The Second Messiah (32 page)

Despite being third-generation American Irish, and having a reputation as one of the Vatican’s heavy hitters, Kelly had cultivated a
charming
Irish lilt while lecturing in Ireland’s Maynooth College. He dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. “To tell the truth, Fabrio, in this heat I could really murder a cold glass of Guinness. But water’s fine.”

The abbot laughed and poured a fresh glass from a pitcher on his desk. “The monks are busy at their work. You’ll have privacy in the garden at the back.”

“That’s excellent, Fabrio.” Kelly drank the water in one swallow.

Beyond the open windows lay a garden full of palm and olive trees, and a small circular pond with an ancient stone fountain. Despite the presence of three additional plainclothes guards wandering the garden, Kelly sensed an air of tranquil calm. He put down his glass, his expression more sombre. “How is the Holy Father?”

“He spends his time praying and reflecting. He sleeps little, no more than five hours a night. When I rise each morning at four-thirty
A.M.
for prayers he is already awake before me and praying in the chapel. He looks troubled, I will say that. He seems to have much on his mind.”

“Has he talked at all?”

The abbot’s face lit up. “Sometimes he joins the monks and myself in the gardens for prayer and discussion. It’s really quite remarkable.”

“What is?” Kelly enquired.

“The monks devour every word the Holy Father says about this new era he promises for the church. We are deeply moved by his wisdom and his biblical knowledge. And I’ve never seen my colleagues so impressed. They sit around listening to him like wide-eyed schoolboys. It’s almost as if—”

“As if they were sitting at the feet of Christ himself?”

“Why—why, yes.”

Kelly nodded. “I’ve known the pope ever since we were friends in the seminary. I knew even then he was destined for greatness. He’s always been one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known. Tell me, Fabrio, has he left these walls since he arrived?”

“Not that I’m aware of. He requested a simple cell, no frills, just a hard bed and coarse blankets, and that’s what I gave him. Why?”

Kelly pursed his lips and shook his head. “Just curious. We may have to take special measures to ensure he doesn’t leave the monastery unguarded.”

“Special measures?”

“It’s a delicate matter. I’ll try to explain later, Fabrio.”

“As you wish. Come, I’ll take you out to the garden and then I’ll tell Pope Celestine you’ve arrived.”

ROME

“ROME’S AN INCREDIBLE,
madcap place. A hundred years ago they called the Eternal City the biggest open-air lunatic asylum in the world.” Jack peered out the cab window as the
autostrada
traffic into Rome slowed to a thick stream of hooting horns and impatient drivers. “And that was before all the traffic problems.”

Yasmin checked her watch. “We’ve hardly moved and it’s been an hour.”

Seconds later the taxi driver—a small, middle-aged man with sad, hound-dog eyes and a two-day stubble—weaved away from the chaos by turning off onto a slip road. He drove up through a series of narrow cobbled streets and soon they were in the hills above the city. The driver grinned back at them and said in Italian, “A shortcut. We get there faster.”

The driver made a severe right turn. Yasmin held on to the seat as the swerving cab sent them sliding across the backseat. They got their balance back and Yasmin giggled and sat upright. “Is this your first time in Rome, or are you a seasoned veteran?”

“I was here on digs a bunch of times. In fact, most of ancient Rome has been buried, but parts of it can still be seen. There’s almost an entire city thirty to sixy feet below street level, and I’m talking almost every street.”

“I’ve read about it.”

“Even under the Vatican there are deep subterranean passages, tunnels, and sewers that traverse Rome. They lead down to crypts and catacombs, baths and palaces, prisons and brothels. It’s pretty incredible.”

The Fiat continued to strain upward through a maze of narrow streets. Then the car nudged to the right and they were hurtling downhill, the sad-faced driver jabbing the brakes gingerly. Another five minutes and they drove past the vast splendor of St. Peter’s Square.

Jack studied the ancient plaza, peppered with flocks of pigeons, as the taxi driver halted near the side entrance to a Vatican courtyard. It was protected by a barrier pole manned by Swiss Guards. The cheerless driver scratched his stubble and looked back at Jack for guidance, his eyes asking,
Is this where you want me to stop?

“This is fine,” Jack said, and paid the man from a wad of euros that he’d exchanged at Tel Aviv airport. The sad-eyed little man started to babble something.

“What did he say?” Yasmin asked.

“That his name’s Mario. That he’s got five kids who never stop opening his fridge door. That business is slow and if we need a driver he doesn’t mind waiting for us. He says he’ll show us Rome or take us wherever we want to go and his charges are very reasonable.”

“I almost feel sorry for him.”

“We could be a while.”

“Tell him you’ve got a meeting and to wait right here but that we don’t know how long we’ll be.”

Jack told the driver. The man was so pleased he stepped out of the cab and gallantly held open the rear door. “Take your time,
signore, signora
. Mario will wait, no problem.”

As they strolled toward the Swiss Guards at the barrier, Jack said suddenly, “I have a confession to make. I took the scroll from Father Novara’s study.”

