The Second Messiah

“Only John Becket can make matters worse.” Cassini examined the letter opener, the tip blackened from soot. He polished it with a paper tissue he took from his pocket until the steel gleamed. His mouth twisted with contempt as he held up the inscribed blade. “You see what it says? ‘With great affection, to a loyal and dutiful servant of God.’ Our last pope knew my value. He knew the importance of loyalty. But Becket, he’s a traitor to the cause.”

Kelly went to pour another brandy from the decanter but changed his mind, his speech already slurred. “Our day is over, Umberto. I should never have listened to you all those years ago and become involved in your dirty little schemes. Never.”

“But you did and it served you well. Look at you now. A full cardinal.”

“Served me well?” Kelly gave a derisory laugh. “In another few hours I’ll be nothing, not even a priest.”

“There’s still a way to stop Becket if we’re bold enough.”

“How?”

“By invoking an age-old Vatican practice that hasn’t been in fashion for years: kill the reigning pope.”

A stunned Kelly stared Cassini in the face and saw something close to madness in the wiry Sicilian’s eyes. “Have you totally lost your mind, Umberto?”

Cassini’s mouth twisted bitterly. “You said it yourself. There’s a cancer that needs to be cut out. Becket’s insane. His mission to expand the flock by embracing all Christians of the world is misguided. He’ll destroy us all—priests, bishops, cardinals, all for his own glory. Are we going to allow a fanatic to destroy two thousand years of our history?”

Kelly was horrified. “This isn’t the sixteenth century. Or the Roman Forum where murder is just another political tool. How could I condone anything like that, Umberto?”

“The same way you condoned Robert Cane’s death.”

Kelly moved toward the door. “A grave mistake that I’ll no doubt roast in hell for. Good-bye, Umberto.”

“Where are you going?” Cassini demanded.

“To confess everything to Ryan and take my chances.”

Cassini grasped Kelly’s sleeve. “Are you a traitor too? Doesn’t anyone believe in loyalty anymore?”

Kelly tore free from his arm. “Let go of me; you’re insane.”

The scrawny Sicilian exploded with rage, and in an instant his hand swung through the air, the bone-handled steel moving in a perfect arc before it was embedded in Kelly’s back.

Kelly gasped, his body contorting in agony as he fell back, clutching at handfuls of air. “Oh my God. . .”

Cassini was in the grip of an uncontrollable frenzy and dug the knife in again and again. Kelly’s red smock blossomed with darker crimson patches. Finally, Cassini stood there, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. In that brief instant he seemed to realize what he had done and stared in horror at the bloodied letter opener clutched in his hand.

A heavy pounding sounded on the office’s double oak doors. “Cardinal Cassini? Open up, it’s Monsignor Ryan.”

The pounding became louder, and then came the sound of a heavy thud and the doors shook, as if someone was hurtling himself against the wood. Cassini heard a crack of oak splintering.

The Sicilian froze, a snarl on his face, like a wildcat caught in the glare of headlights, but only for an instant. Still clutching the bloody letter opener, he darted into the passageway and pulled the bookshelf after him.

121

Outside Cardinal Umberto Cassini’s office, Monsignor Sean Ryan aimed his Glock 27. Behind him stood an array of security staff and Cassini’s secretary, all looking worried as Ryan leveled the barrel at the door lock.

He had already racked the Glock’s slide and chambered a round. “Stand well back, all of you. I don’t want a ricochet killing anyone.”

In front of Ryan stood a massive pair of double oak doors that seemed impregnable. After minutes of kicking and heaving against the solid wood, Ryan had barely created a few splinters. Now he aimed his Glock at the gap between the door frame and the lock.

Cassini’s secretary was aghast. “But Monsignor, what if there’s someone behind the door—?”

Ryan figured the relatively low-velocity .40-caliber round wouldn’t completely penetrate the thick oak. He ignored the secretary and fired a single shot. The noise boomed around the room and splintered the door. It took another shot before the wood around the lock cracked, and then Ryan heaved his boxer’s shoulders against the oak. It gave way and he crashed into the office, almost losing his balance.

Ryan saw no sign of Cassini. As the others rushed in after him, Ryan’s eyes swept the room and he saw Kelly’s body lying near the fireplace, blood oozing from a wound in his back. A flutter of black motes floated in the fireplace, where some flames were dying.

Ryan raced over to Kelly and examined his wounds. The cardinal’s red gown was punctured with slits that looked like the work of a knife. “Call an ambulance at once.”

Angelo Butoni felt Kelly’s pulse. “A waste of time. He’s dead.”