The Cana Mystery (33 page)

Sheik Ahmed was not a real sheik; he’d appropriated the title, just as he had seized everything else he possessed. Ahmed’s parents, Arab peasants, had died in Egypt’s Six Day War against Israel. The penniless orphan was then “adopted” by a Cairo brothel catering to wealthy Europeans with perverted sexual tastes. Trapped in this hell, Ahmed learned the power of fear. As he fought to survive, he began to value strength and cunning above all other attributes.

A bright, attractive child, by his tenth birthday he’d perfected a means of enriching himself while avoiding degradation. After charming an intoxicated pedophile, Ahmed would slip narcotic powder into the john’s drink, preventing him from acting on his lust. The potent drug rendered a victim unconscious for several hours. During this period, Ahmed helped himself to currency from the slumbering European’s wallet or purse. He learned to pocket no more than a few bills, sums that would be overlooked in the morning stupor. He reinvested the stolen funds, purchasing ever bigger parcels of narcotics. Within two years the local dealer was complaining that little Ahmed had cut into his profits.

On a moonless night Ahmed ambushed and garroted his competitor, supplanting him as the brothel’s main supplier. This aggressive move brought Ahmed to the attention of the local Mafia, who dispatched a pitiless Italian thug nicknamed La Belva (the Beast) to untangle the situation.

La Belva captured the scrawny twelve-year-old brat who’d dared to commit murder and administered a savage beating, but when little Ahmed accepted the blows without a single tear or a whimper, the Beast smiled. Soon, Ahmed was his favored protégé. The hardened child followed his Italian master everywhere, absorbing innumerable lessons in cruelty and violence. Ahmed never blamed his idol for beating him senseless. Instead, he came to believe that he deserved it.

The Beast was fearless, bloodthirsty, and dynamic. Ahmed worshipped him. As the thin boy matured into a solid teen, he became the Italian’s trusted subordinate and most merciless enforcer. At twenty-five, Ahmed assumed full responsibility for the network’s operations in Egypt. By then the Beast, who’d become Don VeMeli, had branched into politics. Ahmed provided invaluable support. The rising capo was continually awed by his master’s ingenious schemes. Year by year their power, wealth, and influence grew. Consequently, Ahmed’s faith in Don VeMeli was limitless. He’d rather die than disappoint him.

Ahmed sat in the darkness and smoked. His very existence was proof that he’d never failed his master. He massaged the arm Don VeMeli had broken all those years ago. Unaware that he was speaking aloud, Ahmed promised: “I will kill them for you, master. We cannot fail. I will slice their privileged little throats. I will cut out their arrogant, disrespectful hearts.”

Paul and Ava rushed back to Simon’s villa. As they hustled through the back gate, Paul glanced around for Tomás. Curiously, he was nowhere in sight. Paul slowed, scanning the courtyard. Impatiently, Ava grabbed his hand and dragged him into the house and to the study. She turned on a computer. She located the memory stick containing the encrypted wave files Gabe had transmitted and began saving them to the hard drive. Meanwhile, she asked Paul to power up another laptop. Though he didn’t know her purpose, he complied. A few minutes later, both computers were operative.

“What now?”

Instead of answering, Ava uploaded the data onto the second computer. On the first, she opened the recording Gabe had captured from the artifact marked
CHI
. On the second, she opened the file he’d derived from the
RHO
disk.

“When I count to three, hit play,” she ordered. “Ready? One, two, three, play!”

They clicked the two buttons simultaneously. After a brief pause, the eerie noises began, just as before. Ava held her breath. Then the clamor changed. Instead of discordant noise, actual music emerged.

Ava shook her head. “Gabe guessed it right off the bat: mutually interdependent sequences.” The two recordings contained a common set of sounds but they were out of phase. Played sequentially, the disks produced jarring nonsense; played simultaneously, they harmonized. And when the libretto began, it wasn’t alien gibberish. Rather, it resembled a Gregorian chant. Paul watched Ava listen, enthralled by the otherworldly voices she’d discovered. Then she began to quiver.

