by Glenn Meade
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.”
94
“WHAT DARK SECRET?” Weiss demanded.
Cassini huddled forward, as if his bony shoulders were bearing a great weight. “You asked me how the Vatican knew that Jack Cane’s scroll was a danger to the church. As you know, some of the Dead Sea texts have copies. We believe we have a replica of the same scroll.”
Weiss frowned. “Explain.”
“You will recall that when Cane’s father died, his scroll vanished.”
Weiss gave a tiny nod. “It was burned in the crash.”
“The scroll didn’t burn, Julius. The Vatican took it.”
“What?” Weiss sputtered.
“John Becket and another priest, Father Kubel, were the first to arrive at the accident scene. They found the scroll in the wreckage and it was handed over to me. I decided that the scroll was too controversial and should be secretly transported to the Vatican.”
Weiss’s face burned red. “You’re a thief, Cassini. And Becket is no better. You stole Israel’s property. This breaches the spirit of our agreement.”
“It breaches nothing. The Vatican kept to its word that no damaging material would be revealed. That’s what was important. And believe me, it was certainly damaging, if not sensational.”
“What did the scroll contain?”
Cassini removed an envelope from his pocket and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “Read for yourself. There is a revelation about a second messiah. A man who assumed the identity of Jesus and whose life and historical existence may cast great doubt upon the narrative of the Bible. And there are even more disturbing revelations almost too frightening to contemplate.”
Cassini handed the envelop to Weiss. “What you’ll read is not a complete translation of Robert Cane’s scroll, because part of it was destroyed by fire. However, enough material exists to ignite serious religious controversy. And once the Holy Father opens the archives, that controversy will only intensify. We both know of several texts found at Qumran that could unsettle the Jewish and Christian faiths.”
Weiss worriedly opened the envelope and read the single page. He ran a hand over his grim face. “Surely the pope knows the trouble he will cause by all this! Is he mad?”
Cassini plucked the page from Weiss, replaced it in the envelope, and tucked it back inside his pocket. “You want the truth, Julius? I suspect he is. That he even sees himself as another messiah sent to change the world. I also suspect that he is tortured by his theft and because—” Cassini halted in mid-sentence.
“Because what?” Weiss demanded.
“Robert Cane’s death twenty years ago may not have been an accident.”
“What makes you say that?”
Cassini sighed. “Sergeant Raul was in charge of the investigation. Privately, he told me something he never included in his report. That he had a vague suspicion the pickup’s hydraulic brake line had been tampered with. But there was so much fire damage to the vehicle it was impossible to prove.”
Weiss’s face darkened. “That’s the first I’ve ever heard of this. Who would have done such a thing?”
Cassini met his stare. “John Becket was one of the first on the scene.”
“Are you saying he had something to do with Robert Cane’s death?”
Cassini shrugged. “I could surmise a motive. Becket may have believed the scroll to be damaging to the church. Such a belief might have caused him to commit such a terrible crime out of a warped sense of loyalty. And the pope is tortured of late, of that I’m certain. I even began to wonder if he intends to make public his own guilt when he opens the archives.”
Weiss shook his head, the folds of his rubbery face quivering. “This all sounds very troubling, Umberto. With so much at stake, isn’t there any way to stop this madness?”
Cassini’s face was carved in stone, every muscle taut as he leaned in close and gripped Weiss’s arm. “Leave the pope to me. I believe I know how to solve that particular problem.”
Weiss raised his brow. “How?”
“For my plan to work, first, we must find Jack Cane and retrieve the scroll. Then we must destroy them both.”
95
ROME
9:20 A.M.
IN A CITY renowned for museums, with more per square mile than any other capital on earth, the private museum in the Villa Panaro is one of the smallest and most unusual of all. Located in a Gothic-style building that was once owned by the infamous Borgia family in the fifteenth century, it doesn’t even have a nameplate.
That morning, with the rain lashing down and thunder grumbling in an ink-black sky, the arched entrance looked almost eerie. Two gas lamps on the walls either side of the entrance threw flickering shadows as Jack and Lela approached the building.
“Where exactly are we?” Lela asked as they halted below an elaborate array of stone gargoyles protruding from the roof parapet.
“Outside one of the most priceless private museum collections of Roman artifacts in the country, if not the world. I say private because it only opens to the public on certain days of the year, to avail of a tax break. If you’re lucky enough to know about it you just may get to peek inside.”
“Should I be impressed?”
“I think so. We’re talking the personal effects of Roman emperors and generals. As well as material unearthed at Pompeii—some really valuable gold and silver jewelry, town records, rare coins, and statues. There’s even a marble washbasin that once belonged to Julius Caesar.”
