The Omega Factor(106)

He stared around.

In awe.





Kelsey was trying to assimilate all that the abbess was saying. The older woman obviously wanted to explain things and for the Dominican to hear. But her mind remained on Nick and what was happening beyond the chapter hall.

“What’s happening out there?” she asked.

“We are working to find out.”

“Sister Claire’s betrayal doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it does. All is in jeopardy now, thanks to men like that one.”

The abbess pointed at Dwight.

“Do you really guard the bones of the Blessed Virgin?”

“We do.”

“How is that possible?”

“Your tone suggests that it could not be.”

“That’s because I’m quite skeptical of the claim.”

“No faith?”

“I have that in abundance. But you’re asking me to ignore that faith and accept something else as real. For me, that would require proof.”

“So you don’t believe the Virgin Mary appeared to three shepherd children at Fatima? Or that the image on the Holy Shroud in Turin is of our Lord Jesus Christ? Or that the bones beneath St. Peter’s Basilica are those of the first bishop of Rome?”

“Just like here, there are many questions surrounding all three of those.”

The abbess smiled. “That there are. But we know, for a fact, that fifteen or so years after the death of Christ, the Blessed Virgin traveled by boat from Turkey, where she’d been living, and settled in the mountains not far from here. She stayed there until the day she died. The women who traveled with her, and others who already resided here, cleaned her body then entombed her. They cared for that tomb until each died, their daughters then assuming the duty. That continued for centuries. Eventually, the women who watched over the tomb organized themselves into a religious group, which became us.”

“How is all that known?”

“We know our history. But everything else relative to Mary was recorded in a document known as The Testimony of John, the man Christ himself, from the cross, entrusted his mother’s care to. We have that account, and so does the Vatican.”

“Why was all this kept so secret?”

“At first, it was done simply out of respect. She was, after all, the Mother of God. The tomb was more maintained than guarded, and this region was quite isolated. But as time went on, and more people arrived, the level of persecution elevated. Christians were martyred. Churches destroyed. Relics defiled. Spies and informers loomed everywhere, and persecution found its way to the Pyrénées. That’s when secrecy was imposed. Eventually, the greatest threat to Mary’s peace came from the church itself. Those men who found her earthly remains threatening to their own fantasies. That’s when women began to die protecting her tomb.”

“Like Sister Rachel.”

The abbess nodded. “So, to answer your original question as to why you are here? It is simple.”

The older woman’s face broke into a maze of kindly wrinkles.

“We want you to join us.”





Fuentes was amazed.

The room was not much larger than an oversized walk-in closet, the ceiling stained black from the smoke of countless candles. No choking miasma of ancient decay, though. Everything had been properly maintained, the layout exactly as described in The Testimony of John.

He recalled the words.

We had tools with which to enlarge the tomb, for it was here that the Blessed Virgin’s body was to rest. The cave was not as spacious as Our Lord’s, barely high enough for a man to enter upright. The floor sank at the entrance, and then one saw the burial-place like a narrow altar with the rock-wall projecting over it. We did a good deal of work to prepare it, and also arranged a door to close the entrance. In the burial-place a hollow was chiseled in the shape of a wrapped-up body, slightly raised at the head. Beneath the resting place, into the rock we carved a symbol of how we regarded her. . In the hollow we left another message that spoke to her life and death.   .



The floor sank at the entrance about a quarter meter. And, yes, the burial niche in the rock wall appeared like an altar, the rock above projecting out over it. Inside, just as John had written, was a hollow, raised slightly at one end. Musty-looking bones, disarticulated and jumbled, lay scattered, and in the hollow’s bottom were the Greek words.

  .

Itself to itself.

He shut his eyes in a bid to clear his mind. He’d done what all of his predecessors had failed to accomplish.

He’d found Mary.





Nick spotted the entrance to the rock church and approached with care. He’d visited a couple of others around Europe, most notably the Ermitage Saint-Antoine and chapel at Gorges de Galamus, not all that far from here. This one was every bit as impressive, but definitely not as known. The maidens who’d fled the motherhouse sat in the pews. Rice was toward the far end, near the altar, toting a backpack and armed. Sister Claire and Fuentes were not in sight. Past the altar he spotted a devotional with its bottom front panel open, revealing a passage.

Fuentes and Sister Claire had to be beyond.

In the Chapel of the Maiden.

With only one way in and out.

He was unarmed, so it made no sense to escalate things.