Touching her shoulder, he whispered, “What’s the matter?”

She turned. He saw fear in her eyes.

“I . . . I think I can understand it.”

He took her hands. “What are they saying?”

“Something horrible.”

N
EAR
C
ALA D’
I
NFERNO,
I
TALY

The master reclined in his private study, watching the news on television. NBC reported that on Monday, the College of Cardinals would meet for the first time since the pope’s resignation. “Under the supervision of Cardinal Angelo Sodano, the college will convene to deal with important ecclesiastical business, but Vaticanologists say some of the most significant discussions will unfold at private apartments, in restaurant backrooms, and around the coffee urn as cardinals meet in small groups to suss out who among them will become the next pope. After the congregations, the caucusing continues in informal, intimate settings. ‘All the real business takes place at night over anisette and grappa,’ said Christopher Bellitto, associate professor of history at Kean University.

“Modern conclaves have not lasted more than a few days—not surprising, as the whole point is to decide quickly. Nevertheless, it’s a tedious and time-consuming process. There are as many as two ballots every morning and two ballots every evening. Each cardinal takes an oath before casting a vote and the totals are tallied three times. It all happens in the Sistine Chapel, where silence is mandatory. The modern procedure was created by Pope Gregory X after a papal election that dragged on from 1268 to 1271, infuriating the people.

“Some speculate that the 2013 conclave will be the longest of the past one hundred years, but Vatican expert George Weigel disagrees. ‘Although it’s true that there are many possible candidates, there’s also a sense that this is a critical moment in the Church’s history.’ With the eyes of the world focused on Rome, the cardinals are under intense pressure to elect a new pope within three days.”

The master laughed. “‘How poor are they that have not patience.’” He glanced at the clock, dizzy with excitement. So few hours remained! After years of planning and preparation, the day of reckoning had arrived.

Ava reset the files and prepared to listen again to the otherworldly recording. She reviewed her notes: scribbles of words and bits of sentences on a yellow legal pad. She felt compelled to translate the message, but it wouldn’t be easy. Looking up, she saw that Paul was staring out the window. He seemed nervous.

“What’s outside?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just surprised Tomás isn’t here.”

“Maybe Simon gave him the night off. Or maybe he went with them to the mainland. Who knows?”

“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, are you about done?”

She made a face. “You must be joking. Consider the problem’s complexity. I don’t speak the base language. I’m not sure anyone does. It resembles Old Syriac, but it’s funky. I’m speculating, but I think the vowel sounds may have shifted over the millennia. I recognize some basic structures, a few terms might be correlates, but I can’t just wave a magic wand, shout Eureka! and knock out a transcript.”

“But I thought—”

“Language is idiomatic, Paul. Grammar matters. For example—” she looked down at a sequence in her notes and said—“this word is repeated throughout. I suspect it means ‘pilgrim,’ but it could just as easily mean ‘journey’ or ‘travel.’ It could also be a verb, as the word
voyage
can be a noun or a verb, and it might mean different things at different times,
capisce
?”

He looked hurt. “Of course. I didn’t mean—”

She softened. “I know. You didn’t mean to be impatient or disrespectful, but I’m trying to decipher a message that’s at least two thousand years old and written in an obscure dead language. The process takes time. Plus, I don’t even have the crucial reference materials.”

Paul nodded, chastened. “Okay. So let’s get the hell out of here and go to a library. Let’s call Gabe and Professor Clarkson.”

“No. Before we tell anyone, we need an idea of what it says. Someone murdered hundreds of people to prevent us from decoding this message. I won’t put our friends in jeopardy again until we know why.”

“Wait till we tell Simon! He’ll call in favors with the NSA, hire a team of Nobel Prize–winners, and you two can write a comprehensive, scholarly article for
Scientific American.
”

Ava wasn’t amused. Rather, she looked frightened.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes dropped to the notebook. “Paul, I’m pretty sure this sequence means ‘rising demon’ or ‘new devil.’
Frankly, there’s a lot in here about the devil. Remember what Garagallo said about Antichrists? I think this is some kind of warning.”

