The Second Messiah (56 page)

Hassan’s arm snapped up and the Walther’s barrel touched the nape of her neck. He turned to stare at Cane. “Now, tell me where the parchment is. Tell me everything, or so help me I’ll put a bullet in her.”

JOHN BECKET STEPPED
into the cool air of the Sistine. It was scented faintly with incense. As always, he marveled at the riot of Michelangelo’s colors, at the beautiful splendor and anguish of the scenes. Then he slowly crossed the marbled floor, aware of the rhythmic slap of his sandals. He knelt, made the sign of the cross, and prostrated himself in front of the altar.

He needed to be alone in the silence of the chapel. To reflect and to pray for guidance. For he knew that in a small way this would be his Gethsemane. That the drama on Michelangelo’s walls would soon be reflected in his own soul. And that apart from exposing the Vatican’s darkest secrets, he was about to make another dramatic revelation that would shock his cardinals.

The words spilled hoarsely from his lips.
O Lord, I ask for courage in this my hour of need, as I struggle to find the right words to convey the disclosure that I must reveal to the world
.

Lying on his stomach, pressing his face against the cold marble floor, Becket felt the drenching sweat begin immediately. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

IN UMBERTO CASSINI’S
office, Cardinal Liam Kelly dabbed sweat from his face. His hands shook as he picked up a crystal glass and swallowed his brandy in one gulp.

He heard a soft click and turned, startled, the bookshelf swinging open on its hinges as a grim-faced Cassini entered through the secret passageway. He carried a thick red file stuffed with papers and bound with waxed string.

“Umberto, you frightened me. Do you have to use the back passageways?”

Cassini slapped the thick file on his desk. “It saves time and allows me to avoid unwanted visitors. So, John Becket definitely won’t change his mind?”

Kelly poured himself another brandy. “He called me and told me the answer’s no, and it’s final. His tone sounded unusually cold.”

Cassini slumped into his chair. “Go on.”

“Then Ryan phoned. He said that the pope wants to see us both after his speech to the cardinals. From the tenor of Ryan’s voice, I’d say we’re in trouble.”

Cassini’s mouth twisted in a faint, odd grin. “Do you really believe that, Liam?”

Sweat began to glisten on Kelly’s upper lip. “Of course I do. The game’s up. It’s not even a case of our transfer to some mission house in darkest Africa. Once these revelations come out and the fact that we helped cover up Kubel’s actions all those years ago, we’ll both be forced to leave the church in absolute disgrace.”

“As will the pope.”

“He doesn’t seem to care. Only the truth matters to him.”

The little Sicilian pushed himself up from his chair. “Let’s be honest, Liam. We’ve simply hoped in vain that we could change the pope’s mind. Now that small shred of hope is gone, but no one’s ruined yet.”

“What are you talking about, Umberto?”

Cassini picked up the thick red file from his desk and waved it in his hand.

“These are the documents you took from the Secret Archives.”

“At your request, Umberto,” Kelly countered.

“Yes, but for the protection of the church.” Cassini grasped his letter opener by the deer-antler handle and slit the binding string. Then he gathered up the papers and spread them in the fireplace. He opened a desk drawer, found a cigarette lighter, and touched the flame to the papers, turning them over with the letter opener’s blade to catch the rising flames.

“What are you doing?” Kelly demanded.

“What any sensible bureaucrat would do under the circumstances—destroying the evidence.” Cassini watched as the flames licked at the paper.

Kelly looked aghast. “But you said we’d remove them temporarily until this trouble had died down. Destroying them will only make matters worse. Are you mad, Umberto?”

“Only John Becket can make matters worse.” Cassini examined the letter opener, the tip blackened from soot. He polished it with a paper tissue he took from his pocket until the steel gleamed. His mouth twisted with contempt as he held up the inscribed blade. “You see what it says? ‘
With great affection, to a loyal and dutiful servant of God
.’ Our last pope knew my value. He knew the importance of loyalty. But Becket, he’s a traitor to the cause.”

Kelly went to pour another brandy from the decanter but changed his mind, his speech already slurred. “Our day is over, Umberto. I should never have listened to you all those years ago and become involved in your dirty little schemes.
Never
.”

“But you did and it served you well. Look at you now. A full cardinal.”

“Served me well?” Kelly gave a derisory laugh. “In another few hours I’ll be nothing, not even a priest.”

“There’s still a way to stop Becket if we’re bold enough.”

“How?”

“By invoking an age-old Vatican practice that hasn’t been in fashion for years: kill the reigning pope.”

A stunned Kelly stared Cassini in the face and saw something close to madness in the wiry Sicilian’s eyes. “Have you totally lost your mind, Umberto?”

