The Second Messiah

by Glenn Meade

  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.”

  118

  “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.

  Hassan’s arm snapped up and the Walther’s barrel touched the nape of her neck. He turned to stare at Cane. “Now, tell me where the parchment is. Tell me everything, or so help me I’ll put a bullet in her.”

  119

  JOHN BECKET STEPPED into the cool air of the Sistine. It was scented faintly with incense. As always, he marveled at the riot of Michelangelo’s colors, at the beautiful splendor and anguish of the scenes. Then he slowly crossed the marbled floor, aware of the rhythmic slap of his sandals. He knelt, made the sign of the cross, and prostrated himself in front of the altar.

  He needed to be alone in the silence of the chapel. To reflect and to pray for guidance. For he knew that in a small way this would be his Gethsemane. That the drama on Michelangelo’s walls would soon be reflected in his own soul. And that apart from exposing the Vatican’s darkest secrets, he was about to make another dramatic revelation that would shock his cardinals.

  The words spilled hoarsely from his lips. O Lord, I ask for courage in this my hour of need, as I struggle to find the right words to convey the disclosure that I must reveal to the world.

  Lying on his stomach, pressing his face against the cold marble floor, Becket felt the drenching sweat begin immediately. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

  120

  IN UMBERTO CASSINI’S office, Cardinal Liam Kelly dabbed sweat from his face. His hands shook as he picked up a crystal glass and swallowed his brandy in one gulp.

  He heard a soft click and turned, startled, the bookshelf swinging open on its hinges as a grim-faced Cassini entered through the secret passageway. He carried a thick red file stuffed with papers and bound with waxed string.

  “Umberto, you frightened me. Do you have to use the back passageways?”

  Cassini slapped the thick file on his desk. “It saves time and allows me to avoid unwanted visitors. So, John Becket definitely won’t change his mind?”

  Kelly poured himself another brandy. “He called me and told me the answer’s no, and it’s final. His tone sounded unusually cold.”

  Cassini slumped into his chair. “Go on.”

  “Then Ryan phoned. He said that the pope wants to see us both after his speech to the cardinals. From the tenor of Ryan’s voice, I’d say we’re in trouble.”

  Cassini’s mouth twisted in a faint, odd grin. “Do you really believe that, Liam?”

  Sweat began to glisten on Kelly’s upper lip. “Of course I do. The game’s up. It’s not even a case of our transfer to some mission house in darkest Africa. Once these revelations come out and the fact that we helped cover up Kubel’s actions all those years ago, we’ll both be forced to leave the church in absolute disgrace.”

  “As will the pope.”

  “He doesn’t seem to care. Only the truth matters to him.”

  The little Sicilian pushed himself up from his chair. “Let�
�s be honest, Liam. We’ve simply hoped in vain that we could change the pope’s mind. Now that small shred of hope is gone, but no one’s ruined yet.”

  “What are you talking about, Umberto?”

  Cassini picked up the thick red file from his desk and waved it in his hand.

  “These are the documents you took from the Secret Archives.”

  “At your request, Umberto,” Kelly countered.

  “Yes, but for the protection of the church.” Cassini grasped his letter opener by the deer-antler handle and slit the binding string. Then he gathered up the papers and spread them in the fireplace. He opened a desk drawer, found a cigarette lighter, and touched the flame to the papers, turning them over with the letter opener’s blade to catch the rising flames.

  “What are you doing?” Kelly demanded.

  “What any sensible bureaucrat would do under the circumstances—destroying the evidence.” Cassini watched as the flames licked at the paper.

  Kelly looked aghast. “But you said we’d remove them temporarily until this trouble had died down. Destroying them will only make matters worse. Are you mad, Umberto?”

  “Only John Becket can make matters worse.” Cassini examined the letter opener, the tip blackened from soot. He polished it with a paper tissue he took from his pocket until the steel gleamed. His mouth twisted with contempt as he held up the inscribed blade. “You see what it says? ‘With great affection, to a loyal and dutiful servant of God.’ Our last pope knew my value. He knew the importance of loyalty. But Becket, he’s a traitor to the cause.”

  Kelly went to pour another brandy from the decanter but changed his mind, his speech already slurred. “Our day is over, Umberto. I should never have listened to you all those years ago and become involved in your dirty little schemes. Never.”

  “But you did and it served you well. Look at you now. A full cardinal.”

  “Served me well?” Kelly gave a derisory laugh. “In another few hours I’ll be nothing, not even a priest.”

  “There’s still a way to stop Becket if we’re bold enough.”

  “How?”

  “By invoking an age-old Vatican practice that hasn’t been in fashion for years: kill the reigning pope.”

  A stunned Kelly stared Cassini in the face and saw something close to madness in the wiry Sicilian’s eyes. “Have you totally lost your mind, Umberto?”

  Cassini’s mouth twisted bitterly. “You said it yourself. There’s a cancer that needs to be cut out. Becket’s insane. His mission to expand the flock by embracing all Christians of the world is misguided. He’ll destroy us all—priests, bishops, cardinals, all for his own glory. Are we going to allow a fanatic to destroy two thousand years of our history?”

  Kelly was horrified. “This isn’t the sixteenth century. Or the Roman Forum where murder is just another political tool. How could I condone anything like that, Umberto?”

  “The same way you condoned Robert Cane’s death.”

  Kelly moved toward the door. “A grave mistake that I’ll no doubt roast in hell for. Good-bye, Umberto.”

  “Where are you going?” Cassini demanded.

  “To confess everything to Ryan and take my chances.”

  Cassini grasped Kelly’s sleeve. “Are you a traitor too? Doesn’t anyone believe in loyalty anymore?”

  Kelly tore free from his arm. “Let go of me; you’re insane.”

