by Glenn Meade
Josuf replied, “You forget that the desert has always belonged to the Bedu, Mr. Cane. No borders will prevent my tribe from traveling where they want. But you will both need your passports for part of the passage if the lady means to travel with us. And it will not be a journey without its dangers.”
Jack frowned. “What are you saying, Josuf?”
“I know a way to get you to the monastery at Maloula.”
20
LELA WAS AT the desk in the office trailer, reading through her notes, when Sergeant Mosberg knocked on the door. “My apologies for disturbing you, but you said you wanted to speak again with Jack Cane, Inspector.”
“That’s right.”
“He’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
Mosberg blushed. “I’ve checked Cane’s tent and the rest of the camp and he’s nowhere to be found. I’ve even sent some of my men to search the hills but no one’s seen him.”
Lela jumped to her feet. “What about Savage and Yasmin Green?”
“Miss Green drove to Nazlat a couple of hours ago in her SUV. She returned for about thirty minutes and left in that direction again. One of my men tells me that Savage visited Nazlat soon after Miss Green and later returned.”
“Did anyone check the vehicles before Savage and Green left?”
Mosberg said sheepishly, “No, Inspector. No such orders were given.”
Lela angrily stuffed her notebook in her tunic and moved to the door. “Keep looking for Cane, Sergeant.”
Lela stormed toward Savage’s tent. When she tore open the flap, the American was lying on his bed flicking through a magazine and sipping from a can of Heineken. He lazily got to his feet. “What can I do for you, Inspector?”
“Where’s Jack Cane?”
Savage shrugged. “Hey, you got me there. Last time I saw him was over an hour ago in his tent. Why, what’s up?”
“Where is Cane, Savage? And don’t play me for a fool.”
“Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Inspector.”
At that precise moment, Lela heard the clatter of a helicopter descending. The tent material rippled as the rotor blades whirred and then died. Seconds later the tent flap was thrown open and Mosberg appeared. “You have an important visitor, Inspector.”
As Lela stepped outside Savage’s tent she saw her boss, Chief Inspector Danni Feld, climb out of the helicopter and duck his head under the dying blades. He hurried toward her. Feld wore civilian clothes, not his usual crisp police uniform, which suggested that he’d been summoned unexpectedly. As he reached Lela he stood upright and gave her a wave.
“Inspector Raul.”
“Sir, I thought it was your day off.”
Feld vainly patted down a raised flap of graying hair. “So did I. How is the investigation going?”
“I’m still gathering evidence.”
Feld scratched his head as he studied the Dead Sea landscape. “It must be a very interesting case, Lela, that’s all I can say.”
“Sir?”
Feld turned to stare at her. “I got an urgent call from the head of Mossad, no less. He wants to see you straightaway. Says it’s a matter of grave urgency.”
Lela was puzzled. Israel’s national security agency had a reputation as one of the best and most secretive intelligence organizations in the world. “I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. What does Mossad want with me?”
Feld jerked his thumb toward the helicopter. “I wish I knew. But I’ve a feeling you’ll get your explanation in Tel Aviv. You’re to fly there immediately.”
21
ROME
THE SLEEK BLACK Mercedes bearing Vatican diplomatic plates and a fluttering gold and white pendant turned into the Via della Conciliazione with a gentle squeal of brakes.
Sitting in the back of the chauffeured limousine that afternoon was a large, beefy, red-haired man with a pale complexion and bright green eyes. Sean Ryan removed his monsignor’s black biretta from his head and ran a handkerchief over his damp brow. It was only April but already the temperature was up to a cloudless seventy, the trees along the banks of the Tiber in full bloom.
Two thousand years of history lay around him, a ragged sprawl of ancient crumbling monuments and temples, and at the heart stood the famed Colosseum and the Forum. To the tourists, Rome seemed rather grand and noble, but Ryan knew it was also the most sordid and sinful of cities, and that some things had changed little in two thousand years.
