The Second Messiah

He came to a littered side street and stopped in front of a terraced house. The double front door was painted blue, its crumbling sandstone walls at least eighteenth century. He yanked a bellpull and a tinkling noise echoed somewhere inside. Moments later he heard bolts being slid. A double door opened and a woman stood there. She was middle-aged, with a buxom matronly figure. She smiled at her visitor. “Yes?”

Becket didn’t speak but lifted his head. When the shocked woman saw his face beneath the hood she put a hand to her mouth. “John—”

Becket’s brow glistened with sweat. “I got the letter. We need to talk, Anna.”

The woman glanced up and down the empty street to make sure no one had seen them and then she ushered him inside.

PART FOUR

26

JORDAN

5:35 P.M.

Jack sweated inside the Ford pickup. They had entered Jordan over a hundred miles ago and Josuf was speeding along a stretch of open desert road, the dusty windshield spattered with dead flies, the late afternoon sun hot as a furnace.

“The air-conditioning kaput,” Josuf told them, cursing the weak stream of cool air that flowed from the cabin’s dashboard. They had left the windows open but still it was blistering hot. Endless sand plains stretched across either side, broken only by the occasional palm-fringed wadi or the rusting wrecks of abandoned vehicles littering the side of the road.

Yasmin sat between Jack and Josuf, the pickup cabin cramped. A pair of furry dice dangled from the rearview mirror, the dashboard jam-packed with stuck-on pictures of Josuf’s extended family.

The Bedu kept a firm grip on the steering wheel and his foot to the floor, the Ford chewing up the desert road. “From here on it gets more dangerous. Entering Jordan was easy, but where we cross the Syrian border there are often army patrols. If we meet one, please let me do the talking.”

“If you say so.” Jack felt the tension rise in the cabin. For the last half hour there had been no road signs and it amazed him to think that Josuf could navigate without maps or a GPS system. But then it stood to reason that the desert’s geography had to be in the Bedu’s blood.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Cane, you and the lady will be safe. My cousin is serving with the Syrian army and has promised to guide us over the border.”

“You’re sure he won’t let us down?”

“Not Faisal. He’s as reliable as the dawn.”

Jack tried to relax but found it impossible. If they were caught illegally crossing the Syrian border, they could spend years in prison.

Josuf said proudly, “The Syrian military likes to enlist the Bedu, as do the Jordanians, and even the Israelis. They make excellent soldiers. Faisal is an officer.”

“What happens after we meet him?”

“He’ll lead us to Maloula.”

“Tell me about the monastery.”

“All I know is that it was once part of an Arab fort, built over a thousand years ago. The monastery is still in use and is a place of Christian pilgrimage.”

Jack wiped sweat from his brow. They had crossed the Israeli–Jordanian border at the Allenby Bridge. For the last two hours they had driven across a ribbon of coarse roads through endless desert. Before they had left Qumran, Josuf had sent Yasmin back to the camp to pack. On the floor between Jack’s feet was an overnight bag that Yasmin had stashed with a clean change of clothes, underwear, and toiletries for both of them.

Josuf depressed the windshield-wash button but when a few miserable squirts hit the dusty glass, he pulled to the side of the road and kept the engine running.

“What’s up?” Jack asked.

“I must fill the windshield bottle with water. I have a plastic container in the back.” Josuf reached under his seat and plucked out a set of number plates, along with a screwdriver. “I need also to fit Syrian licence plates. Not false, but genuine. My vehicle is registered in three countries.”

“Do you pay taxes in any of them?”

Josuf laughed, flashing his silver tooth. “I try not to, Mr. Cane.”

“When do we cross the border?”

“We crossed it five minutes ago.”

27

Josuf went to raise the hood and Jack said to Yasmin, “You look distracted. Are you okay?”

“I’m trying not to think what might happen if we get caught. I’ve heard scary stories about the Syrian secret police. People getting locked up for years without trial, and even being tortured.”

Jack felt the furnace heat of the desert fill the cabin and took a slug of bottled water. “Don’t dwell on it. Have you ever heard of this St. Paul’s Monastery before?”

“Never.”

“If we had a signal around here, maybe we could try the Internet?”

“I’ll try.” Yasmin plucked out her cell phone, flicked it open, and after a few moments said, “No, I can’t get a signal.”

Outside, Josuf finished under the hood. The Bedu slammed it shut and began using the screwdriver to attach the number plates.

Jack looked at Yasmin, struck by her near-perfect features, her almond eyes and bronzed skin. “By the way, I appreciate you coming along.”