The Second Messiah (34 page)

ROME

“I’LL HAVE TO
help you find the file myself, Jack. I’m afraid our archivists are being kept terribly busy.”

Jack and Yasmin hurried alongside Cardinal Kelly as he led them toward the Vatican courtyard, Cortile del Belvedere. Despite his bulk the American was quick on his feet and rushed them along. Jack asked, “Why so busy?”

Kelly sidestepped a marble statue of the Virgin and child. “Thousands of scholars and visitors are welcomed each year in the Vatican Library. However, visits have been suspended while certain historical documents are being studied. But because your father was a good friend, I spoke personally with the pope. In fact, he remembered you and your parents very well.”

“I’m impressed. It’s been a long time.”

“How could he forget their terrible tragedy? The pope greatly admired your father’s work and gave permission for me to help you in your task.”

“Father Becket’s come a long way.”

“He certainly has. Now, about this archive document written by Father Kubel that you wanted to see.”

“Kubel told me he was asked to write a report. About the circumstances surrounding my father’s death and the scroll’s destruction.”

Kelly nodded. “As you well know, Cardinal Cassini and myself occasionally visited our fellow clergy working at Qumran. Our Vatican superiors asked us to have Kubel write the statement.”

“Why?”

“They naturally had an interest in the scroll. It would have been normal procedure to investigate its destruction. Nothing was found amiss, I can tell you that. What happened to your parents and the scroll was simply a cruel accident.”

“Have you read the report?”

“Soon after it was written. But that was a long time ago.” Kelly hurried them to the opposite side of the courtyard, toward a granite building with a pair of tall oak doors. “Forgive my haste. But I have an important church appointment to attend later and don’t want to be delayed. Tell me more about this scroll you found. Do you think it may be important?”

“I think so. But first it has to be recovered by the police. Then we can ascertain the entire contents. However, we do know that the parchment’s been carbon-dated to the second quarter of the first century
A.D.
”

“Do you have any idea as to the contents?”

“No,” Jack lied. “We didn’t want to risk unraveling the parchment for fear of damage. The few lines that were legible I could barely make sense of. I’m arranging expert help with the translation.”

“Could I see the lines in question?”

“I’d prefer to wait until the experts have had a look.”

Kelly looked disappointed. “I see. Your discovery may be of great interest to the Vatican’s scholars. Don’t forget you promised me a copy of the translation in return for allowing you to see the archive files.”

“You have my word.”

Kelly put a hand on Yasmin’s arm. “Your uncle was a much respected scholar, my child. I’ll offer a mass for his soul.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Here we are.” Kelly halted outside the oak doors, pulled one open, and they moved into a hallway with shiny oak floors that smelled freshly of wax polish. Two plainclothes guards stood just inside the hallway, next to a metal door.

Yasmin said to Kelly, “Tell me about the library, Cardinal.”

“It was first established in the late fifteenth century, to preserve
the
culture of the Catholic Church and to catalogue its documents. The archives contain over fifty miles of shelves. Some precious Latin, Greek, and Hebrew texts go back thousands of years.”

One of the guards shifted his eyes to a nearby table and the open pages of a visitor’s ledger. The man silently offered his guests a ballpoint pen and Kelly said, “If you’d sign the book, please.”

They signed the ledger but when Jack offered the pen to Kelly, the cardinal said bluntly, “There’s no need. The duty archivist will record my presence. Besides, cameras placed inside and outside the building record all comings and goings. You look distracted, Jack.”

“To tell the truth, I’m awestruck. Now I can imagine how Carter must have felt.”

“Carter?”

“When he entered King Tut’s tomb for the first time.”

Kelly produced a plastic card and slid it along a security scanner by the metal door. It sprung open a few inches with a hydraulic hiss and a long hallway lay beyond. “Believe me, this is a privilege that’s granted to very few. Follow me.”

THEY FOLLOWED KELLY
to the end of the hallway and climbed a flight of steps. It led onto a landing and another steel security door. Kelly’s face was red from exertion and he paused to catch his breath, saying with a hint of pride, “The Secret Archives lie beyond this door. Or to give them their full and correct Latin title, Archivum Secretum Apostolicum Vaticanum. They are one of the largest and most guarded document depositories in the world.”

Above the door the Cyclops eye of a security camera watched them.

Kelly inserted his security card and pushed open the door. A vast chamber stretched below them, much of it divided up into cubicles made of glass or Perspex. Each cubicle was lit by blue lighting. The chamber itself was lined with shelves, stacked with ledgers and box files and bundles of parchments with wax seals.

Kelly gestured to the enormous hall. “This is the main section of the Vatican library. The blue light is to preserve the ancient documents from harmful rays while they are being studied.”

He moved down a flight of marble steps. “Actually, this part is simply the nonpublic archive, it is not ‘secret’ in the modern sense. In the Middle Ages, every potentate had a public and a private archive. This would be considered the private part and is easily accessible if you happen to be an approved scholar.”

Jack was suddenly conscious of the controlled, dry air and could almost feel his veins contract in response. They descended the stairway to a bank of vending machines selling snacks, bottled water, and Coca-Cola. Kelly pointed to a pair of tall doors where a young guard sat at a desk. A plastic sign on the door said in Italian,
ACCESSO LIMITATO
.

