The Second Messiah

“I begged, I stole, did anything to earn a crust to feed my brother and sister. Sometimes, to forget about my hardship, I used to ride a bus into Jerusalem and walk past the villas of the rich with their splendid gardens. I used to tell myself that I would have such a house one day. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.”

“I can imagine, Mr. Malik.”

Malik shook his head fiercely. “No, you cannot imagine. You can’t know what real poverty is. To never have enough food in your belly or money in your pocket.”

Zedik reckoned his boss didn’t seem like himself today. Normally he was direct and to the point. He hardly ever spoke about his past or stuff like that but this morning the man seemed distracted. “Mr. Malik, I apologize—”

Malik raised his hand, a serious look on his face. “Let’s get down to business. I have a job for you.” He reached in his shirt, plucked out an envelope, and placed it on the table. “You have always been loyal to me, Bruno. And that is why I am going to tell you a secret. It will help you understand why I have asked you here today and how important the job is. But I must be certain of your discretion.”

Zedik said, “You know you can count on me, sir.”

“Good. Because if a word of this ever leaks out, I assure you, Bruno, I will kill you. Slowly, painfully. It hurts me to have to make the consequences so clear to someone I trust, but I don’t make such a threat lightly.”

Zedik saw icy danger in Malik’s eyes. In the ten years he had known his boss he had committed a catalogue of unlawful deeds on Malik’s behalf—some of them brutal—but Zedik had never once heard him utter such words. He swallowed. “Mr. Malik, I’d never break my word to you.”

Malik smiled gently, tapped Zedik’s knee, and leaned closer. “Of course, I know you wouldn’t but I’ve got to make the rules clear. And a wise man should always know the rules of the game.” The smile vanished. “Especially a game as dangerous as the one about to begin. Take the envelope on the table, Bruno. It’s a sign of my trust.”

Zedik picked it up. “What’s in it?”

“A check. Think of it as a bonus. When your work is completed to my satisfaction, you may cash that check.”

Zedik opened the envelope and saw the generous amount written on the check. He turned pale. “Mr. Malik, I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing. Just take it. But against my advice my brother insists on being involved in this enterprise. Nidal can be hotheaded. So I want you to watch his back, Bruno. Make sure he doesn’t get hurt. I have trust in a man like yourself, a man well versed in violence, able to take care of himself. You have always served me well.”

Zedik slipped the envelope into his pocket. “Sure, Mr. Malik, I understand. You and Nidal are really close. But what exactly do you want me to do?”

Hassan Malik met the Serb’s stare. “There is an ancient scroll, a precious artifact that has gone missing. You and Nidal will retrieve it for me.”

* * *

Hassan Malik sat alone by the pool, sipping an espresso. Nidal stepped out onto the patio and removed his sunglasses. He wore an Armani dressing gown over his reed-thin body and he strolled to the poolside table and eased himself into a chair. “Has Bruno gone?”

Hassan Malik was used to regarding the world with angry contempt, but the sight of his younger brother never failed to elicit a protective feeling in him. “Yes, Nidal. He has gone.”

“Have you told him everything, Hassan?”

“No. But enough so that he knows he’s a player in a dangerous game and that I will require him to do unpleasant things, perhaps even kill.”

Nidal stroked the neatly trimmed beard that covered his delicate features. “What happens next?”

Hassan sipped his espresso, then put down his cup. “Bruno will help you find the scroll. You will use whatever means you have to.”

Nidal’s boyish look was suddenly gone, replaced by a kind of angry madness that erupted in his dark eyes. He slipped a frightening, curved Arab dagger from inside the pocket of his gown. “When the time comes, let me do the killing for you, Brother?”

“That’s our father’s knife. Put it away, Nidal.”

Bitterness flashed in Nidal’s face. “Is it not rightful that I use it? These people deserve to die, Hassan.”

“Put the knife away, Brother. There will be time enough for spilling blood later.”

Nidal reluctantly replaced the knife inside his gown.

Hassan stood. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Nidal? No taking risks. Leave those to Bruno, it’s what he’s paid for.” He touched his palm to his brother’s face in a tender gesture. “I simply want no harm to come to you, ever.”

Nidal’s face sparked, and then he smiled boyishly. “Trust me, Hassan. I’ll be careful. And I’ll get the scroll for you, just wait and see, my brother.”

48

ROME

John Becket strode into the narrow streets of the red-light district.

He was free again and this time he wore a plain dark suit and white, open-necked shirt. To avoid being recognized he’d pulled his broad-rimmed hat down over his face. He paused at a corner store window and looked back, his heart pounding.