‘Which is why we need the CCU. To make sure every complication stays tidy and explicable.’
‘Exactly. Mysteries can be explained. Explanation makes the problem go away.’
‘Has the CCU ever asked you to kill anyone?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I made the same pledges on graduation that you did.’
‘I killed Jesus.’
‘Did you? No one’s convinced about that. You’re a special case. You thought you killed someone but you didn’t.’
On Claudia’s side of the island there’s a drawer beneath the counter. She pulls the drawer out far enough to slip her hand inside. She wouldn’t, not here, surely? Gallio darts out his hand and clamps her wrist.
‘Let go of me.’
‘What’s in the drawer?’
To have a mind like Cassius Gallio’s is a curse. He lets his suspicions find a shape, and Claudia of all people can get close to him. After Caistor Valeria knows that, though she wouldn’t have planned anything too exotic because Gallio isn’t a disciple. So maybe a muted clip from a silenced CCU-issue Beretta. Valeria would be confident he’d follow Claudia somewhere quiet, should she ask. Like a bedroom, for example. Valeria has created the conditions.
‘I have nothing dangerous in the drawer, Cassius.’
‘I think you do.’
‘You have a vivid imagination. Too vivid. Your story isn’t the big story here.’
‘Bring your hand out very slowly.’
She does so, though he uses his strength to keep her slow. In her hand she has a buff-coloured padded envelope, A4 size, which she lays on the counter. He lets go of her wrist and she rubs blood back through to her fingers.
‘Sorry.’
She bangs the drawer closed. ‘Money,’ Claudia says. ‘Paul’s bonus, in cash, once Peter is dead.’
Cassius Gallio peeks inside, sees several bricks of notes. He doesn’t need to count it, but it’s more of a stash than he spent on Judas.
‘You knew all along,’ Cassius says.
‘Some of it. I’ve speculated the rest for myself. Valeria had to have an inside contact for us to find the disciples so quickly.’
‘Her inside man was Paul. We both worked out Paul was working for Valeria.’
‘She learned from the past. You ran the same ploy with Judas, only Valeria embedded Paul more deeply.’
‘Why are you telling me this? I’m a deserter. I make colossal mistakes, and end up sleeping in your garden. My judgement is suspect.’
‘I don’t remember Caistor as a misjudgement. Speaking for myself.’
Claudia sweeps at the counter, and she leans in and sweeps at the counter once more. She checks her phone, sips some coffee. She bites the inside of the corner of her lip, works at the soft inner flesh like Judas had in the Antonia. Whatever she’s about to say, the effort involves eating some of herself up.
‘I’m telling you because of Caistor. The CCU has not been kind to you.’
‘Valeria called me back from Germany. I’m grateful to her for giving me a second chance.’
‘She couldn’t find anyone else.’ Claudia offers nothing to cushion the truth, not even the smallest lie. ‘You were asked to look for Jesus as if he were alive, but Valeria reasonably assumed he was dead. She wanted you for a specific purpose of her own. Basically she faked a manhunt using a washed-up Speculator, and Paul exploited the charade. He could let it be known the CCU was looking for Jesus, making the resurrection more credible, which suits Valeria’s strategy of running Paul as a Roman client apostle. By this stage the story of Jesus is more powerful than the living human being, and Paul’s version of the sect can prosper on the story alone, as long as the disciples aren’t alive to disagree with the details. And, of course, as long as Valeria and the Complex Casework Unit pull the strings.’
‘What about the second coming, and the promise Jesus made to show himself in the lifetime of one of his disciples, and to stage a once-and-for-all public appearance?’
‘Paul can explain that promise away, with Valeria’s help. The second coming is symbolic, he says. It represents individual enlightenment when the world changes for whoever becomes a believer. Not the end of the world, as the disciples understand it.’
‘Which is convenient, because personal Armageddons don’t threaten civilization.’
‘There you have it. The Jesus belief is tamed by Paul taking the place of the disciples, and at the same time Valeria gets her personal revenge by luring you into a ridiculously empty quest. To anyone in the loop you look stupid. You’re a Speculator running around searching for a long-dead terrorist. Cassius, you’re a laughing stock.’