On the Via Claudia, homosexual men dressed as women still solicited as prostitutes, much as they had during Emperor Caligula’s time. Immigrant black girls as young as fourteen had sex with their customers in city lanes and park bushes, just as their predecessors had during the time of the Caesars. Once the girls had been freed black slaves; now they were impoverished refugees from Africa.
As the Mercedes glided silently down the Via della Conciliazione toward the Vatican, Ryan glanced idly out of the window.
The broad street that led up to the magnificent St. Peter’s Basilica was lined on both sides with gaudy souvenir shops and kiosks, cafés, and currency exchange bureaus. Ryan didn’t appreciate the cheap commercialism that was permitted to exist a stone’s throw away from the burial place of St. Peter, crucified and tortured on a whim of the Emperor Nero, and his broken body dumped in a pauper’s grave on the ancient Roman hill that was now the symbol of Christianity. But this morning Ryan had other things to worry about.
His meeting with Cardinal Cassini was scheduled for noon. Ryan was Chief of the Corps of Gendarmes, with command of the Directorate of Security Services, responsible for protecting the pope and the Vatican State. He wondered what was so important that the head of the Curia had summoned him to his office.
Ryan’s personal history was an outlandish mix. He had at various times been a police detective with the Irish police, An Garda Síochána, an amateur heavyweight boxer, a champion target shooter, a gambler, boozer, and a womanizer until, at age twenty-eight, the car he was driving recklessly while he was over the alcohol limit had caused the deaths of his pregnant young wife and their two-year-old son. After that, there seemed nowhere for Ryan to deliver himself but into God’s hands. Soon after came the priesthood.
Ryan looked up as a flock of pigeons scattered in front of the car when it approached St. Peter’s Square, and he replaced the handkerchief in his pocket.
The Mercedes didn’t go through the Vatican front entrance—that was for the pilgrims and tourists—but instead veered right. There was a barrier down, three blue-uniformed Swiss Guards on duty. Ryan thought the young men looked blatantly ridiculous in their medieval uniforms, their private parts bulging through their skintight pants.
But of course, the real security was more discreet—inside the gate and off to the right was a long, gray brick building where a heavily armed plainclothes unit of the Vatican’s security services was stationed. At that moment, one of the doors to the security building opened and a man with a mustache stepped out, a holstered Beretta clipped under his leather jacket, his eyes cautiously scrutinizing the Mercedes’ occupants.
Ryan recognized Angelo Butoni at once. He was one of the young detectives with the security office, and Butoni waved when he saw Ryan roll down the window.
“Monsignor Ryan, always a pleasure to see you.”
“Angelo, it’s yourself. Keeping busy, I hope?”
Butoni raised his eyes in mock despair. “As always. You’ll be glad to know we’ve improved the security patrols, just as you ordered.”
Ryan smiled. “No trouble to you Angelo, me boy, and that’s the truth of it. Keep up the good work.”
One of the Swiss Guards lifted the barrier and Ryan’s Mercedes passed into the Vatican.
22
CARDINAL UMBERTO CASSINI was seated behind the ornate desk made of dark Brazilian mahogany in his office overlooking St. Peter’s Square, working through some papers, when the floor-to-ceiling oak doors opened softly and a young prelate in a black
soutane appeared. “Monsignor Ryan has arrived, Your Eminence.”
Cassini looked tired as he threw down his eighteen-karat-gold pen on his desk blotter. “Good. Then let’s not keep the man waiting. Send him in.”
The prelate bowed and withdrew.
Cassini stepped over to a bookshelf behind him. He pressed on a red leather-bound book, there was a soft click, and the entire shelf swung open on hinges. A short hallway was revealed behind the bookcase. Cassini pulled a string and a light sprang on.
A stone spiral stairway led up and down, part of the maze of ancient stairways and tunnels that honeycombed the Vatican. In a recess was Cassini’s private safe with an electronic keypad. He punched in the code and the safe door opened.
