The Second Messiah

The taxi pulled up outside the gates of a centuries-old sandstone villa and Jack climbed out. A marble inscription on the wall said: “White Fathers. Monastery of Aventino.”

Jack approached the wrought-iron entrance gates, manned by two plainclothes guards, stern-looking men whose stare never left him. He presented his passport, told them his business, and one of the guards spoke into a walkie-talkie. When he received a reply, the man unlocked the gate.

The moment Jack stepped inside, the gate was locked again. He had left the pistol he’d taken from Pasha with Lela, which was just as well because the second guard used a metal detector and then frisked him before the front door opened and a cheerful, bearded monk appeared. “I’m Abbot Fabrio. We’ve been expecting you, Signore Cane.”

Jack followed him inside. Two more cautious guards lingered in the corridor, keeping watch on the door and eyeing their visitor.

“This way, please.” The abbot led Jack down the hallway to an open doorway. Beyond lay a lush garden full of palm and olive trees. A fountain resembling a stone fish spewed water from its mouth into a pond covered with water lilies.

Another pair of watchful plainclothes guards strolled in the far end of the garden. One of the men had his jacket open to reveal a holstered automatic pistol. His companion wore a Heckler & Koch machine pistol draped across his chest.

The abbot grimaced. “Guns, I hate them. But they’re a necessary evil to protect the pope.” He gestured to a bench facing the fountain. “Please, take a seat and I’ll tell him you’ve arrived, Signore Cane.”

It was peaceful in the garden and as Jack sat there he heard footsteps. He turned and saw the tall figure of John Becket approach. He wore leather sandals and a simple white cassock.

Jack waited as he approached. Becket had aged; his skin was more wrinkled and deeply tanned. But it was his eyes—piercing, the palest blue. Jack felt an odd shiver down his back. He rose from the bench.

Becket gripped his hand. “Mr. Cane, or may I call you Jack? It’s been a long time.”

His voice was deep and powerful but with a surprising gentleness for such a big man. Jack was dumbstruck. It was hard to believe he was addressing the pope. “Twenty years.”

“The time has flown. I hear that you’re an archaeologist like your father. I’m sure he would have been proud.”

Despite his friendly manner, when Jack looked more closely Becket appeared under stress, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep.

Jack glanced toward the garden. The watchful guards never took their gaze off him. “To tell the truth, I was expecting to meet in the Vatican.”

Becket gathered the folds of his cassock and sat on the bench. “The setting here is less formal. I hope you don’t mind. I’m afraid it’s also partly the reason for all this security. Please, sit down.”

Jack joined him on the bench.

Becket said, “I’ve often kept you in my prayers. The death of anyone’s parents is a terrible loss. When you’re young and an only child, it’s an immense tragedy. I only wish I could have offered you more solace at the time.”

There was a genuine look of sadness in Becket’s face. He placed a hand gently on Jack’s shoulder and his blue eyes seemed to bore into his soul. “But of some things I am certain, Jack. They are watching over you, and someday you will be reunited. They still love you, but from a different place.”

Becket’s intimacy was disarming and his voice had a powerful conviction. Jack tried to focus on why he was here. Shifting away, he caused Becket’s hand to fall.

For a moment the pope seemed surprised by the gesture, and he said awkwardly, “Cardinal Kelly urged me to meet you. He says you had made a discovery of a scroll. That the text was highly controversial. He said that you wanted to make me personally aware of its contents.”

“That’s right.”

“I admit you’ve stirred my curiosity. And I was struck by the curious twist of fate—your father also made a discovery at Qumran. But why do you think it may be so important to the Vatican?”

Jack met Becket’s gaze. “We’ll get around to that. But first, I want you to tell me the truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Jack said bluntly. “I think my parents’ deaths were murder, not an accident. And that you stole my father’s scroll.”

110

ROME

It was very still in the garden, the only sound the gurgling fountain. Jack waited for Becket’s reaction. He saw it immediately. A look of discomfort spread over the pope’s face.

Jack said, “You haven’t answered me.”

Becket’s eyes suddenly became wary. “You’ve made a serious allegation, Jack.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“You sound angry.”

“I’m sitting beside the man who may have killed my parents. How do you think I feel?”

“You truly believe that I killed them?”

“You were the first person at the accident scene. And I’ve never known what you were doing there that day.”

“I was on my way to Jerusalem.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Becket bit back his response.

Jack said, “You remember Sergeant Raul, who questioned you?”

“Of course.”