The Second Messiah (39 page)

“I’m not so sure. It looked pretty robust to me.”

Yasmin brushed away the remains of a cobweb in her hair. “Are there any other shocks in store for me that I ought to know about?”

Jack held up the lamp. In every direction he looked was the unmistakable herringbone brickwork of ancient Rome, a barrel-vaulted ceiling rising high above them. “Quite a few.”

When they turned the next corner they came to an ornate two-story mausoleum fronted by two huge marble entrance pillars. They stepped through and the lamplight washed over a collection of what looked like tombs.

One was topped by a stone carving of Christ and the Apostles. On another tomb was a figure of Apollo. Yet another showed Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and revelry, surrounded by rampaging,
evil
-looking satyrs with horns on their heads. “Where are we …?” Yasmin asked in horror.

“Part of a Roman burial site called the City of the Dead. It came to light hundreds of years ago when the Basilica was being rebuilt. The necropolis dates from the second to fourth centuries
A.D.
A strange mix of the pagan and the Christian, from a time when Rome was caught between both camps.”

Jack dangled the lamp as they passed a stream of pagan shrines, some of them defaced with cement or overlaid with Christian memorials of stone or marble. Yasmin asked, “What happened here?”

“Christians made a habit of trying to destroy the symbols of pagan gods, but they still had their followers.”

A chill wind whistled through the passageway, making a haunting noise, and Yasmin rubbed her arms in the cold air. Jack waved the lamp toward the bend up ahead. “Just wait until you see what’s around the next corner.”

THEY ROUNDED THE
corner into an ancient cobbled road. On both sides lay footpaths and ruined buildings, complete with mosaic floors and faded wall frescoes.

Jack scratched his head and tried to get his bearings. “If my intuition’s right, the Nero marbles are somewhere near the end of this street.”

“Where are we now?”

“Standing in the middle of what was once a sprawling complex of apartment homes, shops, and villas.”

Yasmin looked around her in awe. “This is truly incredible.”

“It’s Rome as it existed more than two thousand years ago. It even had many of the trappings of a modern society. See that metal rod?”

As they passed a huge stone water fountain that had been scalloped out of solid limestone, Jack pointed to the remains of a blackened metal rod that protruded from the basin. Yasmin touched the rod. “What is it?”

“A lead pipe that once formed part of Rome’s plumbing system. Fresh purified water was delivered to every doorstep from aqueducts. Over two hundred and fifty gallons a day per citizen, more than most modern cities provide these days. The problem was the Romans didn’t know that they were slowly killing themselves with lead poisoning.”

Yasmin turned her head and listened. “I can’t hear anyone. Maybe they got lost in this maze.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Do you know of another way out of here?”

Jack nodded. “I think so, unless it’s been blocked up. Better keep moving.”

Farther on they came to the portal of an impressive villa. The floor was littered with pottery shards, the remains of wine jars. One side of the villa’s entrance contained a pagan shrine with the grotesque face of a stone-carved god.

“Mithras,” Jack explained. “An Iranian god of truth and salvation. He was pretty popular, and one of Jesus’ main rivals during the later empire.”

“Rivals?”

“Jesus had hundreds of pagan contenders that the Romans believed were important gods. Under the polished floors of almost every ancient church in Rome, including St. Peter’s, you’ll find shrines to Mithras, because Christian builders wanted to eradicate the sacred places of any competing religions and replace them with their own symbols.”

Beyond lay a courtyard, the cracked stucco walls painted in rich colors clouded by time. Jack swung the lamp to reveal faded murals: images of naked men and women, frolicking and drinking wine. He jerked his thumb at a half-ruined building across the street. “Where we’re standing is what was once a rich pimp’s villa. Right over there is the brothel he once owned.”

“How do you know all this?”

“From the graffiti we found on the villa’s walls. Etched outside the brothel was an à la carte menu of sexual services on offer.”

Yasmin peered into the brothel ruins. A limestone washbasin and toilet area occupied one cubicle. Others were fitted with what looked like concrete-made beds, that would have been once topped with straw-filled mattresses. Frescoes of naked women and men in various sexual positions adorned the walls. Yasmin studied the images and smiled. “An erotic bunch, the Romans.”

“They had no hang-ups about sex, that’s for sure. Pretty much anything went. That’s historical fact. The morality of the average Roman citizen was probably lower than a snake’s belly. See that signpost out in the street? It’s what I’d call down-to-earth advertising.”

