The Second Messiah

by Glenn Meade

  “I want to hear it, Buddy.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to shoot. But then Green came at me like a wild bear and knocked the gun out of my hand. That’s when I grabbed your knife from the table.” Savage’s eyes were moist. “I didn’t mean to kill him, Jack. It just happened, out of the blue. But I know I did wrong and that nothing’s going to put it right, not ever.”

  Savage began to sob, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his own admission.

  Jack touched his arm. “Why steal, Buddy? It’s not you.”

  Buddy tipped back his baseball cap, wiped his eyes with his arm, and looked out at the headlights as they drew even closer. “I could give you a hundred reasons.”

  “Give me one.”

  “Because at my age I got tired of scratching for a living, and for nothing much more than my board and keep. I got tired of traveling coach class and busting my guts with not so much as a decent pension to show for it. I got tied of hearing stories about some dirt-poor Bedu making a fortune for themselves digging our sites.”

  “Is that what it was about, Buddy, money?”

  “I figured I’d set myself up for retirement. Except I never reckoned on getting in way over my head. After I killed Green I decided to take the scroll. Make it look like a proper murder and theft. That way the police might think it was a criminal gang. I’d arranged to give Pasha the cuttings, but I gave him the entire parchment just to get rid of it. I didn’t want a cent from it.”

  “You stopped Pasha from killing me, didn’t you?”

  “He called and told me you were on his tail at Maloula. I warned him that if he killed you I’d tell the Israelis everything. That’s why he tempered it with a warning and shot you in the leg instead.”

  Savage paused, closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. “There was no talking to Pasha. He was a nasty piece of work who probably would have killed us all in the end, especially after you did the switch. He went crazy, wanted your blood. Your friend Lela did everyone a favor killing him.”

  Jack said, “You told him I was in Rome, didn’t you?”

  “He said if I didn’t give him some leads, he’d kill us all. He said all he wanted was the scroll back. If he got that, he’d leave us alone. I figured I had to tell him my suspicions that you’d gone to see Fonzi.”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “He was a scroll expert and familiar with the code. I reckoned he’d probably be one of your first ports of call. I warned Pasha again that if he harmed you, I’d tell the Israelis everything. He swore he wouldn’t kill you.”

  “And you trusted him?”

  “I never trusted him, but I figured he’d be smart enough keep to his word or risk being hunted down by the Israelis. I tried to call and warn you to be careful, left lots of messages, but you didn’t answer my calls.”

  “Pasha killed Fonzi, Buddy. Cut his throat.”

  Savage’s eyes were wet again, and he ran a hand over his face. “Oh, no …”

  Jack glanced in the rearview. He guessed the headlights were less than a hundred yards away. “How could you be so dumb, Buddy? How?”

  “We all do dumb things in life.”

  “Why all of a sudden tell the Israelis?”

  Savage looked back at him. “To square things. Make sure they didn’t put you behind bars. After I got Hassan’s call, I phoned Sergeant Mosberg. I told him I wanted to make a deal. The cops get me and the scroll and you walk free. I told him you were innocent. But now if Hassan has his way, the world’s going to know about the scroll anyway. The Israelis aren’t going to be able to deny its existence.”

  Savage nodded toward the rear mirror and the approaching headlights. “You better get out, Jack. Any second now and the cops are going to be swarming all over this place like ants on a dung pile.”

  Jack flicked an anxious look in the mirror. The cortege roared closer.

  Buddy said, “Keep your hands in the air when you get out. I don’t want any misunderstandings and you getting hurt. My deceit’s caused enough of that.”

  “Pops …”

  Savage shook his head. “I want to face them alone, Jack. But I’m truly sorry for what I did. For letting you down.”

  Jack’s eyes filled with emotion. He stepped out of the Land Cruiser and looked back at Buddy. “I forgive you.”

  Savage wiped his eyes. “Love you, Jack. Always have.”

  The rows of headlights appeared to spread out until they half circled the Land Cruiser and halted. Jack felt frozen to the spot.

