Acts of the Assassins by Richard Beard Page B

names,’ Baruch said. ‘I mean apart from Peter and a couple of the others.’ Suddenly this seemed relevant, as if the junior disciples were deliberately forgettable.
    With the point of his index finger Baruch dotted semen spurting from the penis. Made one of the dots into the eye of a circled happy face. Then he pulled up a chair and sat on it backward. ‘Simon, Philip, one of those. No idea what they’re for, if not for this.’
    ‘Jude,’ Gallio said. ‘None of the minor disciples would be missed, would they?’
    ‘So how do you suggest we act on this?’ Valeria was always looking forward, to a future where the confusions of the past could be straightened out, definitively.
    ‘We confront them,’ Baruch said. ‘We might get lucky. Track down Simon and he turns out to be Jesus. Hit the jackpot.’
    Valeria checked the screen on her laptop. ‘According to this, the sighting in England may be Simon. The back of beyond is a long way to go on the off-chance that Simon is actually Jesus.’
    ‘So you’re saying no to England?’
    ‘We don’t have the budget. Times have changed.’ Valeria decided she might as well tell them the truth. ‘This isn’t a high-priority mission, not these days, or not yet. We can start somewhere nearer.’
    Gallio hadn’t been gone so long he’d forgotten the bad weather of budgets and cost analyses. Work within the possible, one of the mottoes of the Speculator cadre. ‘Let’s start in Beirut,’ Gallio suggested. ‘Put some pressure on them close to home.’
    ‘If it’s Jesus, how will you know?’
    ‘We’ll know,’ Baruch said. ‘We saw him when he was alive.’
    Cassius Gallio wasn’t so confident. Would he recognize Jesus? Jesus might be the gentle son of god spreading the wealth and healing the sick. Or he could be an intolerant fucker, good with a knife. Gallio would be happier with a scientific method for confirming the identification.
    ‘We should send the glass from Joseph’s bin to forensics. I brought it in as potential evidence. We might get some DNA we could match against the disciples, or against Jesus.’
    ‘After all this time? Don’t worry, I have your pieces of glass. I’ll keep them safe.’
    Valeria looked from Gallio to Baruch, then back at Gallio.At this stage they were all she had. ‘Beirut it is. You both knew Jesus and I’d trust your positive identification. Start with Jude in Beirut.’
    A city that within budgetary restraints they could reach in a hire car from Jerusalem. And even that wasn’t so simple. The special needs of the region meant that traffic from Israel into Lebanon had to pass through the demilitarized zone with document inspections at every checkpoint. Valeria didn’t want diplomatic hotlines demanding why exactly her CCU agents were moving across these particular borders.
    ‘Damascus,’ Baruch said. ‘Let’s go via Damascus. Cassius can pursue your fool’s errand in Beirut and I’ll deal with the living. Let’s find out what in Damascus they remember about the conversion of Paul.’
    In the Beirut hospital ward the smell hits, but thankfully Gallio’s collar is loose and he can pull his purple shirt and tie up over his nose. Jude the disciple of Jesus, patron saint of hopeless causes, steps toward him. He distrusts nobody! Cassius Gallio looks at Jude’s hands, no scarring, and up close Jude’s face is heavily lined and nothing like the face of Jesus, or Jesus in Jerusalem as Gallio remembers him. Jude eyes the cardboard box held in the crook of Gallio’s elbow.
    ‘Welcome. Come and see the work that Jesus has been able to do.’
    Gallio lets his collar drop and bears the smell, glad he swallowed a double dose of antibiotics. In the beds along the ward Jude’s patients wring their sweating hands, or lunge sideways to vomit into plastic bowls. Some are seized with cramps, others have drops of blood beading in their ears.
    ‘No room left at the UN clinics, but there’s a limit to what I can do without