  The scrawny Sicilian exploded with rage, and in an instant his hand swung through the air, the bone-handled steel moving in a perfect arc before it was embedded in Kelly’s back.

  Kelly gasped, his body contorting in agony as he fell back, clutching at handfuls of air. “Oh my God …”

  Cassini was in the grip of an uncontrollable frenzy and dug the knife in again and again. Kelly’s red smock blossomed with darker crimson patches. Finally, Cassini stood there, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. In that brief instant he seemed to realize what he had done and stared in horror at the bloodied letter opener clutched in his hand.

  A heavy pounding sounded on the office’s double oak doors. “Cardinal Cassini? Open up, it’s Monsignor Ryan.”

  The pounding became louder, and then came the sound of a heavy thud and the doors shook, as if someone was hurtling himself against the wood. Cassini heard a crack of oak splintering.

  The Sicilian froze, a snarl on his face, like a wildcat caught in the glare of headlights, but only for an instant. Still clutching the bloody letter opener, he darted into the passageway and pulled the bookshelf after him.

  121

  OUTSIDE CARDINAL UMBERTO Cassini’s office, Monsignor Sean Ryan aimed his Glock 27. Behind him stood an array of security staff and Cassini’s secretary, all looking worried as Ryan leveled the barrel at the door lock.

  He had already racked the Glock’s slide and chambered a round. “Stand well back, all of you. I don’t want a ricochet killing anyone.”

  In front of Ryan stood a massive pair of double oak doors that seemed impregnable. After minutes of kicking and heaving against the solid wood, Ryan had barely created a few splinters. Now he aimed his Glock at the gap between the door frame and the lock.

  Cassini’s secretary was aghast. “But Monsignor, what if there’s someone behind the door—?”

  Ryan figured the relatively low-velocity .40-caliber round wouldn’t completely penetrate the thick oak. He ignored the secretary and fired a single shot. The noise boomed around the room and splintered the door. It took another shot before the wood around the lock cracked, and then Ryan heaved his boxer’s shoulders against the oak. It gave way and he crashed into the office, almost losing his balance.

  Ryan saw no sign of Cassini. As the others rushed in after him, Ryan’s eyes swept the room and he saw Kelly’s body lying near the fireplace, blood oozing from a wound in his back. A flutter of black motes floated in the fireplace, where some flames were dying.

  Ryan raced over to Kelly and examined his wounds. The cardinal’s red gown was punctured with slits that looked like the work of a knife. “Call an ambulance at once.”

  Angelo Butoni felt Kelly’s pulse. “A waste of time. He’s dead.”

  Sweat rising on his face, Ryan scoured the huge office but he knew instinctively where Cassini had gone. He crossed to the bookcase, pressed the red leather-bound book, and the shelf swung open. He stepped cautiously into the darkened chamber and pulled the light string, the Glock readied.

  The secret chamber looked empty, the winding stone staircase leading up and down. “What’s the chance that Cassini’s disappeared into one of his rat holes?” he said back to Butoni, who joined him, along with two more guards. Butoni nodded. “Kelly isn’t dead long and the secretary didn’t see Cassini leave his office.”

  With such a maze of Vatican tunnels and passageways, Ryan was temporarily perplexed, his mind working feverishly. “Remind me again where this passageway leads, Angelo?”

  Butoni found a switch on the chamber wall, flicked it on, and an array of small red-tinted guide lights came on, illuminating the spiraling passageway walls. “I believe to one of our old armories, several floors below. It also leads to the archives, and out to several courtyards. In fact, pretty much anywhere you want it to, even the Sistine. This is one of the main channels, Monsignor.”

  “The Sistine?”

  “Yes.”

  Ryan felt sweat drench his face. “The Holy Father went there to pray. Which armory, Angelo?”

  “The small one on the second floor. It contains a cache of weapons in case of emergency. Pistols, rifles, even Heckler & Koch machine pistols. Why?”

  Without a word, Ryan pushed past Butoni, almost knocking him over, and dashed down the passageway’s stone steps as fast as he could run.

  122

  UMBERTO CASSINI RACED down the hidden stairway, clutching the hem of his cardinal’s crimson gown. The patter of his feet on the stone steps moved at a frantic rhythm. His body pumped adrenaline, his gown drenched with the stench of perspiration, his pounding
chest on fire. He came to a landing and a solid door with a handle.

  Cassini clutched the handle, pushed in the door, and found himself in the old armory. It was a room familiar to him, used by the Vatican’s security officers to store caches of weapons in case of emergency. Three long, sturdy, black metal boxes, with heavy locks, were pushed against one wall.

  Cassini knelt in front of the first box and slipped the letter opener’s blade between the underside of the lid and the bottom frame. He grunted as he pried. The blade stressed, but the metal box didn’t budge. Cassini rattled the padlock in frustration. The lock was solid.

  He wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve and tried the other two boxes, but clearly the blade wasn’t strong enough to pry them open. Cassini had managed to raise the last box lid open about an inch when he heard footsteps and voices from beyond the open passageway door.

  Ryan.

  Cassini darted back into the passageway and raced farther down the winding steps.

  123

  BRACCIANO

  NEAR ROME

  “IT’S COMPLETELY EMPTY. They could be long gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “How should I know, Lela? They’ve been here but now the place is deserted. There’s not a soul.”

  Lela stood on the lawn in front of Hassan Malik’s luxury mansion. It looked majestic, with colonnades and gushing ponds, Roman and Greek statues. A turquoise swimming pool at the back was all lit up, just like the villa.

  Except that the mansion was hollow, echoing.

  A furious Ari and his men searched the property from top to bottom after Cohen scaled the walls, then managed to admit them through the front gate after picking the lock. Prepared for trouble, Cohen and Mario were armed with Uzi machine pistols, but they met none, every room deserted.