  Savage said, “Jack, listen to me, get your hands in the air. The Israelis don’t mess around.”

  “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll come for me. Lela knows the drill. Just do as I say and play it like she told me to.”

  Jack raised his hands. A metallic voice spoke over a loudspeaker, in Hebrew, then English: “Step away from the vehicle slowly and keep your hands high.”

  Buddy urged, “Do it, Jack. Just do as they tell you.”

  Jack moved slowly from the Land Cruiser. “Don’t shoot!” he called out.

  When he had gone thirty yards he saw an armed Lela step out of one of the police SUVs. Their eyes locked.

  A bunch of other uniformed cops and plainclothes jumped out. Jack kept his hands up. He recognized the Mossad guy named Ari. He and Lela stepped forward, their weapons outstretched, then Lela swept her gun in the direction of the Land Cruiser’s rear.

  “Where’s Buddy, Jack? Where is he?”

  “In the Land Cruiser.”

  A split second later Jack heard the loud crack of a gunshot. Lela crouched, the cops ducking low and taking aim at the SUV. But no more shots came and when the echo died the desert came alive with barked orders.

  Jack’s heart crumpled. “Pops, no!”

  Ignoring all caution, he ran back toward the Land Cruiser.

  140

  JOHN BECKET AWOKE on the third day. There would be some who saw it as an omen.

  Just as there would be those who saw a powerful sign in the suffering inflicted upon his body: bloodied cuts in both his hands—the defensive wounds from Cassini’s attack—and the stab wounds in his chest. Gashes to his forehead, not caused by a crown of thorns but by the sharp slashing of steel.

  To some, the wounds resembled stigmata. They would be endlessly talked about by those who believed in such manifestations, part of the miracle of John Becket’s survival, though the skeptics would put it down to the pope’s hardy physique and to the determined surgeons at Gemelli hospital.

  But no one would deny that John Becket’s survival was something close to miraculous, and if God had played a part in it, then so be it.

  It was very still in the hospital room that evening when Becket awoke. But moments later the air came alive with a flurry of noise and muted whispering. The medical team at Gemelli went to work immediately. More monitors were wheeled in, doctors arrived, and charts were consulted. Life signs and senses were checked, the pope’s blood pressure and breathing endlessly monitored.

  It was another four hours before Monsignor Sean Ryan was admitted into the softly lit private room, and even then just for a few minutes.

  “Holy Father …,” Ryan began. He sat by the pope’s side, clutching his hand, feeling the weakness of the man’s grip. He noticed his skin was as sallow as parchment, his arms stretched outward as if he had been crucified, connected by drips and tubes to a bank of electronic monitoring equipment.

  Becket’s voice was hoarse and frail. “Sean. The doctors tell me it was you who helped save my life.”

  “It wasn’t only me, Holy Father. The doctors have been working day and night.”

  “So the nurses tell me.”

  “The streets of Rome and churches in every corner of the globe are filled with people praying for your survival. Every avenue approaching the hospital is crowded with well-wishers. Some have even slept out in the streets at night. I couldn’t tell you how many acres of flowers I’ve had to wa
de through on my way up here. Presidents have sent their ambassadors; everyone wants to offer their good wishes.” Ryan wiped his eyes and added, “It seems all our prayers have been answered.”

  “Is it true what the doctors tell me? That I was dead to the world for three days?”

  “No one believed you would make it. No one except those who wanted to believe.”

  Becket’s frail hand gripped Ryan’s with a sudden strength. “Then my work must not be over yet. Tell me everything, Sean.”

  Ryan explained all that had happened in the last three days. “The newspapers are full of reports of your intentions to open the archives, and of Cardinal Cassini’s attack.”

  “Umberto died instantly?”

  Pain etched Ryan’s face. “Yes, Holy Father.”

  Becket’s blue eyes filled with grief and he squeezed Ryan’s hand more tightly. “I know that the burden of having taken a human life is a terrible one to bear. I know too that Umberto was a troubled soul. I want us to pray that he will be blessed by forgiveness, just as we must forgive him, Sean.”

