Free Pope's Assassin by Luis Miguel Rocha

question hanging in the air, ignoring Rafael's remark. Jacopo made a circle with his thumb and fi nger. "Zero," he proclaimed triumphantly. "Nothing."
        "Nothing?" Rafael asked.
        "Absolutely nothing," Jacopo reiterated. "Nothing to confi rm a single fact mentioned in the Old or New Testament. But they came to another conclusion: names of people and places appear in the Bible that the Greeks and Romans had never heard of. They're mentioned only in the Bible, and nowhere else."
        "On January 4, 2003, a block of limestone was discovered with inscriptions in ancient Phoenician of a detailed plan for the recovery of the first Jewish temple, Solomon's," Rafael said."It was found on the Temple Mount, in the old city of Jerusalem."
        "The Haram al Sharif, as the Muslims call it," Jacopo added, visibly pleased with himself.
        "The fragment dated from the time of the biblical king Jehoash, who reigned more than twenty-five hundred years ago. If you're so well versed in the Bible, then you must remember chapter twelve, verses four, fi ve, and six, specifi cally, from the Second Book of Kings, where it's related that Jehoash, king of Judah, ordered all the money from the Temple collected to use in its restoration."
        "Allegedly," Jacopo offered with a smile. "They never let me see that discovery. Nor was there further information about it."
        "In 1961," Rafael continued, "an excavation of an ancient amphi theatre, ordered built by Herod the Great in Caesarea in the year 30 B.C., revealed a limestone block, accepted as authentic. A partial inscription was found on it."
        Jacopo and Rafael quoted at the same time:

    DIS AUGUSTIS TIBERIEUM
    PONTIUS PILATUS
    PRAEFECTUS IUDAEAE
    FECIT DEDICVIT.

    Jacopo applauded, smiling. "Pilate's stone. It proves only the exis tence of Tiberias and Pilate, which was never in doubt, and confi rms that Pilate's office was prefect, or governor, and not prosecutor," Jacopo argued. "Do you have more?"
        "It's a work in progress. Don't forget we're talking about millen nia of history on top of history. But you never know when something new might appear, and you better than anyone know that it's a slow process."
        Jacopo lifted his arms and opened his hands. "Let the sophists return. They're forgiven."
        A light rain fell on them as they left the terminal, wetting their faces and clinging to their clothes.
        "Shitty weather," Jacopo complained.
        The police had sent a car to take them to the place where Zafer had been found by an addict who was using the private spot to get high. Instead he found an old man stretched out on the fl oor on his stom ach, lifeless.
        The warehouse was in the north of the city, far from the tourist traffic and glow that made Paris the City of Lights. A collection of pro jectors, powered by a generator that made a monumental noise, lit up the interior and exterior of the building. The cadaver had been picked up during the afternoon. A technician collected all the evidence that could reveal anything about the crime. The rest was pretty clear. Zafer had come of his own free will, received a beating, and an injection of prussic acid ended his suffering.
        Some plainclothes police wandered through the area busy with tasks that would make no sense to outsiders. Others were just talking together, anticipating the end of a long day of work.
        "Rafael Santini?" called out a man in a tan suit with a cigarette in his mouth.
        Rafael was brought back from the world of possibilities and specu lations he'd been absorbed in and got up.
        "That's me. Are you Inspector Gavache?"
        "Yeah." He extended his hand.
        "Jacopo Sebastiani," the other interjected.
        "What are you doing here?" Gavache asked, greeting him hostilely.
    "We're friends of the victim," Rafael put in before Jacopo answered.
        Gavache looked at them with displeasure. He didn't try to