Read Online Acts of the Assassins by Richard Beard - Free Book Online Page A

tourists. Jerusalem wasn’t like this in the old days, and without making a decision he ends up not at his apartment, where Judith and Alma still live, but at another street he recognizes. It has a new name, the Via Dolorosa. Cassius Gallio follows in Jesus’s footsteps, like so many others, and tries to get a feel for what once happened here. Much has changed, yet somehow the place is the same. An atmosphere, an indent. No event is ever entirely lost.
    At Golgotha, where the execution itself took place, little of the original site remains. Since Gallio was last here the developers have moved in—construction work and safety barriers erasing what he remembers as a crime scene. The tourist board are building some kind of memorial, and a falafel stall sells canned drinks to a queue of visitors when they’re not being pestered by beggars.
    For Gallio’s purposes, and Valeria has reminded Cassius Gallio of his purpose in life, any usable evidence from the scene has long been removed or corrupted. He briefly wonders who made it their business to tidy the truth away, though he can understand how that happened. Easier to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary took place here, at least before the tourists startedinsisting that it did. And now they keep on coming, even without any evidence. The new Golgotha is teeming with souvenir hunters, women, believers, unbelievers. There’s a handcart selling crucifixes, authentic rubble, icons.
    Cassius Gallio thinks he sees Peter.
    A beard, beige clothing, long brown hair. If the man is Peter, he immediately has luck on his side. A group of teenage boys blocks Cassius Gallio. They jostle him, wanting to know if he’s Inglese or Arab. He doesn’t know which answer is safest, so he guesses Arab, and they throw a Coke bottle at his head.
    By the time Gallio scatters them, Peter the disciple has gone.
    Valeria drinks mint tea from a glass cup that she replaces with care on a glass saucer. At this time of the evening Cassius Gallio fancies a vodka and tonic, a blister pack of ephedrine sulphate, showgirls. Not to touch, because he’d expect to be punished, but nothing wrong with looking. He orders the same tea as Valeria, giving her nothing of himself, not even his menu preferences. I’ll have what she’s having. Easy on the mint.
    They drink tea on the terrace of the American Colony Hotel, where Allenby and Blair take rooms whenever they’re mediating the region. Both are on holiday. The two men are famous for being on holiday, leaving the region forever unmediated. A diplomat’s son swims laps in the pool. He has a hard and fast body, worth watching.
    ‘No trace of Peter,’ Valeria says. ‘Nothing apart from your possible sighting at Golgotha. They’re smart.’
    ‘Always were. I told you that years ago. Nobody listened.’
    ‘We’re listening now.’ Valeria is making an effort: five-star hotel, terrace, drinks on the section tab. ‘The case has beenpassed to Complex Casework mainly because the cult survives and is growing. No one understands why. We’ve gone over the events that led to your tribunal, and considering the various loose ends we’ve decided to reopen the investigation. I’ve recommended your involvement.’
    ‘You have other Speculators. Most of them undemoted and undisgraced.’
    ‘No one with experience is volunteering to investigate provincial cults.’
    ‘Ah, I see. What do you want from me, apart from assuming I’m available and desperate to get back in?’
    Valeria watches the long-armed backstroke of the boy in the pool, examines her nails, acts like someone who could change her mind. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think you were capable. I fished out the psychiatric assessment from the tribunal.’
    ‘Get to the point.’
    ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’re unstable. Didn’t think it at the time and don’t now. We all missed something, way back then. Let’s not make the same mistakes again.’
    ‘Please