The Omega Factor(109)

He knelt on the crusty floor.

And bowed his head in prayer.





Kelsey did not know what to say to the abbess.

We want you to join us.

So she asked the obvious. “Why?”

“You’re the precise type of person we seek.”

“I don’t break into buildings, assault people, or set fire to priceless works of art.”

The abbess smiled. “Not all of the maidens are sent into the field. In fact, only a small percentage take training for that. The rest work here, at the motherhouse. I would envision that for you.”

She was both flattered and troubled. “Forgive me, abbess, but you have a civil war brewing here. There might not be an order to join.”

“I will deal with that, once this situation with the cardinal is resolved. I have faith that we can work through our differences. Your expertise in art is something we could definitely benefit from. And don’t sell yourself short. From all reports you’ve handled yourself exceptionally well. I saw how you stayed calm with a gun to your head. That coolness is something that cannot be taught.”

She appreciated the compliments.

But at the moment her head was full of thoughts about Nick.

Hoping he was okay.





Fuentes tried to pray, but conflicting thoughts kept interfering. He could not help it. He was a planner. Always had been. Which explained his steady rise and why he, above all others, now found himself in this fortunate position.

Keeping this discovery to himself, sealing it away, and relying on the maidens to retain their secret had merits. They’d done that for nearly two millennia and would surely continue, only now with Rome’s blessing. That course might even prove useful with a few of the more pragmatic cardinals, who would appreciate his discretion, though recognizing the problems that such a revelation could evoke. But that would place the maidens right in the middle of the equation, granting them a position of power and influence, one they could exploit in the future.

That was bad.

More cardinals, himself included, would want its destruction, which would silence the maidens and completely protect Mary’s legacy. No chance then of any questions being raised. The church would remain inviolate, popes infallible, and the Maidens of Saint-Michael just another convent.

That made the most sense.

Especially considering he wanted to be pope, and he did not want to inherit a job weakened by scandal or threatened by extortion. He liked that when it came to dogma a pope’s word was the last word, incapable, by definition, of being wrong.

He definitely wanted that to remain.

A difficult debate. Good arguments on both sides. But the decision was his. He crossed himself and stood. No sense delaying.

He stepped back to the iron gate.

And called out for Rice.





Claire stood to one side, near the ashes of Joan of Arc, and watched as Friar Rice laid a backpack down on the dirt floor and removed a hammer. The Dominican then went to work obliterating the omega beneath the Virgin’s resting place. The limestone easily chipped away and the symbol, carved so long ago, disappeared. He then chipped off the Greek epitaph. It hurt to watch such willful desecration. Maidens had labored for centuries to maintain what a fool with a hammer smashed in a matter of seconds.

“Was that necessary?” she asked.

Fuentes nodded. “Definitely.”

She wanted to know, “Is it that important to be right?”

“It’s not about being right,” Fuentes said. “It’s about preserving what exists. It’s worked perfectly for a long, long time and I will not be responsible for its diminishment.”

“The maidens and you have the same objective,” she noted. “To keep this place secret.”

“Maybe so. But the maidens have a distinct advantage in that partnership. Which could be used against Rome, if they so desired.”

“That’s not our way.”

“I prefer not to take any chances.”

Then the cardinal motioned and Rice replaced the tools and removed a canvas bag from the pack. The friar collected all of the bones from the Virgin’s tomb, dropping each into the bag.

“They will be destroyed?” Claire asked.

Fuentes nodded.

“What of Joan’s ashes?” she asked.

“They are not important.”

No surprise. Rome had milked everything it could from the Maid of Orléans a long time ago.

Rice deposited the canvas bag with the bones into the backpack, then removed several bundles of a white, claylike material.

“Is that explosives?” she asked. “You plan to demolish this?”

“It has to be done. You said it yourself. Guarding this no longer makes any sense. So let it return to nature.”

Rice laid two bundles in the empty hollow of the Virgin’s grave, then inserted a metal igniter into each with wires running to a small black box, which he activated by flicking a switch. Fuentes lifted the urn with Joan of Arc’s ashes and set it into the Virgin’s niche, near the bundles. Rice stepped out of the chamber and laid three more bundles with igniters near the iron gate.

“I never intended for this to be destroyed,” she said, both to Fuentes and to the Virgin.

“But it has to be. We both have issues that have to be addressed and, as unpleasant as this may be, destruction will resolve both of our problems.”