Cassini’s mouth twisted bitterly. “You said it yourself. There’s a cancer that needs to be cut out. Becket’s insane. His mission to expand the flock by embracing all Christians of the world is misguided. He’ll destroy us all—priests, bishops, cardinals, all for his own glory. Are we going to allow a fanatic to destroy two thousand years of our history?”

Kelly was horrified. “This isn’t the sixteenth century. Or the Roman Forum where murder is just another political tool. How could I condone anything like that, Umberto?”

“The same way you condoned Robert Cane’s death.”

Kelly moved toward the door. “A grave mistake that I’ll no doubt roast in hell for. Good-bye, Umberto.”

“Where are you going?” Cassini demanded.

“To confess everything to Ryan and take my chances.”

Cassini grasped Kelly’s sleeve. “Are you a traitor too? Doesn’t anyone believe in loyalty anymore?”

Kelly tore free from his arm. “Let go of me; you’re insane.”

The scrawny Sicilian exploded with rage, and in an instant his hand swung through the air, the bone-handled steel moving in a perfect arc before it was embedded in Kelly’s back.

Kelly gasped, his body contorting in agony as he fell back, clutching at handfuls of air. “Oh my God …”

Cassini was in the grip of an uncontrollable frenzy and dug the knife in again and again. Kelly’s red smock blossomed with darker crimson patches. Finally, Cassini stood there, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. In that brief instant he seemed to realize what he
had
done and stared in horror at the bloodied letter opener clutched in his hand.

A heavy pounding sounded on the office’s double oak doors. “Cardinal Cassini? Open up, it’s Monsignor Ryan.”

The pounding became louder, and then came the sound of a heavy thud and the doors shook, as if someone was hurtling himself against the wood. Cassini heard a crack of oak splintering.

The Sicilian froze, a snarl on his face, like a wildcat caught in the glare of headlights, but only for an instant. Still clutching the bloody letter opener, he darted into the passageway and pulled the bookshelf after him.

OUTSIDE CARDINAL UMBERTO
Cassini’s office, Monsignor Sean Ryan aimed his Glock 27. Behind him stood an array of security staff and Cassini’s secretary, all looking worried as Ryan leveled the barrel at the door lock.

He had already racked the Glock’s slide and chambered a round. “Stand well back, all of you. I don’t want a ricochet killing anyone.”

In front of Ryan stood a massive pair of double oak doors that seemed impregnable. After minutes of kicking and heaving against the solid wood, Ryan had barely created a few splinters. Now he aimed his Glock at the gap between the door frame and the lock.

Cassini’s secretary was aghast. “But Monsignor, what if there’s someone behind the door—?”

Ryan figured the relatively low-velocity .40-caliber round wouldn’t completely penetrate the thick oak. He ignored the secretary and fired a single shot. The noise boomed around the room and splintered the door. It took another shot before the wood around the lock cracked, and then Ryan heaved his boxer’s shoulders against the oak. It gave way and he crashed into the office, almost losing his balance.

Ryan saw no sign of Cassini. As the others rushed in after him, Ryan’s eyes swept the room and he saw Kelly’s body lying near the fireplace, blood oozing from a wound in his back. A flutter of black motes floated in the fireplace, where some flames were dying.

Ryan raced over to Kelly and examined his wounds. The cardinal’s red gown was punctured with slits that looked like the work of a knife. “Call an ambulance at once.”

Angelo Butoni felt Kelly’s pulse. “A waste of time. He’s dead.”

Sweat rising on his face, Ryan scoured the huge office but he knew instinctively where Cassini had gone. He crossed to the bookcase, pressed the red leather-bound book, and the shelf swung open. He stepped cautiously into the darkened chamber and pulled the light string, the Glock readied.

The secret chamber looked empty, the winding stone staircase leading up and down. “What’s the chance that Cassini’s disappeared into one of his rat holes?” he said back to Butoni, who joined him, along with two more guards. Butoni nodded. “Kelly isn’t dead long and the secretary didn’t see Cassini leave his office.”

With such a maze of Vatican tunnels and passageways, Ryan was temporarily perplexed, his mind working feverishly. “Remind me again where this passageway leads, Angelo?”

Butoni found a switch on the chamber wall, flicked it on, and an array of small red-tinted guide lights came on, illuminating the spiraling passageway walls. “I believe to one of our old armories, several floors below. It also leads to the archives, and out to several courtyards. In fact, pretty much anywhere you want it to, even the Sistine. This is one of the main channels, Monsignor.”

“
The Sistine?
”

“Yes.”

Ryan felt sweat drench his face. “The Holy Father went there to pray.
Which
armory, Angelo?”

“The small one on the second floor. It contains a cache of weapons in case of emergency. Pistols, rifles, even Heckler & Koch machine pistols. Why?”

Without a word, Ryan pushed past Butoni, almost knocking him over, and dashed down the passageway’s stone steps as fast as he could run.