Inside was a brown leather briefcase with an elaborate security chain. He removed the briefcase and lay it on his desk, then crossed to the open French windows and looked out over a stone balcony.
Since he had presided over the election of the new pope, life had been hectic indeed, so many pressing things on his mind, and Cassini anxiously fingered the cross around his neck. He turned back as the door opened and Sean Ryan entered.
He looked younger than his fifty years, with a boxer’s broken nose and a rugged physique, and he smiled as he stepped into the room. Cassini was aware of a man of considerable, hearty charm. But he also knew that behind the charm lurked a brain as sharp as a stiletto and a temperament that didn’t suffer fools gladly, traits that had served Ryan well as head of the Security Office.
Cassini came in from the balcony as Ryan crossed the room, knelt, and kissed the cardinal’s ring. “Your Eminence.”
“Sean, thanks for coming so promptly. There’s coffee on the table if you want some.”
Ryan got to his feet. “No, thanks. I’m still a tea man myself, Your Eminence. The Romans may have conquered half the world but they still haven’t mastered the art of a good cup of tea.”
Cassini gestured for Ryan to sit in one of the red leather wingback chairs opposite. “No doubt you’re wondering why I asked to see you.”
As Ryan looked across, he saw dark rings underneath Cassini’s eyes, as if the man had been up half the night. He also couldn’t fail to notice the bookshelf ajar, the secret passageway beyond, and the brown leather security briefcase lying on Cassini’s desk.
As head of security Ryan had offered Cassini advice on the choice of safe he had installed many years ago, but not its location behind the hidden bookshelf—that had been Cassini’s choice. Ryan knew that the little Sicilian cardinal seemed to take great enjoyment flitting between various floors and offices using the Vatican’s maze of secret passageways, as if he were a child playing at some elaborate game of hide-and-seek.
“It had crossed my mind,” Ryan suggested.
Cassini pushed the bookshelf with his hand and it floated back into place with hardly a sound, except a tiny click to register that it had locked in place. “Before we get down to business, there’s something I must ask of you.”
“Your Eminence?”
“The conversation we are about to have, and what I am about to show you, must remain totally confidential. That is of the utmost importance. I think you’ll understand why afterward.”
“Of course, as Your Eminence wishes.”
Cassini nervously fingered the cross around his neck, glanced at the locked briefcase, and sighed. “Good. You are aware that the Holy Father has made known his intentions in regard to the future course the church must take, and in particular his plan to make public all files held in the Vatican Secret Archives.”
Ryan nodded. The word had spread like wildfire, and nothing else was being whispered about in the Vatican’s offices and corridors. “A brave step, Your Eminence.”
From his desk, Cassini picked up a beautifully made letter opener with a silver blade. The bone handle was hand-carved from deer antler, a gift from the last pope. Inscribed on the gleaming blade were words Cassini treasured: “With great affection, to a loyal and dutiful servant of God.”
Cassini pointed the blade at Ryan. “A brave step indeed, Sean. Not to mention the fact that he has taken the name Celestine the Sixth. Celestine, from the Latin, meaning ‘supremely good,’ or ‘angel.’”
Ryan said, “Am I right in saying that the last Celestine was the only pope in history ever to have resigned? He was certainly a strange character—a thirteenth-century dreamer, prophet, a healer.”
“And a reluctant pontiff if ever there was one, at least if we’re to accept church history. It’s said that he believed there was no meeting place between the pursuit of power and riches and the worship of God.” Cassini raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. I have heard whispers that already some are calling our new pope the ‘second messiah,’ because he promises to return the church to the true ways of Christ. And because he appears to have intimated a belief in some kind of broad religious unity by opening our secret archives to all Christian religions. At least it sounded that way to me. It’s certainly a noble belief, but if history is anything to go by, I fear its fruition is highly unlikely.”
Ryan nodded. “I must admit I’ve heard the rumors. Including a few outspoken ones that even dared to call him an Antichrist.”
