The Second Messiah

Hassan took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, laid them on the table, and selected one before he produced a gold cigarette lighter. “Then you’re about to learn exactly why Professor Green was murdered. And most important, why I want my scroll back.”

“Your scroll?”

Hassan lit a cigarette, touching the lighter flame to the tip, then blew out a cloud of smoke. “Yes. It belongs to me. I planted it at Qumran.”

117

The polished black Mercedes with tinted windows silently turned the corner of the Via della Conciliazione. Two other dark-windowed SUVs drove in front and two behind—like the Mercedes, they were specially armored to withstand even a rocket-propelled grenade. Each SUV carried Vatican security guards armed with sidearms and Heckler & Koch machine pistols.

John Becket sat in the back of the chauffeured limousine, his armed driver and a bodyguard occupying the front seats. As the cortege approached the broad barrier-controlled streets leading up to the Vatican, the sidewalks were lined with crowds making their way to St. Peter’s Square.

Becket glanced out of the dark-tinted windows that hid his identity from the throng.

Next to him, Ryan observed the legions of worshippers that crammed the sidewalks and the gaudy souvenir shops and kiosks. “As they say on Broadway, it seems we have a full house.”

“You and your men will have a busy afternoon, Sean.”

“They’ll earn their money, that’s for sure. According to the carabinieri, over a quarter million people are expected in Rome for your blessing. Naturally security will be tight, but I’d beg you once again to reconsider the bulletproof vest, Holy Father?”

The pope waved his hand as if to dismiss Ryan’s question. “You said you had important news for me, Sean?”

Ryan stuck his fingers inside a brown leather briefcase on his lap. He produced a plastic evidence bag containing a single sheet of paper, made up of cut-and-paste newspaper letters stuck on the page. “The threatening letter I told you about that I had checked for prints.”

“I’m listening, Sean.”

Ryan waved the plastic bag containing the letter. “I’m afraid we didn’t find a single print. However, we had the page analyzed by a forensics lab.” He turned the page over and pointed to an illegible line of black characters. “The lab discovered these faint print characters on the back of the paper. Perhaps it was an old sheet that was discarded when the printer ink ran out. But luckily for us, the perpetrator obviously didn’t notice it when he decided to use the page to assemble his collage of letters.”

“What does all this tell us?”

“First, the typeface matches a mass-produced Hewlett-Packard printer commonly in use in all the curial cardinals’ offices. There’s absolutely no doubt the source was someone who works in those offices.”

“But can you tell who exactly the printer belongs to?”

Ryan seemed genuinely embarrassed delivering the news. “Microscopic differences in printer ink and character formation can sometimes discern minute variations, even in material printed by mass-produced printers. This one belongs to Cardinal Cassini’s office, it’s his own private printer. It could, of course, mean that someone deliberately used the printer to falsely lay blame. Or it could point the finger. Only further investigation will tell.”

The pope considered, then sighed and nodded. “You have my authority to do so. Is there anything else, Sean?”

“You asked me to check all the security tape footage from the Vatican archives, from the day after your election until you discovered that the archive documents went missing.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re going to tell me they were stolen?”

“I’m afraid so. With over a hundred cardinals, some will abuse their rank and choose not to sign the Secret Archives visitor’s book. That’s a breach of protocol, of course, but many young archivists are reluctant to challenge their superiors.”

The Mercedes and its cortege approached one of the Vatican gate entrances, manned by the Swiss Guard. There was a barrier down, three uniformed Swiss Guards on duty. The pope said, “Who’s the thief, Sean?”

Ryan stuck his hand in his briefcase and removed a DVD stored in a clear plastic case. “We turned up a possible suspect on this security disc from several days ago. You can see a figure entering the archives. It’s obvious that he knew the building layout because he tries to keep his head down and remain in certain camera blind spots, but there’s a camera or two we more recently installed that—”

“Who, Sean?”

There was a momentary distraction as the Swiss Guards lifted the barrier and saluted, and then the pope’s Mercedes passed into the Vatican.

Ryan said solemnly, “I’d stake my life it’s Cardinal Liam Kelly.”

Five minutes later the pope entered his private apartments, and Ryan followed. Two of the pope’s staff were already waiting, an array of papal vestments laid out on a long trestle table, others hung from a metal rail with wooden hangers.