  “Yes, Holy Father.”

  There were other words, some private, others just nods and hoarse whispers from the pope, his body still feeble, but even so his powerful presence filled the room, and Ryan knew that it was only a matter of time before the man’s spark of life returned.

  And then the pope’s medical team came back in and the meeting was over. Ryan rose to leave, still clutching the pope’s hand, and Becket said, “I need you to deliver a message for me, Sean.”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell the deputy camerlengo that he is to convene a special meeting of the Curia.”

  “When, Holy Father?”

  “Just as soon as the doctors allow me to walk out of this room. I have important words to say. There is a revelation they must hear. Not just the Curia, but all the world.”

  141

  THE PLACE JOHN Becket had chosen for his meeting with his cardinals was the Sistine Chapel. Not because it was the place of his election or on account of the beauty of Michelangelo’s artwork, but because of all the other papal elections that had taken place there.

  It was an anchor to the church’s past.

  There was no more suitable a place to end that past.

  That morning, the sun spilled through the Vatican’s stained-glass windows, the air in the Sistine Chapel tense and expectant.

  John Becket had chosen not to sit in his magnificent canopied chair but to stand in the center of the chapel. He wore his plain white cassock and a cross around his neck. Unlike the night of his election, this time his voice didn’t falter as he stood to make his address. All eyes in the chapel were fixed on his towering figure.

  “My brothers in Christ, I am happy to be alive and to see you all assembled here today. You are all aware of my intention to open our archives. What you are not aware of is the news that I am about to reveal to you.”

  The majestic chapel was silent, every pair of eyes focused on the pope.

  “But first, I will address the matter of the scroll. The historical evidence it discloses of a second messiah is true. Other such secrets have been kept from many of you in the past. These secrets, once revealed, will gravely wound the church. They will make skeptics of priests and lay alike, and create an enormous test for all of us. For some, it will shake the very core of their beliefs, or crush them entirely.

  “How will we answer our critics? How will we rectify the lies that were told, the seeds of doubt that will be sown, the wrongs that were done? Yet we know that this scroll, by revealing the existence of a false messiah, also confirms the reality of the true Jesus. We who walk in His footsteps need no such confirmation. We have willingly given our lives to the work of delivering His message.

  “But this message has become corrupted. The church has been embroiled in scandals. It has too often failed to practice what it preached. It has quoted God’s words, and yet too frequently failed to live up to them.”

  Becket paused, but only long enough to draw breath. “We all know this, just as we all know that we cannot ignore our legacy from Christ—to plant the seed of His kingdom in the hearts of all men, that they may create an earthly order based on love and truth, charity and justice, and an ethical law.

  “As human beings, our senses are acutely aware of the memory of the echo of a voice, as if someone is speaking to us, whispering in our ear, reminding us that we and this world are made for a greater purpose. But we have too often ignored that voice.

  “Recently I met with a woman, a prostitute like Mary Magdalene. When I asked her what she thought of those in the Vatican, she said, ‘Half the world starves and they live like princes in their ivory towers.’

  “My brothers, I know that she spoke the truth. I know that what she said is thought by many. And I know that what I am about to say next will shock many of you. But I believe God has sent me here for a greater purpose, and that purpose is to prepare this world for a second coming.”

  Gasps filled the Sistine Chapel, cardinals exchanged glances, with questions written on their faces as if to say, Is this man insane?

  Becket carried on. “Yes, I see the questioning stares. But before each of you begins to doubt my sanity let me say this. The last night Jesus broke bread with his disciples, he left us a solemn legacy. But often I have to ask myself: Did we ever correctly interpret that legacy? Did we remain true to Jesus’ words?

  “And many times, I have to answer that I feel we did not. The world suffers and starves, and yet still we sit here in our gilded prison and pray. Our scientists have conquered the moon yet we cannot conquer the wrongs that crush men’s spirits.