“The section we want is behind those doors—the so-called ‘secret’ archive, as the public knows it. It’s also where all material relating to the scrolls is catalogued, including Father Kubel’s report.”

“Why is the report stored here?”

“Because, Jack, originally the Dead Sea scrolls were kept highly confidential. It was feared that some of the translated material could be misinterpreted, or that it might muddy Christian teaching. However, the day may not be far away when all scroll material will be made available even to the public.”

“What makes you think that?”

Kelly said, “Let’s just call it insider privilege. Our new pope is a great believer in truth and honesty. However, for now the usual rules apply. The report you wish to see must be read within the confines of the library. No document may be removed.”

Kelly crossed the chamber toward the tall double doors. What surprised Jack was the activity: the great hall was buzzing. Dozens of clerics, young and old and wearing priestly garb, toiled like worker bees.

Some sat at tables or in blue-lit kiosks. A few glanced up briefly out of curiosity at their visitors. The hub of their activity looked as if it was directed toward six priests who sat at trestle tables covered with ledgers and computer laptops. They appeared to be making records of documents.

“I see what you mean about being busy,” Yasmin remarked.

Kelly halted outside the double doors. “In my younger days I was an archivist here, so I know my way around. Sign the book, then come with me.”

The guard handed Jack and Yasmin a pen to sign their names in his ledger. Kelly pushed open the doors and escorted them into another enormous room, their footsteps clicking on the marble tiles.

This room was softly lit and smelled of age, with oak-paneled shelved walls stacked to the ceiling with parchments, boxes, and ledgers. Several more priests studied aged-looking documents or stood on ladders, searching files.

Kelly consulted a slip of paper he removed from his pocket. It contained a handwritten series of numbers and letters.

The cardinal seemed in a rush as he gestured beyond a bronze statue of the Madonna, toward a blue-lit glass alcove with a bare table and two chairs. “The section we need is over there. Now, let’s try and find Father Kubel’s report.”

LELA RAUL CLUTCHED
the door rail as the gray Fiat taxi sped toward Rome. She sat in a rear seat behind Ari.

The traffic was manic but the Mossad taxi driver wove in and out of the traffic lanes like an expert. He had introduced himself as Cohen—a handsome young man with a three-day stubble and Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on his head.

“This traffic is crazy,” Ari commented.

Cohen grinned. “You should see it on Friday when everyone’s trying to get out of this asylum. You’d be tempted to cut your wrists.”

Ari said bluntly to Lela, “Who were you calling from the airport?”

When she didn’t answer fast enough, Ari said, “We’re old friends, Lela. No lies between us. Who’d you call?”

“If you must know, Sergeant Mosberg.”

“Lela, you know what Weiss said—”

“I needed to know how the investigation is progressing. I’m a cop and it’s still my case. You of all people ought to understand that.”

Ari said fiercely, “A word of advice. You should never cross Julius Weiss. If he gives an order he expects you to obey it, or he’ll haul you over hot coals, Lela.”

“I’m not Mossad. I’m here at Weiss’s request, but he’s not my boss.”

Ari grimaced. “What did Mosberg say?”

“To tell the truth, it’s just as well I called. Something very weird’s going on.”

Ten minutes later the Fiat swung into a street next to St. Peter’s Square. It slid to a halt near a busy kiosk selling newspapers and religious trinkets: rosary beads and miniature plaster statues of saints dangling from every nook and cranny.

Ari finished speaking on his cell phone and flicked it off. “Weiss is at a meeting right now and can’t be reached. I left him a message to call me back the moment he’s free.” His face creased with worry. “Is Mosberg a hundred percent certain that Yasmin Green died in an auto accident?”

“Mosberg’s a meticulous man. He wouldn’t make a mistake about that.”

Ari scratched his head. “If it’s true, then who’s Yasmin Green and what’s she up to? Why her subterfuge?”

“I have no idea. It’s got me stumped, Ari.”

“We’ll pull her photo from her visa application and run a check on it. There’s obviously something more going on here than we can figure. What if she and Cane have been together on this from the start? Did that occur to you?”

“For no more than a second. I know Jack Cane, Ari—”

“How could he be the same person you knew twenty years ago? Me, I wouldn’t trust him any more than the woman. What if they planned the theft, but somehow it all went wrong and Professor Green got killed and now they’re on the run?”

“That’s nothing but wild speculation.”

“Is it, Lela? It wouldn’t be the first time an archaeologist conspired with criminals to steal priceless finds.”

“I can’t believe Jack’s a willing criminal.”

“You can think what you like, but my money’s on Cane being tied up in all of this. I know Weiss thinks the same. Get real, Lela.”

Cohen, the driver, looked up as his cell phone suddenly jangled. He flipped it open and spoke in Hebrew. “We’re here, Mario. Where are you?” Cohen listened and peered beyond the windshield toward St. Peter’s Square. It was crowded with hoards of Vatican tourists. “No, I can’t see you yet. But stay put and we’ll find you.”

Cohen rested his cell phone on his chest. “My partner’s across the square, near one of the Vatican entrances, waiting for Cane and the woman.”

“Have they reappeared yet?” Ari asked.

“No, but guess what? He says they’re being followed by two men.”