The backs of Gallio’s hands look old on the worktop, the whorled knuckles, the prominent veins. Valeria brought him back to seek out a man she knew was dead. She’d contrived a mission with no possibility of success, even though the pursuit itself had given a purpose to his days, the endless days. He at least had that, and maybe his time was better spent on this than looking for nothing. Cassius Gallio remembers his dream of glory, the vanity that had blinded him to the truth. Well played, Valeria.
‘I’ve spent too much of my life on this,’ Gallio says. ‘I should have accepted the fact that Jesus died. Look again in the obvious place. That’s what my stepdad always said. Jesus was crucified and Jesus died.’
‘The CCU analysts made a percentage chart, and the highest probability is that the man who died on the cross was Jesus. He did die, like so many others, and his body was stolen from the tomb with the collusion of individuals working for the occupying army. That computes as the most likely explanation, given the conditions, and to make it happen the disciples needed someone’s help.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Your soldiers were paid off.’
‘After the event. Baruch paid them on behalf of the Israelis to say the disciples stole the body. They wanted to stop the resurrection story from gaining traction, and Valeria knows what Baruch did and why. It came out in the interrogations we did at the time.’
‘Baruch is dead. Also convenient. No one can check with him who he paid and who he didn’t. You could have taken a bribe to help set Jesus free, which then makes you a prime suspect as the murderer of disciples. You want them dead because they know you were involved, and now you’re trying to clean the slate. Valeria can pin this on you without breaking a sweat, if that’s what takes her fancy.’
‘You’re speculating, so speculate about the body. The body, Claudia. No one ever found a body.’
‘You’re fixated on his corpse. Move on. Even if Jesus survived the cross he’d have died soon after from his injuries. That’s the strongest probability.’
‘No mysteries,’ Gallio says. ‘Just like the CCU promised us. You don’t believe I killed the disciples, but we both have a suspicion about who did. Doesn’t look good for me, though, I see that now. Baruch is dead. Soon Peter will be dead, then John. If I die next no one is left alive to remember Jesus.’
‘Except Paul.’
And Paul works for Valeria. He portrays Jesus as a nonpolitical pacifist eager to pay his taxes. With Valeria’s help Paul travels the world, speaks at conferences, writes his letters, and together they encourage converts of the acceptable sort. Paul’s type of believer, short on the radical tendencies of the original Jesus movement. Paul advises his correspondents to respect the rule of law and put in a solid day’s work for the benefit of the civilized economy. Instead of miracles, he opts for conference theology with regular breaks from spiritual engagement for complimentary light refreshments.
‘And he gets handsomely paid,’ Claudia says, patting the soft envelope on the counter between them. ‘You’ve seen how he lives, and every time a disciple dies Paul’s influence increases. I can’t say he comes very well out of this.’
‘I’m a loose end, aren’t I? I was at the tomb. I can’t explain what happened but I was there, like the disciples were there up to the crucifixion and then afterward for the life-after-death appearanc
es. Valeria has to kill me to protect Paul’s version of Jesus. That’s why you’re telling me this.’
Claudia holds up her hands. ‘I’m going into the drawer again. Don’t grab me. I haven’t got a gun.’
She pulls out a Circus ticket and slides the stiff card across the counter. ‘Check the seat number.’
Gallio recognizes the row and seat as the place next to the pair of tickets Valeria gave him the day before. Jesus is not alone in planning ahead.
‘If you turn up without John, and if Jesus fails to make an appearance, and if we don’t all die in a terrorist attack, then I’m supposed to do the cleaning.’
‘I was right. You’re my assassin.’
‘Except I’m telling you about it now. That usually means it isn’t going to happen.’
‘You’re young, you’re starting out. Making independent decisions could go very badly for you.’
‘So I’m changing my little portion of the future, as the least I can do. I used to believe we were the good guys, and I jumped at this mission. If we’d found Jesus or explained the resurrection we’d genuinely enlighten an unsatisfactory mystery that misleads as many people as it helps. Now I find out that Valeria’s idea was to replace one version of the superstition with another, and by killing lovely men like Bartholomew. I liked Bartholomew.’
