The Second Messiah (52 page)

“A hundred and ten percent, boss.”

“Thanks, Rico, you can go.”

The man left and Ryan said, “What was that all about?”

Butoni held up the paper in his hand. “The threatening letter to the pope that you asked me check for prints. The one that Cardinal Cassini received. And the videotapes of the Vatican archive building, where the secret archive documents went missing. You asked me to review all the security tape footage since the day after the pope’s election.”

“Go on, Angelo.”

“We didn’t find any fingerprints on the sheet, but I got samples of printed letters from every cardinal’s office, going back several years, and checked them against the paper type and printer font in the original threat letter.”

Ryan smiled and his ears pricked up. “Good man, Angelo, that’s what I like to hear. Find anything interesting?”

“I think you could say that. And I’d like you to have a look at one of the archive’s security videotapes while we’re at it.”

“Why?”

“I think we’ve found our thief.”

AVENTINO

ROME

THE TAXI PULLED
up outside the gates of a centuries-old sandstone villa and Jack climbed out. A marble inscription on the wall said: “White Fathers. Monastery of Aventino.”

Jack approached the wrought-iron entrance gates, manned by two plainclothes guards, stern-looking men whose stare never left him. He presented his passport, told them his business, and one of the guards spoke into a walkie-talkie. When he received a reply, the man unlocked the gate.

The moment Jack stepped inside, the gate was locked again. He had left the pistol he’d taken from Pasha with Lela, which was just as well because the second guard used a metal detector and then frisked him before the front door opened and a cheerful, bearded monk appeared. “I’m Abbot Fabrio. We’ve been expecting you, Signore Cane.”

Jack followed him inside. Two more cautious guards lingered in the corridor, keeping watch on the door and eyeing their visitor.

“This way, please.” The abbot led Jack down the hallway to an open doorway. Beyond lay a lush garden full of palm and olive trees. A fountain resembling a stone fish spewed water from its mouth into a pond covered with water lilies.

Another pair of watchful plainclothes guards strolled in the far end of the garden. One of the men had his jacket open to reveal a holstered automatic pistol. His companion wore a Heckler & Koch machine pistol draped across his chest.

The abbot grimaced. “Guns, I hate them. But they’re a necessary evil to protect the pope.” He gestured to a bench facing the fountain. “Please, take a seat and I’ll tell him you’ve arrived, Signore Cane.”

It was peaceful in the garden and as Jack sat there he heard footsteps. He turned and saw the tall figure of John Becket approach. He wore leather sandals and a simple white cassock.

Jack waited as he approached. Becket had aged; his skin was more wrinkled and deeply tanned. But it was his eyes—piercing, the palest blue. Jack felt an odd shiver down his back. He rose from the bench.

Becket gripped his hand. “Mr. Cane, or may I call you Jack? It’s been a long time.”

His voice was deep and powerful but with a surprising gentleness for such a big man. Jack was dumbstruck. It was hard to believe he was addressing the pope. “Twenty years.”

“The time has flown. I hear that you’re an archaeologist like your father. I’m sure he would have been proud.”

Despite his friendly manner, when Jack looked more closely Becket appeared under stress, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep.

Jack glanced toward the garden. The watchful guards never took their gaze off him. “To tell the truth, I was expecting to meet in the Vatican.”

Becket gathered the folds of his cassock and sat on the bench. “The setting here is less formal. I hope you don’t mind. I’m afraid it’s also partly the reason for all this security. Please, sit down.”

Jack joined him on the bench.

Becket said, “I’ve often kept you in my prayers. The death of anyone’s parents is a terrible loss. When you’re young and an only child, it’s an immense tragedy. I only wish I could have offered you more solace at the time.”

There was a genuine look of sadness in Becket’s face. He placed a hand gently on Jack’s shoulder and his blue eyes seemed to bore into his soul. “But of some things I am certain, Jack. They are watching over
you
, and someday you will be reunited. They still love you, but from a different place.”

Becket’s intimacy was disarming and his voice had a powerful conviction. Jack tried to focus on why he was here. Shifting away, he caused Becket’s hand to fall.

For a moment the pope seemed surprised by the gesture, and he said awkwardly, “Cardinal Kelly urged me to meet you. He says you had made a discovery of a scroll. That the text was highly controversial. He said that you wanted to make me personally aware of its contents.”

“That’s right.”

“I admit you’ve stirred my curiosity. And I was struck by the curious twist of fate—your father also made a discovery at Qumran. But why do you think it may be so important to the Vatican?”

Jack met Becket’s gaze. “We’ll get around to that. But first, I want you to tell me the truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Jack said bluntly. “I think my parents’ deaths were murder, not an accident. And that you stole my father’s scroll.”

ROME

IT WAS VERY
still in the garden, the only sound the gurgling fountain. Jack waited for Becket’s reaction. He saw it immediately. A look of discomfort spread over the pope’s face.

