The Second Messiah

by Glenn Meade

  “I’d know if it was a fake, Fonzi. Professor Green would have known too. But he was certain it’s original. So am I, and carbon-dating of some flakes from the scroll has proven it. We’re talking sometime between A.D. 25 and A.D. 50.”

  Fonzi put down the bottle and turned to the keyboard again. “Then what we’ve got here is astonishing. And there’s even one last cherry on the cake.”

  101

  FONZI JABBED THE keyboard and the screen displayed a segment of the original scroll. He circled the red laser dot around a squiggle on the left of the parchment.

  ~

  “See this? Something you ought to know. A number of Qumran scrolls had similar markings. It’s believed to be an indicator that the writer made a copy. Often the more important documents were duplicated in case of damage or destruction.”

  Lela said, “You mean there could be a copy of this scroll?”

  “Actually, there could be more than one. What’s wrong, Jack? You’re frowning.”

  Jack studied the screen. “I’m thinking about my father’s scroll. He could barely unroll it a couple of inches because the parchment was badly damaged. But I remember seeing a similar marking on his parchment.”

  Fonzi said, “Which means it likely had a copy. When the original scrolls were found at Qumran, it wasn’t unusual for copy scrolls and fragments to be found. Even in different caves.”

  Jack reflected. “One thing bothers me about the text we’ve read.”

  “Shoot,” Fonzi answered.

  “Would a low-ranking Roman commander have the power to authorize an execution on a serious charge of sedition? I thought only a governor could do that. In Jesus’ case he was brought before the Judean governor, Pontius Pilate.”

  Fonzi nodded. “A good point. And it has to do with the final cherry on the cake. Actually, sedition would have covered anything from rabble-rousing to treason, which is a pretty broad definition. It wasn’t unknown for Roman commanders to take the law into their own hands. In fact, in this case the commander’s action makes perfect sense.”

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  Fonzi peered over his glasses, consulting his notes. “I learned that the governor of Syria back then was a man called Lucius Aelius Lamia, a Roman senator. Ever heard of him?”

  “No.”

  “Here’s the cherry. What’s interesting about Lamia is that the records say he was recalled to Rome between 27 A.D. and 33 A.D., and his governorship was left vacant by the Emperor Tiberius—in the last years of Jesus’ life. In fact, his local Roman commander in Dora, Cassius Agrippa, would certainly have taken charge of such a trial and execution, because his governor was absent. It’s perfectly feasible, so it lends credence to the text. And Pontius Pilate may never have even been informed because it occurred in another Roman province.”

  Lela said, “I want to show you a pair of symbols. Can you tell me if they have any significance for you? They may be Aramaic; I’m not sure.”

  Lela picked up an indelible black pen from the desk. She crossed the whiteboard and stepped in front of the blazing projector light and drew the two symbols with the pen.

  Fonzi wheeled closer to the whiteboard, studied the symbols, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, these mean absolutely nothing to me. Except that they look vaguely like two cruciform shapes. Why do you ask?” Without waiting for an answer, he twisted in his wheelchair and stared toward the door at the end of the room. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “I thought I heard a noise in the corridor.”

  Jack listened. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you, Lela?”

  “Nothing.”

  Fonzi frowned and spun his wheelchair to face the door. “Let me go check.”

  A split second later a crack sounded and the room plunged into darkness.

  102

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” Jack tensed. He could see nothing, the entire room smothered by blackness.

  Fonzi said, “I’ve heard that noise before. It sounds like the main circuit breaker in the switch room down the hall. It must have dropped out.”

  Lela answered from the darkness, “It could be the weather causing it to trip, there was lightning earlier.”

  Fonzi said, “Then why hasn’t the emergency generator kicked in? It ought to kick in once the main power goes out. It controls the alarm system. I’ll need to check the panel.”

  Jack stood. “I’ll go. Do you have a flashlight?”

  “There’s a penlight in the desk, if I can find it in the dark, and there’s a big torch hanging in the switch room.”

