by Jon Land
“I see I don’t have to introduce myself,” Ben said, and craned his neck to better see the tattoo. The front of the large, wood-paneled office was dark and he could barely make out the design burned into Gianni Lorenzo’s arm. The thinning of his muscles had folded the blunt edges of the cross around his forearm, nearly obscuring them in the wrinkled patches of skin.
“You should be dead now,” Lorenzo said.
“I apologize for disrupting your plans.”
“The fact that you used the name Winston Daws to gain entry means you must know far more than I had thought.”
“I also know about your foray into the Judean Desert fifty-two years ago, Colonel. And I know what you left behind.”
Lorenzo tried very hard not to look surprised. “My compliments, Inspector. May I ask how?”
“A boy guided you into the desert. All these years later, he still remembers that day quite clearly.”
Lorenzo shook his head regretfully. “I should have killed him then.”
“I’m sure you would have, if he hadn’t run away. Your mistake was ordering him killed last week. If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”
The colonel’s eyes fell again on the satchel Ben still clutched to him. “Then it is a good thing I did. He must have led you to what lies inside that bag.”
“Neither of you, it seems, can escape the past. But the past is what all this is about, isn’t it?”
“Show me what you have in your bag, Inspector.”
Ben withdrew the box from his satchel and angled it so Lorenzo could see the name “Flavius Josephus” in Hebrew letters carved into the top. “Why didn’t you destroy the scroll after you killed Winston Daws, Colonel?”
Gianni Lorenzo’s eyes bulged at the sight of the box, viewing it with an odd mixture of longing and distaste, as he focused on Flavius Josephus’ name. “Because I couldn’t. I felt it would be ... a sin.”
Ben couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “You had just supervised the murder of two dozen innocent people.”
“They were no longer innocent, Inspector, not from the time they found that box and opened it.”
“Casualties of war’—is that what you prefer to call them? Is that how you rationalized it?”
“I’m afraid I did—I still do. Casualties of a war that has been raging unchecked for centuries. A war spearheaded by those who would stop at nothing to see the church destroyed.” The colonel’s eyes never left the wooden box. “You are holding the means to do that in your hands, Inspector, just as Winston Daws did fifty-two years ago.”
“You’re not giving the church enough credit, Colonel.”
“Some of us can’t afford to take chances.”
“Then I guess I’m lucky to be standing here alive. Puts me in very rare company.”
Gianni Lorenzo retreated into the center of the sprawling office, his feet padding onto the thick Oriental carpet. An unseasonable cold snap had kept him from opening the office windows as of late, leaving the room with a musty scent that reeked of age. The stink of the terrible things men had been dispatched from here to do.
“If you know that, Inspector, why have you come to me?”
“To make a trade.”
“A trade?”
Ben nodded, slowly. “The contents of this box in exchange for the life of Pakad Danielle Barnea of Israel’s National Police force.”
“We do not take hostages, Inspector.”
Ben followed the leader of the Swiss Guard onto the carpet. “You better hope you did this time, Colonel.”
“I believe I was briefed on her, on all the unusual Israeli activity.”
“Unusual? A dozen Americans were killed! What did you expect them to do?”
“For archaeologists, not nearly this much.”
“No, Colonel. Only two were archaeologists,” Ben told him. “The rest were members of a geological survey team.”
The colonel kept his mouth from dropping, but his lips quivered and his eyelids began to flutter.
“You didn’t know,” Ben realized. He found himself surprisingly calm and cool, as if the emotion had been sucked out of him. “Just as you couldn’t have known one of those killed was my nephew. That makes you responsible for his death. And I’m going to tell you something else. Danielle Barnea is pregnant with my child. If anything happens to her . . . well, I believe the Bible has much to say on such things.”
A tremor of fear slid onto Lorenzo’s expression. “Have you come here to kill me, Inspector?”
“I have something far worse planned, if you don’t cooperate with me. The archaeologists were with the geologists purely for cover. They weren’t supposed to find anything. I’m sure uncovering this scroll was as big a surprise to them as it was to you.”
“But they must have known what it was they had dug up; they contacted experts.”
Ben regarded Gianni Lorenzo coldly, knowingly. “It was those experts who contacted you, wasn’t it?”
The colonel nodded. “The first links in the chain.”
“Well, your chain’s unraveling and so is your world.” Ben took a step closer, then another. “But I can help you with both, Colonel. I can help you erase the mistake that has haunted you for most of your life.” He held the box out casually. “Destroy the contents of this box and you need never worry again about anyone finding proof that Christ did not die on the cross, that the resurrection never happened.”