“Not all in high office will agree with the Holy Father’s plans but he is one of the few absolute monarchs remaining and his word is law. He refuses to change his mind despite the strong advice of some of the Curia.”
“So when exactly will the archives be made public?” Ryan inquired.
“The Holy Father intends to make an announcement from St. Peter’s Square. He hasn’t yet said when, but I have a feeling it could be soon, certainly within a week or less.”
“And may I ask what all this has got to do with me?”
Cassini sighed, and threw down his letter opener. “Quite simply, I fear the intentions of His Holiness may put his life in danger.”
Ryan said, “How exactly?”
“No doubt you can imagine that some of these secret files contain information on historical and supernatural matters so highly sensitive that they have been deliberately kept from public knowledge. Without meaning to put too fine a point on it, some of the material will be quite shocking. And to be blunt, there will be those who wish certain of our more sensitive Vatican files were not revealed.”
Ryan said, “Who might that be, Your Eminence?”
Cassini raised his hand. “We’ll come to it later. As you well know, I number myself among those of authority within the Vatican who are privy to certain of its secrets. And few organizations keep secrets better. Our archives are perhaps the most securely guarded in the world. But now we must prepare to obey our Holy Father’s wishes.”
“But why exactly should his life be in danger?”
Cassini looked uneasy as he picked up the leather briefcase and the chain lock rattled. He opened it with a key from his cassock, then slid out a thick, red leather folder with a wax Vatican seal that had already been broken. The bundle was tied with wax cord.
Cassini tapped the folder. “You’ll understand once you read the pages inside this file. It’s a list of some of the material from the Vatican Archives that will be released. I am invoking my protocol to have the list available for you to examine, which is within my power to do. The keeper of the archives—who knows nothing of this—believes I am simply studying the documents on the Holy Father’s behalf.”
Ryan licked his lips. “What sort of material is in there?”
“Highly confidential, the sort I spoke about. Considering that you’re in charge of the Holy Father’s security, you ought be aware of the stakes in this matter. And I think you’ll agree that once you’ve read what’s inside, they are very high stakes indeed.”
Cassini smiled bleakly, then continued. “Normally, what’s inside this folder would never—and I mean never— be made known to the outside world. The reasons will become obvious. Some of the matters dealt with go back a long time, even to the time of Christ, while others are more recent. And no
w you, Sean, are about to have the unpleasant privilege of knowing some of those secrets.”
Cassini moved the leather folder to the center of the desk. He lifted the glinting steel letter opener by the bone handle and with an expert flick of his wrist, slit the wax cord.
Ryan said, “Now there’s a man who knows how to use a blade.”
Cassini smiled tightly as he slid the folder across. “It must be my Sicilian blood, Sean.”
Ryan looked uncomfortable as he hefted up the bundle with a beefy hand. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
Cassini nodded to the papers. “For now just read, Sean. Then we’ll talk.”
23
RYAN CLOSED THE folder in Cardinal Umberto Cassini’s office. His hands were trembling as he looked up, ashen-faced. The Irishman looked stunned, overcome by a deep sense of turmoil. Over fifteen minutes had passed but he had not felt the time go by. “My God,” he breathed. “Everything I’ve read is really true?”
Cassini said quietly, “Every word is fact. Now you understand the seriousness of the situation we find ourselves presented with.”
Ryan was too dismayed even to nod. Finally he managed to speak. “Holy Mother, it’s dreadful. Truly dreadful.”
“Does it shake your faith?”
Ryan put a hand to his brow. “Why, n-no. I’ve been too long a priest, my faith too ingrained, but I am truly shocked. This frightens me deeply.”
“And now you must also understand why the Holy Father’s life may be in danger.”
“Has he been made aware of that fact?”
Cassini replaced the documents in the folder. “Of course. I told him so after his election. But he remains firm. He considers this matter a personal crusade.”
Ryan shook his head, still ashen. “Now you have me really worried, Eminence. Some of that stuff will be sensational.”