  “In two thousand years it is true that we have achieved much. But is the symbolic pinnacle of our achievement meant to be a city of beautiful chapels and priceless works of art with walls around it? Truth and love do not need walls. Christ did not build walls. He tore them down. And he prayed, not in lofty, beautiful churches but in people’s homes, in the countryside, in the streets. He led by example, and now so must we.

  “My brothers, you may doubt my sanity even more when I tell you that the second coming we must prepare for is our own. I believe that all of us who take up the torch to carry light into the dark corners of the human heart are Christ returned, His second coming. For in truth, I believe this is the complete fulfilment of the meaning of Christ’s presence on earth. He planted the seeds and it is up to us to cultivate and gather the harvest, or else it will wither.

  “So from this day, we must decide not only our fate but our faith. Do we wish to be bureaucrats and remain behind these walls? To sit here and debate the finer points of theology while the sick are untended, the hungry go unfed, or children are left unloved? Or do we go out as priests to the people, just as Jesus and His disciples went out two thousand years ago, with nothing to call their own, nothing but honest belief in His words?

  “From this day, I want us to divest ourselves of all our wealth and worldly goods. To divest ourselves of every stone and brick. I want us to use that wealth to alleviate the wrongs we witness, the poverty and injustices all around us.

  “I want us to go forth in peace, to pronounce the brotherhood of all men, without exception of country, creed, or race, and in the belief in one God. And to those who will criticize us, we will answer them with the same answers Jesus answered with, and if need be, we will suffer the same wounds.

  “My brothers, my authority as Supreme Pontiff is absolute. No matter how many arguments are railed against me, my word is law. But I will give you each a choice. To remain behind, or to walk with me as true disciples and step out from behind these walls to fulfill Christ’s promise.”

  Becket stared out at them all and said, “So now I must ask you, Mos vos insisto mihi? Will you follow me?”

  John Becket stood waiting and looked around the chapel. For a moment there was a silence so intense that it almost felt like a crushing weight. No one spoke. Some of the cardinals looked at one another
awkwardly, as if uncertain what to do. Becket knew instinctively that he could not count on these men, that they would waver.

  But one by one, a number of red-robed cardinals rose, some of them moved to tears, others fearful. Some were empowered by his words, others aware of their own weaknesses in the face of such an enormous challenge. Yet it was one elderly cardinal who raised his frail voice above the uncertain crowd and spoke first. “Yes, I will follow you!”

  Another man next to him repeated the cry.

  And another. A chorus of voices rose to give their answer, and then one by one, in a single procession, they came to kneel before John Becket and kiss his ring in a token of commitment.

  It was very still in the Sistine. In a single procession the cardinals had left, until finally John Becket was alone.

  He was aware of two things: the terrible weight upon his shoulders, as heavy as a cross, and that the most difficult journey of his life was about to begin.

  He was conscious also that many of his cardinals had been carried away by his noble words and by the consensus of the crowd. That in the days ahead some of those men would change their minds. Some would consider the task too challenging. Reflecting on their decision, others would choose not to join him.

  But many would, he was convinced of that. The ones who mattered, the ones who shared his honest intent.

  Was it too difficult a path that lay ahead?

  Was it too ambitious a plan?

  Would it succeed, or would the process destroy the church?

  But with his candid questioning came a deep sense of purpose. Becket knew at that moment he was intensely alone, except for the presence before him now, within the golden tabernacle.

  That presence would be all he would ever have to guide him in the days and years ahead, yet he knew that it would be enough.

  He dropped to his knees in front on the altar. He felt something brush against his cassock. He reached into his pocket and drew out the worn newspaper photograph of Robert and Margaret Cane. In the coming days he would publicly reveal his part in their tragic deaths and the theft of the scroll, and he would face those consequences. But for now, racked by guilt, he held the photograph in his palm, touched the image of their faces. As it always did, his memory flooded with pain for all the hurts and wrongs that had been done in the name of God. As always, he would pray for forgiveness and the redemption of that pain.