Ben’s final statement seemed to inflame Gianni Lorenzo. He stormed forward and for an instant, just an instant, Ben recognized the young man who fifty-two years before had murdered two dozen innocent men. “Let me see that!”
Ben twisted away from Lorenzo and backpedaled. “Not yet. Not until you tell me about Danielle Barnea.”
“All right, all right. We rescued her at sea.”
“What?”
“Our people traced Barnea to an oil platform in the Grand Banks where the Israelis brought her.”
“Oil,” Ben repeated.
“That’s what those American geologists must have been looking for,” the colonel said blankly. “It didn’t make sense before, but now . . .”
“And I think we can safely assume they found this oil, Colonel. Everyone else believes that’s what all this has been about. They don’t know something much more valuable is at stake.”
“The scroll!”
“No—Danielle Barnea.” Ben found his feelings for her were stronger than ever, in spite of their estrangement, in spite of her intention to raise their child without him. If anything, that made him want and need Danielle all the more. Perhaps this was his way of proving himself to her. “First you arrange for her release,” he continued. “First you bring her to me. Then you get the scroll.”
A cold hardness settled over Lorenzo’s expression. “Look around you, Inspector. For all your cleverness in getting this far, you are hardly in a position to make demands.”
“Because you could just have the box taken from me.”
The colonel simply nodded.
Ben shrugged and extended the box out in both hands. “Then go ahead. Take it.”
Gianni Lorenzo removed it from his grasp almost gracefully, held it at arm’s length as he walked toward the edge of the carpet to his desk. He laid the box down atop the polished wood top and worked open the latch, thinking of the other two times he had held it in his hands. Looking up after seeing the inside, his expression was a mix of disappointment and rage.
“It’s empty!”
“Of course, it is,” Ben said.
“Where is the scroll?”
“Where is Chief Inspector Barnea?”
“You bastard!”
“Such language, Colonel Lorenzo. Isn’t that another sin?”
“Where is Josephus’ scroll?”
“It’s here. Right in Rome. Only you don’t get the scroll until I get Danielle Barnea.”
The colonel’s lips puckered as he seethed, on the verge of exploding. “That is out of my co
ntrol.”
“Too bad. For both of us.”
“I could have you tortured, Ben Kamal. You would talk. In the end everyone does.”
Ben’s expression remained chiseled in ice. “It might take too long to do you any good.” He pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch, exaggerating the simple motion. “You have eight hours. If I do not retrieve the box’s contents before then, you will never see them. But someone else will: Rabbi Mordecai Lev. Everything’s arranged.”
Lorenzo tried to stand his ground, but looked suddenly shaky on his feet. His shoulders stooped, at once bony and withered beneath his robes.
“He will be dead before the scroll ever reaches him, Inspector.”
“You already missed your chance at Lev—twice.”
“What do you mean twice? What are you talking about?”
“You left him alive at Ephesus, Colonel; blind, but alive.”
Gianni Lorenzo clutched the back of a nearby chair for support. “A survivor ...”
“Unfortunately for you, yes.”
“And what does this religious fanatic expect to gain?”
“Religion has nothing to do with his desire to expose the truth,” Ben continued. “His crusade, his desire for vengeance, is wholly personal. Just as mine is now.”
Lorenzo shook his head disbelievingly. “You should know how this man feels about Palestinians, Inspector.”
“Just as you should know how I feel about Danielle Barnea.”
“I could make sure you never leave the Vatican alive,” Lorenzo threatened, not very convincingly.
“Then I suppose some of your Knights Templars have returned from their latest killing spree in Israel. How many more innocent people have to die, Colonel?”
Lorenzo gave him a long look. “You are not innocent at all, Inspector.”
“Kill me and Rabbi Lev will receive the manuscript before tomorrow is out, ammunition much more powerful in his hands than anything you can wield. He has nothing to lose, Colonel. You know what he’ll do with it.” Ben paused to let his point sink in. “It’s up to you, and I suggest you make your decision fast. Otherwise, His Holiness will have a lot of explaining to do.”
* * * *
D
anielle was as ready as she could be when she heard footsteps, followed by voices, in the cabin. She had been ready since the boat had slowed to a stop and the engine died out. The voices were muffled, muted by her confines. But she felt two of her captors hoist her tomb off the floor and tote the box forward, then up two steps. They set it down again on what must have been the deck beyond and she readied herself to spring as soon as the lid came free.
Danielle flexed her fingers, pushing the blood and strength back into them. She fought to empty her mind, let instinct take over once the lid came free and they reached in for her.
Danielle felt hands rustling against the outside of her tomb. She tensed in nervous expectation, her heart thudding loud enough for her captors to hear and give her away, she was sure.