They had stepped out of the taxi a block away and walked the empty streets to the villa, just as the thunder and rain erupted. Lela looked up at the black-painted double entrance doors. “If the collection’s that priceless, where’s the security?”
Jack smiled and pressed a button on a metal intercom box. “You won’t see too many guards but the villa has a security system second to none, linked to a local police station around the corner.”
Lela shivered and rubbed her arms, feeling the chill in the morning air. “Are you sure your friend’s home?”
“He’s home all right. Fonzi doesn’t call you back at seven-thirty A.M. just for the heck of it. His apartment is on the building’s top floor. By the way, Fonzi’s a dyed-in-the-wool ladies’ man. So if you get the feeling he’s checking out your assets, don’t get offended.”
“Assets?”
Jack pressed the intercom again. “He’s got an eye for the feminine figure. But I hear the wheelchair’s slowed him down.”
“Wheelchair?”
“An Italian ex-girlfriend ran him down in her car for cheating. But that’s the Latin temperament for you. Fonzi was lucky to escape with a bunch of shattered discs.”
“I bet that put a stop to his gallop.”
A metallic voice suddenly sounded from the intercom and a light sprang on to reveal a camera lens inset in the aluminium box. “Actually, the back’s on the mend and it certainly hasn’t put a stop to my gallop. In another month or two, the surgeons say I can kiss the wheelchair good-bye.”
The voice was cheerful and bright. Jack smiled. “Fonzi.”
“Jack, greetings. I see on the screen that you’ve g
ot female company. Word of her beauty has spread. The jungle drums have been beating.”
“Who’s been beating them?”
“Buddy calls me now and then for a chin-wag. He told me you’d been eyeing a certain woman on the dig. Said she was a stunner. Hello, Yasmin.”
“Actually, this is Lela, Fonzi.”
Without a beat, Fonzi said, “Well hello to Lela. Wasn’t there a song called ‘Lela’? Or was it ‘Lola’? The Kinks maybe?”
Jack said, “A little before our time maybe.”
“No matter, the lady looks wonderful.” A buzzer sounded and one of the front double doors sprang open. “Advance, friends, and enter my lair.”
96
JACK AND LELA stepped inside the doorway. It revealed a short anteroom, protected by a security cage complete with thick metal bars. Beyond the bars lay a vast hallway, covered in checkered black-and-white floor tiles.
The entrance door behind them sprang shut. Moments later a squeaking sound came from somewhere and a man rolled toward them in a wheelchair, his hands clasping the rubber wheels. He wore a Paisley cravat at his neck, which gave him a rakish look, and his dumpling face grinned. “You know, I really need to get the oil out and lubricate this thing.” He was at least sixty, oddly handsome, and had a mischievous spark in his eyes. “Terrific to see you, Jack.”
“Hello, Fonzi. My apologies for disturbing you so early.”
“No apology necessary. It’s no morning for man or beast out there, so come on in. Let me get you out of the security cage.” Fonzi slipped a remote from his pocket, stabbed some buttons, and the metal bars whirred open. Jack and Lela stepped into the checkered hall. The gates clanged shut behind them.
“What a great pleasure it is to meet you, signorina.” Fonzi’s eyes lit up with a playful glint as he grasped Lela’s hand and kissed it.
Lela said, “Jack’s told me a lot about you.”
“All enticing and ubercharming, I hope?” Fonzi let go of Lela’s hand, removed an embossed business card from his breast pocket, and presented it with a smile and a flourish. “Lela, if ever this primate mistreats you, is rude to you, neglects to romance you, causes you to grow tired of him, or simply reveals himself to be an unbearable ass, I want you to call me at once. I will offer you friendship, my brilliant intellect, all in return for the comfort of your companionship.”
“I just might just take you up on the offer.”
Fonzi grinned up at Jack and offered a firm handshake. “She’s got eminent taste, hasn’t she? Such a sweet and clever lady. Come, I’ve got some java blend on the brew that’ll knock your teeth out. Then we can discuss this remarkable scroll of yours.”
Across the deserted street from the Villa Panaro, a white Fiat van with dark tinted windows coasted to a halt beside the rain-lashed pavement. Thunder cracked and jagged lightning illuminated the dark clouds. The engine throbbed a few moments before it was switched off .
In the silence that followed, the passenger’s electric window whirred down, just enough of a gap for a hand to squeeze through.
A moment later a pair of high-power Nikon night-vision binoculars slipped out between the window crack and pointed in the villa’s direction.
97
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.”
98
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 t
he 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.”
