The Second Messiah (55 page)

The second man took out a cigarette lighter, touched it to the tip of the blow torch, and the flame lit. The torch glowed red, then turned an intense blue. The Serb said, “Burn off his fingers, one at a time. That’ll loosen his tongue.”

As Jack struggled, the man stepped forward with the blow torch.

“
Stop
. That’s enough for now.”

A figure stepped out from the shadows. Blinded by the light, Jack
couldn
’t see the man’s face but he heard the authority in his voice. “Leave us. I’ll call you when I need you to continue.”

The Serb nodded. His companion doused the blow torch, hung it on a metal hook by the gas bottle, and the three men left.

Slowly, the man who had spoken emerged out of the shadows. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed blood from Jack’s mouth.

“Who are you?” Jack asked.

The man ignored the question. “You’ve chosen to walk on very dangerous ground, Mr. Cane. My men mean to kill you. But if you do as I say, perhaps—just perhaps—I’ll spare your life.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hassan Malik. You’ve heard of me?”

“Yes.” Jack blinked, his skull still on fire with pain. “It’s been a long time.”

“But I never forgot you, Cane. We have an appointment with destiny.”

“I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re taking about.”

Hassan took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, laid them on the table, and selected one before he produced a gold cigarette lighter. “Then you’re about to learn exactly why Professor Green was murdered. And most important, why I want my scroll back.”

“
Your
scroll?”

Hassan lit a cigarette, touching the lighter flame to the tip, then blew out a cloud of smoke. “Yes. It belongs to me. I planted it at Qumran.”

THE POLISHED BLACK
Mercedes with tinted windows silently turned the corner of the Via della Conciliazione. Two other dark-windowed SUVs drove in front and two behind—like the Mercedes, they were specially armored to withstand even a rocket-propelled grenade. Each SUV carried Vatican security guards armed with sidearms and Heckler & Koch machine pistols.

John Becket sat in the back of the chauffeured limousine, his armed driver and a bodyguard occupying the front seats. As the cortege approached the broad barrier-controlled streets leading up to the Vatican, the sidewalks were lined with crowds making their way to St. Peter’s Square.

Becket glanced out of the dark-tinted windows that hid his identity from the throng.

Next to him, Ryan observed the legions of worshippers that crammed the sidewalks and the gaudy souvenir shops and kiosks. “As they say on Broadway, it seems we have a full house.”

“You and your men will have a busy afternoon, Sean.”

“They’ll earn their money, that’s for sure. According to the carabinieri, over a quarter million people are expected in Rome for your blessing. Naturally security will be tight, but I’d beg you once again to reconsider the bulletproof vest, Holy Father?”

The pope waved his hand as if to dismiss Ryan’s question. “You said you had important news for me, Sean?”

Ryan stuck his fingers inside a brown leather briefcase on his lap. He produced a plastic evidence bag containing a single sheet of paper, made up of cut-and-paste newspaper letters stuck on the
page
. “The threatening letter I told you about that I had checked for prints.”

“I’m listening, Sean.”

Ryan waved the plastic bag containing the letter. “I’m afraid we didn’t find a single print. However, we had the page analyzed by a forensics lab.” He turned the page over and pointed to an illegible line of black characters. “The lab discovered these faint print characters on the back of the paper. Perhaps it was an old sheet that was discarded when the printer ink ran out. But luckily for us, the perpetrator obviously didn’t notice it when he decided to use the page to assemble his collage of letters.”

“What does all this tell us?”

“First, the typeface matches a mass-produced Hewlett-Packard printer commonly in use in all the curial cardinals’ offices. There’s absolutely no doubt the source was someone who works in those offices.”

“But can you tell who exactly the printer belongs to?”

Ryan seemed genuinely embarrassed delivering the news. “Microscopic differences in printer ink and character formation can sometimes discern minute variations, even in material printed by mass-produced printers. This one belongs to Cardinal Cassini’s office, it’s his own private printer. It could, of course, mean that someone deliberately used the printer to falsely lay blame. Or it could point the finger. Only further investigation will tell.”

The pope considered, then sighed and nodded. “You have my authority to do so. Is there anything else, Sean?”

“You asked me to check all the security tape footage from the Vatican archives, from the day after your election until you discovered that the archive documents went missing.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re going to tell me they were stolen?”

“I’m afraid so. With over a hundred cardinals, some will abuse their rank and choose not to sign the Secret Archives visitor’s book. That’s a breach of protocol, of course, but many young archivists are reluctant to challenge their superiors.”

The Mercedes and its cortege approached one of the Vatican gate entrances, manned by the Swiss Guard. There was a barrier down, three uniformed Swiss Guards on duty. The pope said, “Who’s the thief, Sean?”

Ryan stuck his hand in his briefcase and removed a DVD stored in a clear plastic case. “We turned up a possible suspect on this security disc from several days ago. You can see a figure entering the archives. It’s obvious that he knew the building layout because he tries to keep his head down and remain in certain camera blind spots, but there’s a camera or two we more recently installed that—”

“
Who
, Sean?”

There was a momentary distraction as the Swiss Guards lifted the barrier and saluted, and then the pope’s Mercedes passed into the Vatican.

Ryan said solemnly, “I’d stake my life it’s Cardinal Liam Kelly.”