Then, suddenly, the container was heaved upward, jolting her. The angle changed on a sharp tilt that cracked her head against the top and compressed her lower body toward the bottom.
My captors aren’t going to remove me from it! They are throwing the container into the water with me inside!
Danielle felt a thump as her tomb hit the gunwale and held there only long enough for her captors to give it one final thrust.
She was airborne, plunging downward headfirst. The container smacked the water’s surface and bobbed briefly before it began to sink.
* * * *
B
en watched as Gianni Lorenzo hung up the phone slowly. “I have done everything I can.”
“You better hope it was enough, Colonel.”
“It will be some time before I hear.”
Ben made sure Lorenzo could see him check his watch again. “You have just over seven hours and fifty-five minutes.”
“And if I cannot have Danielle Barnea here by that time . . .”
“Then you will never again see the contents of that box you want so desperately.”
“You are a Christian, are you not, Inspector?”
“A Christian who would like nothing more than to expose you and your private army for the wholesale, senseless murders of dozens.”
Lorenzo didn’t look regretful. “It was done for the sake of preserving the church. I’m sorry you disapprove of my actions.”
“I wasn’t speaking of just you personally, Colonel, I was talking about the entire doctrine you represent. If your faith is based on a lie, then your followers have a right to know that.”
“And you are the man to tell them.”
“If it’s the truth, why not?”
Gianni Lorenzo gave Ben his longest look yet. “Spoken as if you’re seeking vengeance as much as Mordecai Lev.”
“You killed my nephew, Colonel.”
Lorenzo did his best to look confident, but his eyes blinked rapidly and his breathing had picked up. “And how do I know you really even have the contents of this box to exchange for your Israeli friend?”
“Because I swear I’ve got them,” Ben said. “I swear to God.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 67
B
en chose Rome’s Villa Borghese for their meeting, to take place at nine o’clock that evening. Occupying over six square miles north of the famed Spanish Steps and Via Veneto, the Villa Borghese is made up of cool shady paths, formal gardens, scenic terraces, and numerous fountains and statues that serve as a welcome respite from the noise and bustle of the city beyond. For Ben, those same features would make for excellent cover and hiding on the chance that things went poorly tonight.
He had not yet considered an escape route. He had not even considered what he would do if Colonel Gianni Lorenzo could not produce Danielle Barnea. If she was not in the park tonight, he knew he would never see her again, or the child she was carrying inside her ever, and those were thoughts he chose not to bear.
Lorenzo tried to have him followed from the Vatican. But the swirls of people cluttering the sidewalks and the endless traffic cramming the streets made losing them easy. Beyond that, all those the colonel dispatched were dressed in uniform and none, Ben guessed, were members of the elite Knights Templars.
Lorenzo obviously had more important work for them elsewhere.
Still, Ben waited until dark before returning to Leonardo da Vinci Airport. There, in a square trash receptacle disguised as a planter, he had tossed the contents of the box after placing them in a tightly wrapped, weather-sealed bag. The time limit he had given Lorenzo was based on the knowledge of when those receptacles were emptied every day. Of course there was no copy ready to be sent to Mordecai Lev. But Lorenzo didn’t know that and couldn’t take the risk that the manuscript might fall into the old rabbi’s hands.
Ben had chosen a busy time at which to return to the airport. Busy enough that no one would notice a man picking through a trash can. Ben simply lifted off the squared lid with the planter top and rested it on the floor. Then he dipped his hands into the middle of soda cans, candy wrappers, half-eaten sandwiches, and stray magazines and worked them about in search of the tightly wrapped package he had stowed deep inside.
He found it after only a few seconds of probing. It was sticky and wet, but thanks to his wrapping job, the contents would be untouched and perfectly preserved. He tucked the package into the small tote he had purchased upon entering the airport, returned the lid to its place carefully, and took a taxi back to the city.
* * * *
B
en waited before entering the park at eight o’clock. It had officially closed at dusk nearly two hours before, meaning anyone entering would at once stand out.
He watched from the shadows across the street, wondering if someone was already inside the park waiting for him to appear as well. He knew he was at his most vulnerable from this moment on because all Lorenzo’s men had to do would be kill him a
nd take his tote bag. That would render the exchange superfluous, sealing Danielle’s fate as well.
If she was still alive.
Ben wasn’t sure what he was waiting for until a gang of unruly teenagers approached the park entrance. One smashed a bottle on the sidewalk. Two others stopped to light cigarettes. Ben heard laughter and swearing. The boys, easily a dozen in their late teens, swaggered more than walked as they turned into the park. He watched a straggler guzzle the remainder of his beer and smash his bottle as well.