  “Use your laser light, Fonzi.”

  “If I can find the blooming thing.”

  Jack heard a fumbling noise on the desk for a few moments, then Fonzi said, “Got it.”

  He flicked the laser on, directing it toward the palm of his hand. The red-hot rapier sliced through the blackness, suffusing the air with a crimson blush. It was just enough for Fonzi to locate the penlight in a drawer and flick it on, and the beam sprang to life. “That’s better.”

  Lela reached into her pocket, removed her Sig pistol, and racked the slide to cock the weapon.

  Fonzi startled, his expression confused. “Why—why the gun?”

  Lela said, “A precaution in case there’s trouble.”

  “Trouble? Why on earth would—”

  Jack interrupted. “It’s complicated and now isn’t the time. Let’s just say that I’ve attracted a lot of interest.”

  “What kind of interest are you talking about?” Fonzi demanded.

  “From the same kind of murderous thugs who killed Professor Green.”

  Fonzi studied their faces in the torchlight. “Gosh, are you for real?”

  Jack said, “Now’s not the time. Where’s the circuit breaker panel, Fonzi?”

  He pointed to the closed door. “The switch room’s down the hall. Turn right at the end and it’s the first door. All the circuit breakers on the panel ought to be in the up position.”

  Fonzi considered, then rubbed his jaw. “The alarm system really should have switched over to battery and the power-fail alarm should be going off by now. Maybe it’s an alarm malfunction that’s brought the power down.”

  Lela raised an uncertain eyebrow. “Who knows the alarm codes besides you?”

  “The police and a few trusted employees.”

  “There’s no chance one of them has come in early?”

  “Italians? On a Sunday? Are you kidding? Besides, everyone’s off today, we’re closed.”

  Jack said, “Stay here, Fonzi. Lela and I will check out the switch room panel. Hold on to the laser, but we’re going to need that penlight.”

  Fonzi handed it over. “Don’t you want me to come along?”

  “We’ll find it. You’ll have to stay here in the dark and keep your cell phone handy. You’re our backup.” Jack turned toward the door and Lela moved beside him, her Sig at the ready.

  Fonzi said uneasily. “Backup? Now you’ve really got me worried.”

  Jack aimed the penlight ahead of him. “Don’t be. But keep your cell phone at the ready. If there’s any sign of trouble, call the cops at once.”

  103

  JACK REACHED THE door at the end of the room, Lela beside him. They listened for noise out in the hall but heard nothing.

  Lela moved right of the door frame and whispered, “Yank open the door as fast as you can on the count of three. Then keep back against the wall, just in case we’ve got company.”

  Jack passed Lela the penlight. “Whatever you say. Here, you may need this. Ready?”

  “On the count of three.” Lela planted her feet firmly apart, her back against the wall. She clutched the Sig in both her hands, the light meshed awkwardly between her fingers.

  Jack got a firm grip on the door handle. “Ready when you are.”

  “One. Two. Three …”

  Jack yanked open the door and slammed himself back against the inside wall. Lela aimed her pistol and penlight in
to the hall but kept most of her body behind the cover of the door frame. Anxious moments passed before she finally said, “It looks all clear. You can come out.”

  Jack stepped out as Lela flashed the penlight down the hallway. It looked deserted. The light beam ended after about fifty feet with a blank wall. A hallway led off to the left and right.

  Jack said, “What now?”

  “We’d be sitting ducks once we’re halfway down the hallway, so we’ll move down one at a time, me first.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Behind them, Fonzi’s voice called out shakily, “Is everything okay?”

  Jack whispered, “So far. Stay there. We’ll be back as quick as we can.”

  “Hey, I’m not moving, guys.”

  Lela stepped cautiously into the hallway. She crouched low, swinging her pistol left and right as she moved forward, keeping her back to the wall.

  When she reached the end of the corridor, Jack saw her peer round both corners, flashing the torch, searching for a target with her Sig. Finally, she beckoned Jack forward and he joined her. “Well?” he asked.