Five minutes later the pope entered his private apartments, and Ryan followed. Two of the pope’s staff were already waiting, an array of papal vestments laid out on a long trestle table, others hung from a metal rail with wooden hangers.

Gold-threaded gowns were made of the finest linen and silk. The papal hat was embossed with silver and gold and encrusted with sparkling diamonds.

Exquisite slippers lined with Siberian fur were inlaid with precious gemstones, every garment exquisitely tailored by Italy’s finest crafts-men. A secretary bowed. “We are ready to dress you whenever you are ready, Holy Father.”

“I have no need of these garments.”

“Pardon, Holy Father?”

Becket inspected a richly embroidered gown inset with dazzling gemstones, then replaced it on the table and fingered the simple wooden cross at his neck. “In a world scourged by poverty, I should have no need of these expensive garments. I will wear a simple smock. The one I’m wearing will do well enough. Along with my cross and sandals.”

The secretary was aghast as he stared down at the pope’s ragged footwear. “But Holy Father, the international press, TV cameras, and photographers from all over the world will be watching—”

“Then they will see what they should have always seen—that Christ’s representative on earth has no need of such robes. People starve and cry out for shelter in this world. Why should I wear dazzling robes and mock them?”

“But—”

“I have spoken.” The pope turned to Ryan. “Delay the cardinals’ assembly in the Sistine Chapel. I will tell you when to summon them.”

“Is there a problem, Holy Father?”

“I’d like a few moments alone to phone Cardinal Kelly. Then I wish to pray in the Sistine. I will have an important announcement to make when the cardinals join me.”

Ryan inclined his head. “Of course. What about Cardinals Kelly and Cassini?”

“Detain them both.”

“
YOU
PLANTED THE
scroll.” Confusion spread on Jack’s face. “I don’t get it. The parchment I found is genuine. Carbon-dating proved it.”

“Of course it’s genuine, Cane. Just like all the others discovered at Qumran. That’s where it was originally found, months ago.”

“By who?”

“Josuf, the Bedu foreman. He saw a copy of the site areas you meant to dig. On my instructions he did his own digging secretly at night, the way the Bedu always do. Several of the guards the Israelis employ are Bedu and turned a blind eye. After Josuf found it, I had it partly translated.”

“You realized how explosive it was?”

Hassan nodded. “I’d been waiting a lifetime for such a prize. So I chose my moment and carefully had it reburied, as if it had never been found.”

“For what reason?”

“I wanted you to find it, Cane.”

“Why me?”

Hassan drew on his cigarette and blew out smoke. “Because as an archaeologist you have credibility. And because I knew that you would do your utmost to make the message the scroll contained public, no matter what it took.”

“But why would a Bedu want the contents made public?”

Hassan’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “I could give you many reasons, Cane. The Israelis destroy Arab settlements. They kill and imprison my people. They steal land that has always belonged to the Bedu, long before the Jews or your Christian Crusaders ever laid claim
to
it. Even today, you Christians do nothing about their pillage but pay it lip service.”

“So that’s what this is about, simple revenge?”

Hassan shook his head. “There is nothing simple about it. It encompasses centuries of wrongs and occupations. And for those wrongs your people will pay. A two-thousand-year-old truth will shatter your beliefs forever.”

“And your father’s death. Don’t tell me you’ve got that score to settle as well?”

Hassan spat. “You’re wrong. I despised my father. He was a fool who did the bidding of the Jews and the Vatican priests. A traitor who helped them unearth treasure that rightfully belonged to his own people, in return for a few miserable shekels. But you and your kind are the real thieves, Cane. You and your kind come here to steal from us. And for that, I mean to make you pay.”

Hassan took a final drag on his cigarette. “The revelations the scroll contains are not easily dismissed. The Israelis will pay a heavy price too, once the world learns of the other parchments. There’s an old Bedu saying: The desert wind whispers the truth.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hassan crushed his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “The Bedu have heard the whispers for decades. How the Vatican and the Jews have kept secret the damning revelations of their religions found in the Qumran scrolls. Revelations that compromise both their faiths. It will prove interesting when the evidence is revealed.”

Cane considered. “It seems to me that no sooner had I discovered the scroll than your plan went wrong.”

“Yes, it went wrong, Cane,” Hassan said bitterly and picked up the silvered Walther pistol from the table. “My plans were ruined. But now I have different plans and I want the scroll back. I think you know where it is, so I’m not going to waste time.”

Hassan stepped back and opened the door. Jack saw the Serb waiting outside with his men. Hassan said, “Bring her in.”

The Serb and one of his men vanished and reappeared moments
later
, dragging Yasmin between them. The Serb shoved her into a chair and tied down her wrists with a couple of lengths of rope. Her head lolled to one side and she barely seemed conscious.

Hassan snapped his fingers, the men left, then he crossed to Yasmin. Her hair spilled over the edge of the chair and there was dried blood on her lips.

Hassan said, “She has already confessed that you hid the scroll in a safe place, so don’t lie to me, Cane.”

Hassan slapped Yasmin’s face. She came awake with a moan, her eyes trying to focus. Groggy, she took in the room, then stared at Jack.

Hassan gripped her face. “Good, you’re awake. Nod if you understand me.”

Yasmin nodded, wide-eyed with fear.