“What’s the point of that? Everybody knows the Antichrist is bad news.”

Ava didn’t laugh. “This says: ‘He is here.’”

Gabe woke from a pleasant dream. He yawned, stretched, and scratched his neck. The wall clock indicated that it was almost suppertime. Gabe rolled off the couch and when he stood, his knees protested audibly. Surveying the small apartment, he thought: What a mess!

Jess was back from class; he could hear her singing in the tub. Thirsty, he staggered to the fridge. When he peered inside, he chuckled. The bottom shelf held thirty-six cans of Coke, organized into six neat rows of six cans each. She must have hit the grocery while he was napping. He grabbed a can, popped the top, and closed the door. Just then, his computer beeped. Taking a swig, he walked over to the desk: He’d received an encrypted message from
DURMDVL
. While waiting for it to unscramble, he blew his nose, swallowed a Sudafed, and chased it with another gulp of Coke.

He settled into the comfy chair and began to read: “GET OUT OF THE APARTMENT. THEY’RE COMING.”

The message sent his body into maximum alert. He began breathing faster and deeper. His adrenal glands spewed epinephrine, causing his heart to pound. Gabe stumbled to the apartment’s front window and separated the blinds. As he looked out, a white van entered the lot below. Its doors opened, and two armed men emerged. His stomach clenched. They’d found him.

Chapter 16

16

M
ALBORGHETTO,
I
TALY,
O
CTOBER 27, 312

Regal Constantine rode through his camp near Prima Porta. He dismounted, went into his tent, and allowed a valet to remove his armor. Then, exhausted, he collapsed and ordered a bath. The strategist reclined his head and reflected. It had been an interesting year: Only seven months ago, he gathered this army, crossed the Cottian Alps, and conquered northern and central Italy. Beloved by the people, Constantine advanced slowly along the Via Flaminia, watching the opposition’s morale deteriorate and achieving many victories without bloodshed.

Now he faced a true challenge. His enemy, Maxentius, controlled Rome and the Praetorian Guards. Though the populace despised Maxentius, the city was well fortified, stocked with African grain, and protected by the almost impregnable Aurelian Walls. Constantine’s advisers expected Maxentius to sit tight, as he had during the invasion of Severus in 307 and of Galerius in 308. Constantine knew the city’s defenses were formidable and that they could withstand any siege. A new stratagem was required.

A guard shouted: “Augustus! A message!”

Constantine accepted the letter and, recognizing his mother’s seal, ripped it open. Flavia Iulia Helena was a remarkable woman. Born a stable maid, she had used her wits and charm to rise in society, eventually marrying the governor of Dalmatia. Since his death she’d spent most of her time unearthing relics in Jerusalem.

“Beloved Son,” he read,  “I write today from Palestine, near the site of Christ’s tomb. Please accept Bishop Macarius as my emissary and grant him an audience. He brings an offer of certain victory over the forces of evil.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. Certain victory?

“Macarius carries relics of astonishing power,” she continued. “They can render your army invincible, if its cause is just. Son, I know you believe the Empire should tolerate all religions. To prove your sincerity, swear two things: First, promise to extend the religious freedom you granted Gaul, Spain, and Britain to the entire Empire. Second, promise to honor the Christian God by razing the vulgar temple Hadrian built near Calvary and constructing a grand cathedral in its stead. May divine favor preserve your successes together with the good of the state. May God grant you victory!”

He pondered the unusual offer. His first thought was to disregard it as mere superstition, but he’d learned to value his mother’s counsel. She’d advised his father and helped him achieve great things. He understood her appeal for religious freedom. Helena was a devout Christian, a follower of a faith that was illegal throughout most of the empire. Politically, it would be difficult to legalize Christianity, but if the offer was legitimate . . .