‘I liked him too. He was a force for good.’
‘He was skinned alive. It doesn’t end there. Valeria brought Alma to Rome, and she shouldn’t play her games with children. That’s why I’m about to disobey orders. I have daughters of my own.’
‘Thank you,’ Gallio says. ‘I think. Just checking, but it has nothing to do with me?’
‘You’re not wrong as often as Valeria thinks you are. Let’s leave it at that.’
‘What happens if I do find John, and bring him to the Circus?’
‘Everything is mapped out. After Peter is dead I make the payment to Paul at a drop-site outside the city, where fewer people are likely to recognize him. Just me and him and the bodyguard, and Valeria will be there too if you’ve found John.’
‘Then what happens?’
‘I hand over the envelope to Paul, no one the wiser. Valeria takes John off your hands. I doubt they’ll be going on holiday.’
‘I mean what happens to me?’
‘You could run before we get there, between the Circus and the pay-off. I’ll say I couldn’t stop you.’
‘She has Alma.’
‘Tricky. Depends how much revenge she feels is adequate, but I doubt we can rely on her compassion. Anyway, never pays to look too far ahead. Maybe Jesus appears at the Circus Maximus to save Peter’s neck. He genuinely comes back from the dead, not once but twice, and the world as we know it ends and neither of us has to worry about Valeria and the CCU. Silver linings.’
‘Could happen.’
‘Could do. But if it doesn’t, you’re in luck. I know where they’re holding Alma.’
The SOS Children’s Village is to the southwest of the city, about half an hour by Fiat minicab door to door from Claudia’s villa. The sign on the driveway reveals what the village really is: an orphanage. Valeria is looking to the future, and Cassius Gallio is suddenly as concerned for Judith as he is for poor fatherless Alma. Though he mustn’t rush to judge.
The orphanage is eight bungalows grouped between large houses in a leafy residential area. Six children live in each building, and the orphanage is full. Cassius has borrowed a yellow high-vis waistcoat from the coat stand inside Claudia’s front door, and he walks slowly through the compound acting as if he belongs. Keep it slow, he thinks, and a fluorescent jacket makes him invisible. Don’t mind me, I just work here.
Through the windows the furnishings in each bungalow look sparse but clean. The kids inside play computer games or they’re on Facebook, while others enjoy the fresh air at the play area. Gallio is impressed, and would like to know who pays for this.
At the playground Alma is catching smaller children as they come down the slide, and her leg is visibly more flexible than it was. The physiotherapy is working, and Judith was right—Alma can receive better treatment in Rome than Jerusalem. Maybe. Gallio doesn’t know what Valeria is thinking, not when she makes unspoken threats to feed Alma to the Circus, but he believes people are basically good, or have good intentions. He looks at the bungalows constructed for forty-eight orphans: the world is full of unintended results.
A flurry of children run for the gate. Not again, Gallio thinks, but yes—Jesus is also here. He’s carrying lollies between his fingers and an armful of DVDs. Gallio watches him hand out his gifts and, predictably, with children Jesus is funny and approachable. As one of the older ones, Alma mocks a bow and links arms with Jesus as far as the orphanage office, and while they’re inside Cassius Gallio threads himself into a picnic table and settles down to wait. Time goes by, and he notices a change in the weather. Clouds are moving in, grey and elegant, the colour of Claudia’s sweaters.
Before too long Alma and Jesus reappear from the office. They seem inseparable, his hand in hers, and she brings him to Gallio’s picnic table. Alma and Jesus sit down on the opposite side to Cassius Gallio. Alma pushes a straw into a lunch box carton of orange juice, sucks the juice through to check the straw works, then hands the carton to Jesus. He drinks, one big suck and swallow, smacks his lips with satisfaction. Alma settles her head on her hands on the tabletop, gazes up at his luminous face.
‘Hello John,’ Gallio says. He hadn’t been looking, but here John is. It must be.
‘Matthew, is that you?’
John has an unconvincing beard, as in the images pinned to the incident-room wall in Jerusalem, but his Jesus-look radiates from sharp cheekbones and a faraway gaze. He sucks on the straw, more cautiously this time.
