The Second Messiah

“Except there was no solid evidence.”

“You’re the cop. You know as well as I do that evidence doesn’t always turn up and that sometimes the guilty go free.”

“True, but—”

“Can you even think of any other prime suspects who’d be prepared to kill to get their hands on my scroll?”

“I hate to admit it, but Mossad’s been known to carry out assassinations in Israel’s name.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I’ve thought about that. But Mossad’s the heavy brigade and usually deals with state security. This isn’t exactly their territory. I mean, it’s not like Israel’s nuclear secrets have gone missing. It’s a two-thousand-year-old scroll, for heaven’s sake.”

“But a controversial one. Mossad’s boss said the scroll was vital to Israel.”

“How could it be vital? The document’s got to do with Jesus. He’s not exactly center stage in Jewish religion.” Jack slapped a fist in his palm. “We’re missing something, Lela. We just haven’t figured it out. Let me see the stuff you found in Pasha’s pockets.”

Lela fumbled in her jacket and handed across the cell phone and wallet.

Jack emptied the wallet on his lap. A few euro notes and coins fell out, but no ID. “Pasha wasn’t taking any chances. Let’s have a look at the phone.” Jack stuffed the money back in the wallet and flicked on Pasha’s cell phone. It played its opening theme tune and the window lit up, the cell going through its power-up sequence as the screen illuminated. “That’s a bummer. He’s got a pin code.”

“There are always ways to crack a cell phone pin.”

“We’ll worry about that later.” Jack flicked off the phone, stuffed it into his pocket, and found the embossed business card that Cardinal Kelly had given him. He waved it between his fingers. “Meantime, we need to bang a few heads together to get some answers. Talk to someone at the top of the Vatican totem pole. Someone who ought to know everything that’s going on.”

“Who?”

“How about we begin with our old friend, John Becket? The way my mind’s been working, Becket’s got a whole bunch of questions to answer. A couple of big ones in particular.”

“What questions?”

“Did he steal my father’s scroll and commit murder?”

107

The sky was still dark, rain hammering down as Hassan’s Mercedes S600 turned toward the edge of the village. Minutes later it cruised into a lemon grove on the outskirts and halted. Ten paces away stood a ruined corrugated metal hut with filthy white walls.

The Serb held open the car door as Hassan stepped out into the drenching rain. He led the way into the hut, a goatherd’s ruin that stank of urine and stale fodder. He recognized Josuf waiting inside. The Bedu wore a djellaba and carried an electric lantern, his curved blade stuck in his belt.

They kissed in the Arab fashion and Josuf grasped Hassan’s arm with an expression of grief. “I am sorry for your loss, Hassan. May Allah protect your brother’s soul. May his angels comfort him.”

“You did everything I asked of you, Josuf. You carried out my plans and now you must have your promised reward.”

The elderly Bedu’s eyes glittered. “I thank you, Hassan. You are a man for whom I would do anything.”

Hassan withdrew his hand. “Indeed, Josuf. Even betray me to the Israelis.”

The words made Josuf freeze, his face gaunt. “What—what are you saying, Hassan? I took Cane to Maloula to try to recover the scroll, just as you instructed. You and I are old friends. I did everything you asked of me.”

“And some things I did not ask.”

“No—”

“I am no fool, Josuf. I have ears and eyes everywhere. You involved the Israelis, you took their money. You told them you were taking Cane to the monastery.”

Josuf’s brow sweated and he had a trapped look. “I—I only told them a little, Hassan. Nothing to compromise you, I swear. Just enough to wheedle some money from them. You know how it is. We only tell the Jews what we want them to know.”

“You are their spy. You betrayed me and your treachery may have cost my brother his life.”

“No, Hassan, I swear—”

Hassan clicked his fingers at the Serb, who tore Josuf’s curved Arab knife from his belt.

Josuf recoiled. “In the name of mercy, Hassan, I beg you—”

The words died in Josuf’s mouth as the blade flashed through the air and cut his throat. He collapsed in a heap on the floor, blood spewing from his gaping neck wound. The Serb tossed the blade on the body.

Hassan’s face twisted with venom as he stepped over to Josuf’s corpse and spat on it, then wiped his mouth, moved out into the rain, and climbed into the back of the Mercedes. The Serb slipped into the driver’s seat, his clothes drenched in rainwater. “What do you want me to do about the body?”

Hassan stared beyond the limo’s smoked glass as the two gravediggers appeared again from out of the downpour and moved into the hut. “Don’t worry, it will be buried in the desert for the vermin to eat. Now let’s get back to Rome. It’s time to finish this once and for all.”

108

Cardinal Liam Kelly had an anxious frown as he rose from behind his desk and crossed to the window of his Vatican office.