The Messiah Secret

31

Killian drove about five miles away from Al-Gebel al-Ahmar, heading east, away from Cairo and the suburbs of the city, until he found a deserted stretch of road. He hadn’t wanted to take the paintings to his hotel room because some of the staff would remember him arriving with such unusual items, and he didn’t want to be disturbed while he was examining the pictures. He also needed privacy to replace the dressing on his wounded ear.

A narrow, rough and unmade track snaked away to one side of the road, meandering around a series of low dunes that would provide him with the privacy he wanted. He drove down the track until he was about a hundred yards from the road, then pulled the car to a stop.

Getting out of the vehicle, he looked about him. The air was still and silent. Grunting in satisfaction, he took a blanket from the boot of the car and spread it on the ground. Then he placed both paintings face-down on it, ready to examine them. But as he did so, a stabbing pain shot through his skull and a couple of drops of blood splashed on to the dusty ground at his feet. Killian grimaced, then took a medical kit from the car, opened it and sat awkwardly in the passenger seat to change the dressing. With only his reflection in the interior mirror to guide him it wasn’t easy, but eventually he finished and stood up, a fresh dressing and plaster covering his injured ear. Suleiman’s blow had knocked the scab off the top of the wound and he knew that would delay the healing process still further.

At least the wound was still clean and showing no sign of infection — perhaps surprising in view of the way he had sustained the injury. In his mind’s eye he could still see Oliver Wendell-Carfax’s yellowish teeth, stained with blood and shreds of flesh, when he’d finally managed to get free of his grasp. God knows what bacteria or worse had been in his mouth. As well as cleaning the wound twice a day, Killian had also been sprinkling it with holy water and that, he thought, perhaps even more than his rudimentary medical care, might be the reason it was still clean. It was yet one more manifestation of the power of God and of the sure and certain way that He protected His servant on Earth.

Killian gave a grim smile. Both Oliver Wendell-Carfax and Suleiman had more than paid for their temerity in resisting God’s will. And Wendell-Carfax and the fat man from the museum had felt the teeth of the scourge, the oldest and most sacred instrument of holy chastisement, before they died. If he’d had a little more time, Killian would have taught Suleiman a proper and complete lesson using the instrument as well. But his first priority had been to get the paintings out of the building.

At least that phase of the search was now over. He had the last clues he needed to recover the treasure, and even if anyone was still looking, his actions had ensured that they would get no further than Egypt. All he had to do now was find the hiding place Bartholomew had used to secrete the copy of the parchment.

Killian looked down at the two pictures. Then he crossed himself and for a few minutes knelt in prayer before the small silver crucifix he took from his pocket. It was his constant companion, guide and comfort in times of stress and trouble.

Then he began an exhaustive examination of the frames of the two paintings. Wherever Bartholomew had hidden the text, Killian was absolutely certain he would be able to find it. Once he had, he could destroy both paintings and start the final phase of his search. He licked his lips. The treasure was practically in sight.