The Second Messiah

Weiss said, “You know the suspect, which ought to help us hunt him down. You’ve also worked with Ari Tauber, I understand.”

“We were partners in Jerusalem Homicide.”

“Ari’s a good man for you to work with. The scroll is an artifact of immense historical and religious importance that belongs to the Israeli people, and I want it back.” Weiss crossed to his desk. “I wish you the best of luck on your journey.”

“Journey?”

“You’re about to have an interesting trip. Mossad has gotten a tip that Jack Cane and Yasmin Green will attempt to illegally cross the desert into Syria sometime this evening, in the company of a Bedouin guide. Their destination is an old Catholic monastery at a place called Maloula, near Damascus. A priest there has a reputation for translating black-market parchments.”

Lela was amazed. “How do you know all that?”

Weiss tapped the side of his nose. “My secret for now. The Bedu may know the desert like the backs of their hands, but Cane’s an American with an Israeli stamp on his passport. My fear is, if he’s caught, the Syrians will either shoot him or throw him in jail, and then we’ll never get our hands on him. Worse still, he may have the scroll in his possession when the Syrians find him. And then they would never hand such a document back to us.”

Lela said, “Why not simply stop him from crossing into Syria?”

“I want to know what Cane’s up to at Maloula and if he can lead us to the scroll. Simply stopping him wouldn’t help us with that objective, now would it?”

“Why would he cross into Syria?”

“I’m hoping you and Ari will find that out.” Weiss stood and adjusted his trousers. “A special forces military helicopter is waiting to take you from a nearby air base and drop you at a desert location inside the Syrian border. Ari will explain all the rest. What’s the matter? You look concerned, Inspector.”

“There’s the slight matter of Syria’s ban on Israeli citizens entering that country. If I’m caught I risk being charged with spying.”

Weiss smiled. “True. But if I’m any judge of character, you’ll take that risk. You want to get to the bottom of this case involving your old friend Cane as much as I do. Syria’s certainly a dangerous place and its secret police are first-class. But Ari will have false passports with visas for you both, along with a cover story, expertly provided by Mossad. You also speak fluent Arabic, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Good; so does Ari. He’s waiting outside, ready to get this mission under way. Any questions?”

“When do I leave?”

“You already have. Good-bye, Inspector.”

31

ROME

7 P.M.

The restaurant known as L’Eau Vive is on the Via Monterone, a narrow backstreet near the Pantheon that the tourists tend to ignore. Owned by the Vatican, from the outside it looks quite ordinary, almost drab-looking, but inside the restaurant the walls are hung with expensive paintings, and the plush candlelit tables sparkle with silver and crystal.

Although open to the public, almost all of the clientele that afternoon were senior clergy, powerful businessmen, and bankers conducting important dealings with the Holy See. L’Eau Vive’s prices are much too steep for a humble parish priest.

Ryan noticed that the restaurant was quite full as he entered. A nun approached him. She was strikingly beautiful in an elegant long gown and her face had a look of studied piety. “Have you a reservation?” she asked politely.

Ryan smiled charmingly. “Monsignor Sean Ryan. I believe I’m expected. One of the private rooms.”

“Ah, yes.” The nun was immediately deferential. “Follow me, Your Grace.”

Ryan was led past a large statue of the Virgin, standing in its grotto in a corner, to a discreet alcove at the back of the restaurant. When the nun pulled back the thick red curtain, the room was almost dark, lit only by two candles set in silver holders on the table. The sole occupant was a man, his face in shadow. Ryan slipped inside, the curtain closed, and he found himself facing Cassini, wearing a clerical black suit with a gold cross in his lapel. “Sean. It was good of you to come on such short notice.”

“My pleasure, Your Eminence.”

“What will you have to eat? I can recommend the saltimbocca, or the duck filet in Grand Marnier. Both are always excellent.”

Ryan picked a modest fettuccine, served with a crisp side salad. Cassini ordered the wine. An expensive Barolo, as befitted his status. “So, Sean. What news do you have for me?”

“Security has been stepped up in all areas. I’ve had extra guards stationed everywhere, uniformed and the plainclothes variety. No one will get in or out of the Vatican’s restricted sectors without proper papers, I can promise you that. Even the zones open to tourists are being patrolled with extreme vigilance.”

“Excellent. As always, your professionalism puts me at ease.” Cassini looked genuinely pleased but noticed Ryan’s face suddenly crease with anxiety. “You look troubled. Is there something on your mind?”

“I think you could say that, Your Eminence. A worrying development, as they say.”