The Second Messiah

The cardinal also knew of the remarkable holy relics and artifacts that the Vatican jealously guarded, and on which the church’s faith was built: a sliver of walnut wood, part of the headboard of the cross on which Christ was crucified, the skull of John the Baptist, the robe of Jesus, the Virgin’s cloak, Mary Magdalene’s foot, and even part of the foreskin of Jesus Christ, said to be the only known remains of the Savior, kept in an emerald and ruby-studded casket adorned by two solid silver angels in a safeguarded shrine in Calcate, north of Rome.

The cardinal moved on, carefully picking his way through the corridors of shelves into the heart of the building, knowing exactly which route to take to avoid most of the cameras, and past the small private chapel of the infamous Borgias. He crossed the high-roomed cavern called the Hall of Parchments, filled with tens of thousands of documents, many of them tinged with a violet-colored fungus that defied even the most scientific of treatments. It was a musty place and eerily reminded him of a funeral vault. But he knew the Secret Archives were more than the storehouse of a dead past.

Contained here were highly sensitive records of the church’s contemporary involvement: its business dealings, banking and financial affairs, its numerous investments—some of them highly controversial and illegal, which in several cases had involved the Mafia and had led to criminal prosecution and even murder. The cardinal knew all too well these hidden secrets: for five years he had occupied a senior position at the Vatican Bank. It was a dangerous time and they were black days he would rather forget.

Finally he had reached his destination, a small room at the back of the building protected by double oak doors, blackened with age. A plastic sign on the door said in Italian, ACCESSO LIMITATO. Restricted Access. The cardinal removed a bunch of keys from beneath his burgundy cassock. Selecting one, he inserted it in the lock and turned the key.

The door creaked open and he stepped into a room that looked forgotten by time. Paneled oak walls, dusty shelves, and two walnut desks with brass lamps. He moved into the room and flicked on one of the lamps. He knew exactly what he was looking for and when he found the cardboard box he plucked it down from one of the shelves, took it over to the desk, and placed it under the lamp.

Inside, on top of a collection of files, was a manuscript, bound with red twine and a wax seal the size of a large button. He broke the seal, and pieces of the wax scattered everywhere. He carefully picked them up, placed the fragments in his pocket, and opened the file’s hard cover. Inside on the first typewritten page it said:

REPORT INTO THE UNDISCLOSED SCROLLS AT QUMRAN.

It took only moments to scan through the headings on the next page, for he knew them well:

1. List of Qumran scrolls and parchment fragments kept secret.

2. Disturbing revelations contained within these scrolls (with accurate translations, and references to known historical and archaeological data).

3. The dramatic revelations concerning the Second Messiah and the significance of the original scroll discovered by Mr. Robert Cane.

4. Steps the church must take to prevent the publication of controversial/harmful scroll material in the future.

5. Conclusions and recommendations.

The cardinal slowly closed the manuscript again, puckered his lips, and sighed, as if a great weight were pressing on his shoulders. Then he quickly opened the buttons on his cassock and tucked the manuscript inside.

Theft of any item from the Vatican Archives was tantamount to a grave sin. But he was wedded to the church since those early days in the Catholic orphanage when he had sought and found God’s protective embrace. His pious loyalty had helped him rise from a meek orphan to a respected American cardinal, a prince of the church, and in return this was one sin he had no regrets about committing. No one could know what the manuscript pages contained.

Not ever.

The cardinal flicked off the brass lamp. Then he left the room as silently as he had entered, closing the door after him and turning the key in the lock.

17

QUMRAN

ISRAEL

Buddy Savage eased on the brakes and the Toyota SUV halted in a cloud of dust. As it settled he studied the clusters of tents and coarse brick huts that passed for the village named Nazlat, then said back over his shoulder, “Okay, you can get up now, the coast looks clear. It always beats me how these people live like this.”

In the back seat, Jack raised his head, sat up, and grabbed a pair of binoculars. “Like what, Buddy?”

Buddy took a drag on his Marlboro Light and nodded to the rambling collection of tents and huts. “Sure, they’re mostly nomads and it’s a way of life that’s gone on for thousands of years, but it’s Trashville. No running water, no utilities, and when it rains the sand turns to mush.”