Yasmin stopped walking and stared at him, her mouth open. She felt too stunned to talk.

“It’s the truth, Yasmin. When I discovered the original I switched it with one of the other old parchments I found in the study.”

“You mean Pasha has a
fake
?”

“He sure has.”

She laughed, but then her face began to darken as the reality set in. “Pasha’s not going to like you duping him.”

“It’s a risk I took.”

“How did you smuggle it into Israel?”

Jack patted his injured leg. “The guards never checked my dressing. I’d slipped it into a clear plastic bag from Josuf’s first-aid kit and covered it with more gauze. After we crossed the border and I had a moment to myself I tucked it inside my shirt.”

“Wasn’t the parchment damaged?”

“More like roughed up a little.”

“Jack, this could cost us both our lives.”

“Now you understand why I wanted to come to Rome alone.”

Yasmin was tense. “It’s a bit late to be telling me that now. But where’s the scroll?”

“In a safe place. Don’t ask me any more.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“It’s got to remain my secret for now. No exceptions. I’m sorry.”

“Are you serious? After all we’ve been through? Thanks a bunch for trusting me, Jack.”

“It’s for your own good, believe me. Maybe at a later time. You’re the only one who knows I’ve hidden the scroll. I didn’t even tell Buddy. I don’t want anyone else getting roughed up or killed on account of what they know. But I can tell you that I believe I’ve decoded another line of text.”

“You’re kidding.”

“While you were asleep during the flight I worked on a complete sentence I’d jotted down. I think I’ve cracked it.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Jack flipped open his notebook. He pointed to a sentence he’d written in block letters.

ON LEARNING THE TRUTH, JUDAS NOW BELIEVED HIS MASTER TO BE A FALSE MESSIAH AND NOT THE TRUE MESSIAH, THE ONE COME TO CHANGE THE WORLD.

Yasmin said, puzzled, “What’s it supposed to mean?”

Jack said excitedly, “I wish I knew, but it’s another incredible statement, like the last one. Judas believing his master to be a false messiah. That’s an astonishing revelation.”

“Could you decode any more?”

“Sure I could, but it would be slow progress. To make any significant development we’re going to need expert help. Parts of the text are missing, others are damaged, you see.”

“So there’s no way some of the text can be translated?”

Jack folded away his notebook. “Actually, that’s not true. Some years ago unique software programs were written to help patch together and make sense of damaged Dead Sea scrolls. The programs can sometimes help fill in any missing gaps in the text by using mathematical projections. Don’t ask me how it works, but if the stories I’ve heard are true it’s been a terrific help to translators. The guy I know who’s an authority on Schonfeld’s code ought to be able to help in that regard.”

“Are you at least going to tell me who you know in the Vatican?”

“An old contact of my father’s I haven’t seen in years.”

“Who?”

“Someone high up I called before we left Israel. I figure he’s got the clout to get us into the Vatican Archives.”

“You’re joking,” Yasmin answered. “Are we talking the
pope
here?”

Jack smiled. “Not this time, even if I do know him.”

Yasmin said wide-eyed, “You
know
the pope?”

“He was one of a Vatican delegation that joined my father’s dig at Qumran.”

“You certainly know how to impress a girl. What do you want to see in the archives?”

“Something I’ve never had the opportunity to see.”

“What?”

“When my parents died, Father Kubel, one of the priests who arrived at the accident scene, wrote a confidential report. I’d like to read it.”

“Why?”

“Call it a gut feeling, or call it a sixth sense if you want, but something’s telling me there could be a connection between what happened then and what’s happening now.”

“Explain, Jack.”

“People die at Qumran and a precious scroll goes missing. It’s happened twice—to my parents and to your uncle, twenty years apart. Those kinds of feelings I can believe in, trust me.”

“Everything I’ve heard suggests that the Vatican’s archives are off-limits except with the permission of high-ranking clergy. What makes you think your dad’s contact can help?”

Jack took Yasmin’s arm and guided her toward the security entrance manned by the Swiss Guards. “Because I’m making him an offer he can’t refuse.”

The silver Lancia pulled up sixty yards behind the white taxi. Nidal and the Serb observed the couple climb out and approach the Swiss Guards at the checkpoint. They saw the couple being led to one of the security lodges.

One of the guards spoke into a telephone and then pointed them toward the Vatican. The taxi waited. Nidal scratched his beard. “It looks like they have business inside the Vatican.”

“What now?” The Serb slid a MAC-10 machine pistol from under his seat and lay it on his lap, then grabbed a canvas travel bag from the backseat and slipped the weapon inside.

A look of steel flashed in Nidal’s eyes and he took a Beretta pistol from his inside pocket. “We wait. They can’t stay in there forever. But just remember, when there’s killing to be done, Cane’s mine.”

ROME

IT WAS VERY
peaceful in the sunlit garden. The pond was covered with huge water lilies, a stone fish spewing water from its mouth. Kelly sat there in the noon heat, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. He heard soft footsteps and turned to see the tall figure of Pope Celestine approach.