The Second Messiah

They came out onto a centuries-old street of tall houses decorated with wrought-iron balconies. A couple of the front doors were open wide and a nosy-looking elderly woman stood outside one, talking heatedly with two elderly men who appeared to be her neighbors.

Ari spoke to them in Italian. The woman replied in a heated burst and pointed across the street toward a cellar stairway, protected by iron railings.

Ari had another brief exchange with the woman before he translated for Lela. “The old lady says that a couple of minutes ago she saw a man and woman go down those basement steps over there, followed by two other men. She and her neighbors heard gunfire soon after and called the police.”

“Does she know what’s down in the basement?”

“She says it’s an entrance to some Roman tunnels that run under the city.”

Almost on cue, the wail of a police siren shrieked in the distance.

Ari ignored the neighbors and hurried down the basement steps, beckoning Lela.

“But the cops are on their way,” she protested.

“Our job’s to catch Cane. Besides, I want that creep who shot me. Now get down here, Lela.”

She followed him down the steps. A gate swung open on its hinges, the lock shattered, and a stone stairway led down. From somewhere below came a crack that sounded like gunfire.

“Did you hear that shot?” Ari asked, alarmed. He stepped cautiously onto the stairway, his face still covered in sweat. He nodded back to Lela and cocked his pistol. “Stick close to me and keep your weapon ready.”

Nidal raced through the underground passageway and came to a sudden halt. He swore.

In front of them were five Roman archways going in different directions.

The Serb’s face was enraged as he ripped the magazine from the MAC-10, reloaded a fresh one, and slammed it home. “Which one do we take?”

Nidal clutched the lamp in one hand, his Beretta in the other, and cocked an ear. “Quiet. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? We’re lost. This place is like a rabbit warren. You know they found a tourist’s skeleton somewhere in the city’s tunnels a while back? He’d been dead for years—”

“Shut up,” Nidal hissed, raising a finger to his lips.

The Serb fell silent. Nidal listened, then moved toward the mouth of the archway on his left. “I heard a noise. It sounded like rocks falling.”

The Serb shook his head. “I heard nothing. You’re imagining things.”

Nidal ignored him and raised his Beretta, his eyes alive, like a bloodhound scenting his prey. “They’re near here, I’m sure of it,” and with that he swung the lamp high and plunged into the passageway.

80

“Are you sure this is the spot?” Yasmin removed another pile of rubble. She sounded breathless and irritated. “We’re getting nowhere fast, Jack.”

He dumped an armful of bricks on the pile, his face drenched in sweat. “I’m pretty sure we’re in the right place.”

“Then why haven’t we seen the marbles? Face it, there’s nothing here, Jack.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” He worked feverishly, tossing away more rubble until a couple of brick stairs were exposed. A waft of foul-smelling air blew up, but disappeared just as quickly. “Give me a hand here.”

They cleared away enough of the remaining debris to reveal stairs leading down into a darkened passageway. Jack grabbed the lamp. “Stick close and watch how you go.”

They stepped down into a broad brick corridor draped with cobwebs. An army of saltericchi spiders jumped ahead of them, vanishing into darkness. Yasmin said, “Our friends are back. Where does this lead?”

“You’ll see.”

The flickering oil lamp threw eerie shadows around the walls. They fumbled on until the corridor ended at a plastered archway, pitch darkness beyond. “Let’s have some light on the situation.” Jack raised the lamp and they moved under the archway.

Yasmin gasped as they entered an enormous round room. It appeared about sixty feet wide and almost as high. All across the floor massive blocks of barreled limestone were scattered in total disarray, the remains of Roman columns. Debris from the partially collapsed roof had spilled into the room.

But it was the circular walls that were most impressive. Decorated with at least a dozen six-feet-high and three-feet-wide marble slabs that were set into the plaster, the slabs had been chiseled by stonemasons to resemble colossal unrolled scrolls. Half depicted battle scenes; the other half were inscribed in Latin. Most were cracked and had huge chunks missing, as if damaged when the limestone columns had collapsed into the room.

Jack stepped back to get a proper look, lamplight flickering over the marble. He ran his fingers over portions of the chiseled inscriptions, the borders decorated with theatrical images of wild animals, monsters, and sylphs.

“Is this the rotunda you talked about?” Yasmin asked.

Jack nodded. “This one’s part of a luxury private villa. It’s an exercise in vanity, really.”

“What do you mean?”