Jack said, “You haven’t answered me.”

Becket’s eyes suddenly became wary. “You’ve made a serious allegation, Jack.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“You sound angry.”

“I’m sitting beside the man who may have killed my parents. How do you think I feel?”

“You truly believe that I killed them?”

“You were the first person at the accident scene. And I’ve never known what you were doing there that day.”

“I was on my way to Jerusalem.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Becket bit back his response.

Jack said, “You remember Sergeant Raul, who questioned you?”

“Of course.”

“He almost convinced himself the brake line in my father’s pickup had been deliberately tampered with. But he couldn’t prove it.”

Becket paled a little and shook his head. “The sergeant never mentioned his suspicion to me, Jack.”

“Then what about the missing scroll? There was no evidence to prove it was destroyed by fire. I think you know more than you’re telling.”

“Jack—”

“What happened to my parents ripped my heart out. I don’t think I’ve ever found peace since that day. But this isn’t just about burying ghosts or even solving a crime. It’s not even about justice. It’s about simple truth. Something you’re supposed to believe in.”

Becket fell silent. Beads of perspiration glistened on his brow. It appeared as if a great weight was pressing down on his shoulders, that he was under enormous stress. He tightly shut his eyes, then opened them again. As he sat there, rigid, his face set in stone, his breathing became more labored. He rubbed a bony hand over his face. There seemed to be an agony in that simple gesture, as if he faced a colossal decision.

He turned his head and fixed Jack with a penetrating stare. “Please understand one thing. I didn’t set out to harm anyone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The sound of footsteps approached along the path. Abbot Fabrio appeared and bowed. “Holy Father, my apologies. The security detail says that your car will be here in ten minutes to take you to the Vatican. You are due to give your speech and blessing from St. Peter’s Square after your meeting with the cardinals.”

Becket waved a hand in dismissal. “Tell them to delay the car.”

“Until when, Holy Father?”

“Until I say I am ready.”

“But—”

“No arguments, Fabrio. And tell Cardinal Cassini that he is to assemble the Curia in the Sistine Chapel. I will have an important announcement to make.”

“As you wish, Holy Father.” The abbot left.

Jack looked up at Becket as he stood. The pope’s face was suddenly tired and sagged. In the space of ten minutes he had aged ten years. He gestured to the path through the garden. “Will you walk with me, Jack?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I think it’s time you knew the truth about what happened to your parents.”

LELA STUDIED HER
wristwatch as she sat outside the café. She sipped her espresso. The sidewalk table gave her a view of the monastery entrance at the far end of the street. Every now and then she could see the guards discreetly patrol behind the gate.

She put down her espresso and sighed. She felt confused. Her relationship with Jack went back such a long time. She still had feelings for him, and that troubled her. What right had she to think it might be rekindled? Besides, Jack still seemed more than a little smitten by Yasmin Green. And why shouldn’t he? She was beautiful and young.
But who is she?

“The rain’s gone, the sun’s out. Nice day for a coffee.”

She turned, startled, and saw Ari standing behind her, his injured hand bandaged. He held a newspaper in his other hand. He pulled up a chair and indicated to the waiter that he wanted an espresso, the same as Lela. The waiter went to fill the order. Ari smiled. “Don’t think of running, Lela. You wouldn’t get far.”

Across the street, she saw the Mossad taxi driver, Mario, leaning against his cab. Farther along, Cohen smoked a cigarette as he lounged next to a wall.

Lela felt the barrel of Ari’s pistol prod her in the side as he leaned in closer with the newspaper. “Where’s your pistol? Give it to me.”

“Ari, please …”

“You’ve been playing hide-and-seek with me. Lela. I don’t like that.”

“Ari, there’s been good reason—”

“Make a fuss and I swear, I’ll have you bundled into our car in no time, screaming or not. Now, where’s your pistol?”

“In my pocket.”

“Any other weapons I should know about?”

“Another pistol, in my right pocket.”

Ari reached into Lela’s pockets, removed her own pistol and Pasha’s weapon, and tucked them inside his jacket. “It looks like you were expecting trouble.”

“I wasn’t expecting you. How did you know where to find me, Ari?”

“Lots of state security organizations keep loose contact with each other. A case of ‘you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.’ Mossad and the Vatican are no exception, that’s all I’ll say.”

The waiter came with Ari’s espresso and left. Lela said, “Tell me how Mossad and the Vatican are connected in all of this.”

Ari used his bandaged hand to add a sugar cube to his cup and stirred. “You can ask Weiss when you see him.”

“That’s where you’re taking me?”

“Yes. Then onward to Israel. Along with your friend Cane.” Ari gave a tight smile and sipped his espresso. He pulled his pistol back from Lela’s side but kept it clutched in his good hand, tucked under his newspaper and out of view. “Just as soon as he appears from his private papal audience, we’re going to finally bring this to a conclusion.”