‘I’m sorry,’ Gallio says. ‘I’m not a disciple. Matthew is dead.’
‘I hadn’t heard,’ John says, ‘but I’m not surprised. Another one gone ahead. Who are you?’
John peers intently, straining his Jesus-brown eyes, and only now does Gallio realize that John can barely see. He blinks hard, leans forward, grasps Gallio by the elbows. He stares at the grain of Gallio’s face, and Gallio is more obviously himself, up this close.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be Matthew.’
Years ago in Jerusalem John had been first to arrive at the empty tomb with Peter, and these two disciples let the others know that Jesus had disappeared. Maybe John’s eyesight was failing even then.
‘John, I have a question to ask you. It’s important. When did you last see Jesus?’
‘I’m nearly blind,’ John says. He releases Gallio’s elbows. ‘I see him all the time. Is it Jesus you’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know. I was.’
John fumbles for his juice, and Alma places the carton in his hand. He sucks at the straw and swallows until the carton pulls in on itself. When he puts the carton down it falls over. John takes Alma’s hand, leans forward and aims his gaze vaguely over Gallio’s shoulder. ‘Have you come to kill me?’
‘I’m not an assassin.’
‘Someone wants to kill me, though? You’d expect me to die?’
‘Presumably, at some point. Like anybody.’
Gallio looks at his daughter, ear squashed against her arm, her thumb rubbing across the top of John’s hand. He wishes he could make himself known to her, but there’s so much to explain. She deserves someone who can take care of her, who isn’t unstable and doesn’t tell lies.
‘Jesus is dead.’
‘You’re mistaken,’ John says. ‘Jesus is coming back.’
‘So Andrew told me. As did Bartholomew, and also Jude. None of you know when or how.’
‘Jesus never went away. This is an orphanage run for the state by the Church. The children here are safe in the hands of Jesus.’
Cassius Gallio knows from Jude that Jesus promised to return while at least one of his disciples was still alive, whichever one he loved most. He’s running out of options, t
he disciples now down to the last pair standing, with Peter’s execution scheduled for later that day. Gallio checks his watch, but he hasn’t worn a watch in years. He reads the time off his phone. A couple of hours until trumpets, when the Circus Maximus will open for public gratification.
‘Is Peter the beloved disciple?’
‘Jesus loved us all.’
‘But one of you he loved more than the others. Jude said so without my prompting.’
‘He gave Peter the keys,’ John says. ‘He singled him out and called him the rock. Is that what you mean?’
Yes, that would be enough. For Cassius Gallio the story of Jesus is finally coming together, and Valeria has shown too little respect for the subtlety of her opponent. Jesus predicted that Gallio would seek out Alma, his only daughter, so he sent John to the orphanage where the two men were most likely to meet. This is the work of the same Jesus who arranged the fire of Rome to create the conditions for Peter’s public execution. In the years since the alleged resurrection the world’s most modern secret service hasn’t managed a sniff of him. Jesus could be in Rome right now, and Valeria wouldn’t have a clue, because no one can appear and disappear like Jesus.
‘Is Jesus planning his second coming for the Circus?’
John smiles, his face lights up. Then the smile becomes a wince, and he blinks rapidly. ‘I’d very much like to have seen that.’
‘But I suppose you can’t, because you’re blind.’
‘No,’ John says. ‘When Jesus comes back I’ll probably be healed. But I couldn’t get hold of a ticket.’
Cassius Gallio uses the last of his Patras euros on a taxi, but the roads are blocked a long way out from the stadium. Fans ring cowbells and wave flags for their chariot teams. They break into chants, not always good-natured. Circus posters say Eat Chariots Sleep Chariots Drink Coca-Cola but Rome is drinking Italian wine, and plenty of it. Nearer the stadium, on foot, Cassius Gallio and John navigate random tailgate parties, and raised bottles salute them for embracing the spirit of games day—a man who looks like Jesus, in a sleeveless high-vis jacket, leads a man who looks like Jesus who is blind.
Acts of the Assassins Page 26