  “I saw the switch room door. It’s around the right corner.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “The door’s already open, Jack.”

  They approached the switch room. A warning sign was fixed to the open door—a black lightning bolt on a yellow background. Aiming her Sig, Lela poked a look inside the switch room. It looked no bigger than a closet.

  Jack saw it was empty and smelled of cleaning fluids. A jumble of janitorial supplies, mops, and brooms were stashed on the floor. On the facing wall was a large gray metal panel with rows of black Bakelite circuit breakers. To the left was a security panel with a keypad and several arrays of miniature colored lights. All of them were extinguished. Jack punched the keypad with a finger but got no response. “This security panel’s dead.”

  He turned his attention to the circuit breakers. Each had a cardboard tag insert above it, written on in black pen, identifying which circuit it fed.

  “You know anything about electricity?” Lela asked.

  “I know it can kill you. That’s about the sum of my knowledge. According to Fonzi, all the breakers ought to be up. There’s our light.”

  A powerful-looking yellow work light was nestled in a charger unit fixed to the wall. Jack plucked out the torch and turned it on. The tiny cupboard flooded with light, drowning out the weak beam from Lela’s penlight.

  Jack studied the breaker panel. He noticed that a large, robust circuit breaker had tripped to the down position. All the other smaller breakers appeared to be up. “See there? It looks like the main circuit’s dropped out.”

  “Can it be reset?”

  Jack shrugged. “Maybe not if there’s a short.” He gripped the breaker between his thumb and forefinger and yanked it up. The breaker clicked into place and all the lights sprang on in the hall, including in the switch room.

  “Let there be light. There you go. I guess the circuit wasn’t shorted after all. Maybe Fonzi was right and the main breaker simply popped.” Jack took a step back and dusted his hands.

  Lela frowned. “Why was the switch room door ajar? And why didn’t the alarm switch over to the battery circuit, like Fonzi said?”

  Jack studied the security alarm panel, then gestured to a key inserted into a lock in the panel’s side. “There’s your reason. The alarm key’s in the off position. Someone’s totally disabled it.”

  A frightening scream erupted from behind them, and it stopped a split second later. Jack directed the powerful flashlight down the hall. “Fonzi!”

  He raced back down the corridor, Lela following him.

  104

  THEY REACHED THE basement. A blaze of light radiated from inside the door. Lela aimed her Sig as she moved cautiously into the room. She beckoned Jack and he joined her.

  The room appeared empty. No sign of Fonzi.

  The projector screen was on, the screen lit up and glowing. Fear pounding in his chest, Jack found a light switch by the door and flicked it on. A fluorescent light sprang on overhead. A darkened hallway was exposed at the far end of the basement. Beyond the hallway, an open exit door led to a short flight of gray metal stairs that rose up to ground level.

  A breeze wafted in, the sound of heavy rain drumming beyond. When Jack looked back across the room he noticed Fonzi lying sprawled on the floor beside his upturned wheelchair. A horrific slash stained his neck, his throat cut from ear to ear, a growing pool of blood oozing onto the carpet.

  “Jesus, no.” Jack was ashen as he went to kneel beside the body.

  Lela joined him. A gurgling sound erupted from Fonzi’s lips. It sounded like a strangled cry and then he fell still. Jack felt for a pulse. “He—he’s gone. What callous brute would kill—”

  “Sssh.” Lela put a finger to her lips, then aimed her Sig toward the exit hallway, just as a bulky figure dressed in dark clothes started to move up the stairs.

  “Halt!” Lela shouted.

  A muzzle flashed in reply and two gunshots cracked.

  Lela threw herself to the floor. “Get down!”

  Jack crouched low as another two shots exploded, the rounds zinging above his head like crazed hornets and thudding into the wall. As the figure moved awkwardly up the stairs, pointing the weapon back at them, Lela aimed and fired twice from a prone position. The figure grunted, spun round, and collapsed back into the hallway.

  Lela got to her feet, still aiming at the man sprawled on his back on the floor. Jack joined her and flicked on a light. They stared down at the man.

