The Second Messiah

A powerfully built man gripped his arms. Jack couldn’t see his face but he heard his voice. “Do as I tell you, Cane. Move to the edge of the pavement.”

Jack felt lightheaded, his senses fading. When he didn’t respond to the order, the man pushed him toward the pavement’s brink. A dark-colored Toyota van drove up beside him and slid to a halt. The side door rolled open and Jack was roughly pushed inside, other hands grabbing him before he could fall.

The man jumped in and the door rolled shut. In the back of the van someone grabbed hold of Jack’s hair, then dragged an eyeless woollen mask over his face. The last thing he heard as he surrendered to blackness was the sound of screeching tires.

115

BRACCIANO

NEAR ROME

Hassan Malik stood at the villa’s study window, smoking a cigarette. He saw the headlights sweep up the gravel path and the Toyota van slide to a halt under some palm trees. The side door burst open and the Serb and two more bodyguards dragged a masked and unconscious Jack Cane from the back of the vehicle.

A look of vehemence erupted on Hassan’s face as he crushed his cigarette in a crystal ashtray on the desk in front of him. He reached down and slid open one of the drawers. Inside lay a silvered Walther PPK pistol with polished ebony grips. Next to it was a fully loaded magazine with seven rounds.

Hassan removed the pistol and magazine as the study door sprang open and the Serb appeared. “Well?” Hassan asked.

The Serb grinned, as if he relished what was to come. “We’ve got everything set up in the back room, Mr. Malik. The blowtorch, the tools, the lot. I’m ready to go to work whenever you are.”

Hassan slammed the magazine into the Walther’s butt and tucked the pistol into his pocket. “The time has come for Cane to pay for his sins.”

“Pull up here,” Ari ordered.

Cohen halted the taxi and Ari jumped out like an angry bull. After driving in circles they ended up in one of the avenues leading to the Colosseum, hoping to catch sight of Cane in one of the maze of side streets, but there was no sign of him.

Ari slapped his balled fist off the car’s hood. “Cane could be anywhere by now.”

Lela climbed out of the backseat. Ari said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“We need to talk, Ari. What are you going to do with Jack? Tell me honestly.”

“I told you. Take him back to Tel Aviv, like Weiss ordered.”

“What happens to Jack then? Does he end up in some desert prison, locked up at Mossad’s discretion? Weiss could do anything he wants with him.”

“Probably. I don’t know what Weiss intends back in Tel Aviv. But I can tell you this.” Ari plucked out his cell phone and began punching in a number. “I know who Yasmin Green really is and right now that’s the only lead we have.”

116

“Wake up, Cane. Wake up.”

Jack came awake with a jolt as a fist crashed into his jaw. A light blinded his face and he was strapped down, his hands and legs tied with rope to a chair.

Another blow struck him and Jack’s head snapped back. He tasted blood in his mouth. His mind was a fog and it took a couple of moments before he began to come to his senses.

“Good. You’re back in the land of the living.”

Jack blinked and saw the Serb stand over him with two companions. One of them twisted the knobs on a portable blow torch, rubber tubes running to an oxyacetylene tank. The Serb smacked a leather cosh in his hand. “Can you hear me, Cane?”

When Jack didn’t reply, the cosh smacked hard against his injured leg. An excruciating pain shot up his thigh and he stifled a cry. He came wide awake, fear stabbing at his heart. “Who—are you?”

“Where’s the scroll?”

Jack heard the question, expected it, but said nothing.

The Serb nodded to his companion. “Let’s see if we can jog his memory.”

The second man took out a cigarette lighter, touched it to the tip of the blow torch, and the flame lit. The torch glowed red, then turned an intense blue. The Serb said, “Burn off his fingers, one at a time. That’ll loosen his tongue.”

As Jack struggled, the man stepped forward with the blow torch.

“Stop. That’s enough for now.”

A figure stepped out from the shadows. Blinded by the light, Jack couldn’t see the man’s face but he heard the authority in his voice. “Leave us. I’ll call you when I need you to continue.”

The Serb nodded. His companion doused the blow torch, hung it on a metal hook by the gas bottle, and the three men left.

Slowly, the man who had spoken emerged out of the shadows. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed blood from Jack’s mouth.

“Who are you?” Jack asked.

The man ignored the question. “You’ve chosen to walk on very dangerous ground, Mr. Cane. My men mean to kill you. But if you do as I say, perhaps—just perhaps—I’ll spare your life.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hassan Malik. You’ve heard of me?”

“Yes.” Jack blinked, his skull still on fire with pain. “It’s been a long time.”

“But I never forgot you, Cane. We have an appointment with destiny.”

“I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re taking about.”