Jack pointed to a stone wall. Inset in the brick was a protruding piece of carved stone. At first Yasmin thought it was a carving of a finger. Then she realized that it was a chiseled symbol of an erect penis. It pointed toward the brothel. She raised an eye. “I guess people’s vices haven’t changed, have they?”

“You said it. But the city’s immorality had a heavy price. You’ll see what I mean straight ahead. And it’s pretty gruesome.”

They came to a flight of stone steps that led under an archway. Jack said, “The steps lead down to part of the Romans’ sewer system. We found lots of infant bones down there during our dig.”

“Why infant bones?” Yasmin asked.

“The brothel women often drowned their unwanted newborns. Ordinary citizens were in the same habit if their offspring were handicapped, or unwanted females.”

Yasmin recoiled. “That—that’s horrifying.”

“Roman society didn’t exactly cultivate the virtue of pity. Clemency, sure, if a gladiator fought bravely in the arena then he might be allowed to live. But the cradle of modern society was a brutal place where life was cheap.”

Yasmin marveled as the lamplight’s yellow glow picked out ancient Latin graffiti still scrawled in faded black above the arch. “What does it say?”

“‘Peaceful are the dead and the living will soon join them.’”

Yasmin shivered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out to be an omen.”

A huge rat scurried past and disappeared down the sewer steps. Yasmin staggered back, stifling a scream. “Did … did you see that?”

“I ought to have warned you. The rats down here are as big as lapdogs.” He raised the lamp. “We’ve arrived.”

Thirty feet past the archway was a wall at least six feet high, almost completely covered with a mound of building rubble.

Yasmin said, “I thought you said the marbles were here.”

Jack wiped his brow, confused. “They were. You entered this
archway
to get to them. I remember the location exactly because of the sewer nearby.”

He held up the lamp to study the debris mound. Then he knelt, placed the lamp beside him, and began grabbing handfuls of debris and tossing them aside. “There could have been a rockfall, but the roof looks solid enough. Or maybe someone deliberately covered up the marble with rubble.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?”

Perspiration dripped from Jack’s face as he stopped to tear off his jacket, then began tossing aside armfuls of stones. “That’s a good question. Come on, give me a hand. If we can shift enough of this junk, we’ll find the entrance.”

“SLOW DOWN, ARI,
or you’ll bleed to death.”

Ari slowed his pace as they ran through the narrow backstreets near St. Peter’s Square. The crowded press of bodies was behind them as Lela ushered Ari into a deserted alleyway and they both caught their breath.

She released her grip on the Sig pistol in her pocket. “Let me see your hand.”

Ari leaned his back against a wall, clutching his left wrist, his face glistening with sweat. Lela examined the gunshot wound. Blood seeped from the back of Ari’s hand where a bullet had scored the flesh, exposing the wrist bone. “Does it hurt?” Lela asked.

Ari nodded and wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve. “I think the bone’s chipped.”

“You’ll need something to ease the pain. Maybe a morphine shot.”

“No time for that. You’ll find a necktie in my right-hand jacket pocket. Use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Shouldn’t we just call Cohen and have him take you to the safe house?”

Ari winced. “No way. First, I’m going to find the creep who shot me. He and his Arab buddy can’t have got far. Cane too.”

“Meanwhile you’ll bleed to death. Get sense, Ari.”

He snapped back, “Who’s in charge here, Lela? Find the tie, dress the wound, and let’s get moving before they get away. We’re losing time.”

“Okay, have it your way.” Lela fumbled in Ari’s pocket and found a colorful necktie. She pulled up his sleeve, tightly bound his wrist, and let out a sigh of exasperation.

The confrontation on St. Peter’s Square had turned into a nightmare. The Arab’s companion had managed to shoot first, hitting Ari in the hand. Then the shooter and the Arab had disappeared into the panicked crowds, chasing after Jack. Ari and Lela had followed Cohen’s dash back to the car and drove at high speed into the backstreets after them. Sirens had sounded and Swiss Guards and Vatican plainclothes security flooded the square.

When the backstreets became too narrow for the taxi, Ari ordered Cohen to circle the area but keep his cell phone on. Ari and Lela clambered out and caught a brief glimpse of the Arab and his partner darting down an alley but by now they had lost them.

Lela finished knotting the tie and the bleeding stemmed. “That’s the best I can do.”

Ari gritted his teeth, rolled down his sleeve, and scanned their surroundings. “Where the devil have they disappeared to?”

Distant, arguing voices drifted from a nearby alley. Ari said, “Let’s try this way.”

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.”