  He was dressed in dark pants and a jacket and black leather gloves and wore a black ski mask. An automatic pistol was clutched in one hand and blood oozed from wounds in his upper shoulder and in the back of his head. Jack knelt and felt the man’s neck through the bloodstained mask. “He’s dead. You did the right thing. He could have killed us both.”

  Lela was gray with shock. “It’s the first time I’ve shot anyone.”

  Jack leaned across and yanked up the dead man’s ski mask. “Well, what do you know.”

  It was the Syrian, Pasha, his dark eyes glassy in death. As if to confirm it, Jack tore off the man’s left leather glove to reveal the withered hand. He was about to tell Lela when she tensed. “You hear that? Someone’s moving outside.”

  She shifted toward the exit door just as Jack heard a rush of footsteps. He wrenched the automatic from Pasha’s fingers and hurried up the stairs after Lela.

  They came out in a lit courtyard at the side of the villa. It was decorated with flower beds, tall palm trees, and fountains. Fifty yards away a black metal railing protected the villa’s perimeter and beyond it was a public street, the rain spilling down. A gate set in the middle of the railings yawned open. Jack spotted a figure climbing into a white van and tearing off a black ski mask.

  He recognized the Syrian’s companion, Botwan. The van roared away with a squeal of tires. Botwan fired out the window, making Lela dive for the cover of some bushes. The van screeched round a corner and disappeared.

  Jack reached Lela and helped her to her feet. “You could have got yourself killed.”

  “I was going to try to shoot out their tires. Whoever they are, they came prepared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lela walked back toward the gate. A box of tools lay scattered on the grass, a selection of pliers and screwdrivers and an electronic digital meter. She kicked at the meter with the tip of her foot. “They probably used this stuff to disable the alarm.”

  Lights sprang on in windows along the street. Raised Italian voices sounded irritated; people’s sleep had been disturbed by gunfire and squealing tires.

  “Let’s get out of sight.” Jack led the way as they descended the steps into the basement.

  Lela stared down at the dead Syrian. “Who is he?”

  “The killer named Pasha I told you about.”

  “What about the guy in the van?”

/>   Jack looked down at Fonzi’s corpse and felt sickened. “His accomplice.” He moved over to the desk, held up a bundle of ripped-out wires, and said bitterly, “He grabbed the laptop, for whatever good it’ll do him.”

  Lela knelt, searched in the Syrian’s pockets, and removed a cell phone and wallet. “We can check these out later, to see if they tell us anything.”

  “I think I’d feel safer if I kept this.” Jack slipped Pasha’s firearm into his own pocket. Then he knelt, and using his finger and thumb he closed Fonzi’s eyes before he stood and stared down at the body. “May he rest in peace. I should never have got him involved.”

  Police sirens shrieked in the distance. Lela put a hand on Jack’s arm. “We have to leave. What’s wrong?”

  Jack stared at the blank projector screen, the empty whiteness blazing out at him. The black indelible marks that Lela had drawn on the side of the whiteboard were clearly illuminated.

  Jack stared at the cruciform shapes as if the wheels of his mind were turning furiously. The sirens wailed closer.

  “Jack, we better go, fast. Are you listening? What’s wrong?”

  He turned from the screen and met her stare. “I know who robbed the scroll and killed Green.”

  105

  DEAD SEA,

  NEAR THE JORDANIAN-ISRAELI BORDER

  DAWN LICKED THE horizon as Hassan sat grim-faced in the back of the black Mercedes S600. He stared out of the limo’s smoked glass windows. His insides felt hollow as the car drove through a ragged sprawl of whitewashed mud brick houses that passed for a village.

  Not a soul stirred, the occupants still sleeping, the only sound a barking dog. As the cortege of three black Mercedes drove toward the burial ground, Hassan Malik’s eyes were fixed on the hearse in front of him. It carried Nidal’s body, wrapped inside a simple white cotton burial cloth. The hearse bumped and settled as it hit a rut.