it to Becket. “This photograph.”

Becket saw that it was an old newspaper photograph of a couple and recognized Robert and Margaret Cane. “May I keep this?” he asked.

“If you wish. Franz told me he had to see you before he died. But he refused to say why. Do you know why, Holy Father?”

Becket slipped the photograph of the Canes into his gown. “Yes, Anna, I know why. It’s because of a terrible secret your brother and I share.”

“Secret?”

At that precise moment Franz Kubel’s eyes flickered awake. It was as if he had been jolted out of his coma. His watery eyes tried to focus.
His
face looked tortured as he sucked a breath of air into his cancer-riddled lungs.

Becket spoke gently and rubbed the priest’s scrawny hand. “Franz, it’s good to see you again, old friend. I have given you the last rites. Soon you will be in God’s loving embrace. Do you understand me, Franz? Nod if you do.”

Franz Kubel seemed to make a supreme effort. He nodded and grasped at John Becket’s hand.

The pope whispered, “Good, you understand. You are absolved now from all your sins, my dear friend.”

Tears welled up in Franz Kubel’s eyes.

The pope said quietly, “Franz, the time has come. We must share with Anna the secret we have both kept all these years. You must do the right thing for both our sakes, and above all for the sake of the church. Anna is ready to bear witness, to hear the confession of our crime.”

A puzzled Anna Kubel stared at her brother, then at Becket. “Crime? What—whatever are you talking about?”

“Anna, I will explain everything later. For now, please, just listen—”

The pope fell silent as Franz Kubel’s bony fingers grasped his sister’s hand, his wheezing voice as dry as sandpaper. “Anna, I … I need you to listen to what I have to tell you. And then dear sister, you must do exactly as the Holy Father instructs you …”

“OKAY, HERE WE
go, guys,” Fonzi said.

A blinding whiteness lit up the whiteboard projector screen. Jack and Lela blinked, their eyes stung by the powerful light explosion as they sat together on a couple of plastic chairs in a dimly lit basement room.

Fonzi operated the projector screen using a laptop computer he’d hooked up. He flicked on a study lamp, stuck a pair of half-moon glasses on the end of his nose, and consulted a sheaf of handwritten notes. “I transferred the digital images from my cell into the computer. I then had my software program decode and interpret the data three consecutive times to be certain I’d got it right. I’ve used this program before to translate Dead Sea documents and it’s pretty reliable.”

“What about decoding the text?”

“The program to decode Atbash text is very simple. Atbash is a basic substitution code that merely reverses the Aramaic alphabet. Are you with me so far?”

“Sure, I’m with you,” Jack said.

Lela nodded.

“Good.” Fonzi tapped the laptop keypad and the projector screen burst into life with scrolling Aramaic symbols. Seconds later the images blanked, a scroll segment appeared, then another, until finally eight segments filled the screen.

Fonzi’s voice had an excited edge. “Okay, Jack, here’s the complete scroll you sent me via eight photographs. Now I’m going to merge them into a single translated text, including the uncoded first few lines, in clear. This is where things get very interesting.”

Fonzi hit the keyboard and a chunk of English text replaced the eight segments on screen. Then he flicked on a laser pointer. With a circling motion of its red dot he indicated the entire body of text.

“What you see here is about half the scroll contents. First I decoded and translated the text myself, then I ran it through the translation software and compared the two. What you see on the screen is as close to a literal translation of the original as I can give. Peruse at your leisure, and then we’ll move on to the rest.”

Jack and Lela looked up at the screen and read:

This story concerns the man known as Jesus the Messiah. Having traveled from Caesarea to Dora where his name had become well-known, he failed miserably to cure the blind and the sick, despite his promises to do so. Soon after, he was arrested in Dora by the Romans, tried and found guilty, and sentenced to be executed
.

This story was told to the Chosen of God by our brother Judas Iscariot, who while visiting nearby Caesarea in the company of Jesus’ brethren, learned of the Messiah Jesus’ presence in Dora. Yet when he traveled there to see and hear his master Jesus preach, Judas found him to be a false messiah, a usurper who was misusing Jesus’ name. On learning the truth, Judas now believed his master to be a false messiah, and not the true messiah, the one come to change the world. Judas Iscariot confessed that after discussing the matter with his brethren, it was decided that he would betray the false messiah to the Romans in Dora
.

Indeed, this false messiah was believed to be a man who traveled the land widely, pretending to be the chosen one. He made use of Jesus the Nazarene’s name and reputation, falsely promising to cure the sick and the possessed, and made claims to be the son of God. He is believed to have traded on the name of Jesus the Nazarene for his own ends, and to have gathered worldly riches in his name. But in truth, Jesus the Nazarene forbade the gathering of such riches. He believed that man should divest himself of all excessive possessions, and give alms to the poor, and help to the ill
and the needy. But this false messiah’s greed for eminence was to condemn him
.