The Second Messiah

Cassini reached inside his black suit jacket and produced a letter and envelope, kept in a clear plastic bag. “This turned up with my morning’s post. Whether it was delivered deliberately or in error, I cannot say. My secretary showed it to me at once. I found it disturbing. I took the liberty, Sean, of placing it in a plastic bag.” Cassini shrugged. “Don’t ask me why, but I’ve seen certain detectives do it in films. What do they call it—an evidence bag?”

Ryan accepted the letter. Behind the clear plastic he saw that individual letters of the alphabet had been cut from newspapers to construct a message that was pasted onto a sheet of plain paper. The message read:

THE POPE IS THE ANTICHRIST. HE IS AN INSTRUMENT OF THE DEVIL. HE WILL RUIN THE CHURCH WITH HIS REVELATIONS AND MUST BE DESTROYED.

There was no signature, not that Ryan expected any. He raised his eyes. “No one else touched this, apart from you and your secretary?”

Cassini shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Ryan carefully folded the letter and placed it in his inside pocket. “I’ll need to have it checked out. It may be necessary to take the fingerprints of both you and your secretary, to eliminate you from any we might find on the evidence.”

“I understand.”

“May I ask if you informed the Holy Father?”

Cassini took another mouthful of the delicious Barolo. “No. I thought I’d leave that to you. You seem troubled. Is there something else on your mind, Sean?”

“The Holy Father disappeared this morning for at least two hours.”

“Disappeared?”

“Left the Vatican walls. Where he went I have no idea. When he showed up his secretary expressed anxiety that he couldn’t find him. The pontiff simply brushed aside any concern.”

Cassini shook his head vigorously. “That can’t be allowed to happen again. It’s absurd.”

“This is why I propose that we place the Holy Father under surveillance. I would like your approval, Your Eminence.”

Cassini finished the last mouthful of dessert, dabbed his lips, and tossed aside his napkin. “Of course. The pontiff’s safety is paramount. But it must be discreet. I’d prefer if you handled it personally, Sean.”

“You mean you want me to follow the Holy Father?”

“You’re the head of security. Who else would be better qualified to keep an eye on him? Besides, you’re trained in self-defense, and if the rumors from the security office are to be believed, you’re an excellent shot.”

Ryan raised an eye. “I’m a little rusty in both those departments, but if you insist.”

“I do. This is a very delicate matter.”

“Very well, but perhaps you’ll talk with the Holy Father, Your Eminence? Try and convince him to at least curtail his movements and wear the bulletproof vest? After all, the church needs a pontiff, not another martyr.”

33

MALOULA

SYRIA

7:50 P.M.

The army truck slowed to a halt with a squeal of brakes. In the back Jack raised himself from the floor and helped Yasmin drag herself up. Beside them Josuf struggled to his feet and peered out beyond the canvas flap. “It seems we’ve arrived.”

It was growing dark and they had halted beside a clump of palm trees next to a wadi. Ahead of them was a bustling town built at the foot of a sheer mountain. Some of the squat, whitewashed houses looked centuries old and hewn out of the mountain rock, others rose up steeply in tiers toward the summit. Windows were lit with the glow of oil lamps and the markets and food stalls in the narrow streets thronged with people. Jack saw a handful of Orthodox nuns among the crowd and noticed several church domes, one with a blue-painted cross on top.

The four armed soldiers in the back of the truck came alert as they heard the doors of the front cab open, the sound of feet hitting gravel. A moment later the Syrian major tore back the canvas flap. He grinned up at his captives and said in Arabic, “This is the end of the line. I’m sorry if it was a bumpy trip, but these desert roads are not exactly the best. How are you all?”

Jack jumped down, followed by the others. “It could be worse. We could be on our way to a prison cell in Damascus.”

The major grinned and slapped Josuf on the back. “My performance wasn’t bad, now was it?”

Josuf rubbed his jaw. “That slap of yours hurt, Cousin. You are the mongrel son of a mangy camel, but I forgive you.”

The major laughed heartily. “A little pain is a small price to pay. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Josuf said, “At first when I didn’t see you among the uniforms I thought we were finished. What kept you, Faisal?”

“My men and I bumped into the lieutenant’s patrol. He insisted on joining us because of some minefields in the area. Still, it all came right in the end.”

Jack said, “Won’t the lieutenant get suspicious when he finds out that we’re not in custody?”

The major grinned again. “How would he find that out? No junior officer with half a brain would question the secret police. As for my men, they’re all from my tribe and I trust them with my life. Follow me.”