The Omega Factor(13)

She closed her eyes, steadied herself, then climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her room was one of several kept ready for visitors and faced the street. She, Sister Rachel, and Sisters Ellen and Isabel had arrived three days ago from the south, reconnoitering the workshop and determining when and how best to act. The operation had been planned for some time with care and diligence. The order had not survived for fifteen centuries by being impetuous or foolish.

She entered her room and switched on the light.

The small cubicle contained only a desk, wardrobe, lamp, white-cane chair, and iron-framed twin bed with a crucifix hung above. Bathrooms were shared down the hall, similar to a dormitory at university. She and her fellow maidens owned little to nothing in the form of material possessions. Whatever they needed was provided by the order. She’d long ago adjusted to a life of simplicity, devotion, and duty. What she was not accustomed to was failure.

She peeled off the black spandex from her hot sweaty skin. A report would have to be made to the abbess, but she could not bring herself to make the call. At the moment she needed solace.

Which had always served her well in the past.

One of her earliest childhood memories had been a realization that she wanted to be on God’s side. Religion had been important to her as far back as she could remember. She’d earned a degree from Tulane University and wanted to teach music in elementary school, thinking that by doing so her life would be given to God.

Then she met Sister Anne.

An older woman who’d visited the Catholic church in Shreveport, Louisiana, on a search, one that Claire herself would later repeat many times. On that day she was employed by the Caddo Parish Public Schools, devoted to her music students. She’d listened to Sister Anne talk about the signs of a religious vocation—dedication, determination, and a little voice in your head that leads the way—thinking the whole time she was talking only to her. More conversations followed and Sister Anne invited her to attend a retreat at a nearby convent. There in that quiet reverent space she’d begun, for the first time, to truly listen to God’s voice, pondering what he might be asking of her.

Why not be of service to me? the voice kept saying.

Why not?

She’d always been possessed of a mind of her own, not one to crave the strength or attention of others, and always respectful of authority. All traits, she came to learn later, that Sister Anne searched for in recruits. That woman had possessed terrific instincts. Which were needed in her line of work. Anne had been the gatekeeper. The first person that every recruit dealt with. The one that had to be convinced. The selection process was tough and arduous. Only one to two women were found every few years.

And for good reason.

She recalled thinking about her own decision for several months. Finally, she quit her job and joined the Maidens of Saint-Michael.

She lived a year as a postulant, then devoted another year to canonical study, residing in the convent as a novitiate. Temporary vows came next, which bound her to three more years. If after all that time she still was sure then, and only then, were final vows taken. Most orders bestowed a ring on that day that signaled a marriage with Christ. The maidens were different. Each received a silver necklace with a fleur-de-lys.

Hers had hung around her neck for sixteen years.

She slipped on a robe, walked to the bathroom down the hall, and showered, hoping the water could rinse away some of her anxiety.

But it had no effect.

She returned to her room and dressed in her habit. The order had long ago abandoned the white-sleeved tunic, scapular, and stiff coif of a headdress. No floor-length black dresses or rosary belts either. Instead, inside the convent they wore plain gray smocks, simple low-heeled shoes, with a matching gray veil that showed their hair and face. Outside the convent, though, they dressed as needed for the particular situation.

Like tonight.

She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the laptop. Her mind and body felt dull and heavy. For so long she’d basked in the halo of confidence that success generated in the young. But her luck ran out tonight. She’d warned the abbess. Told her, and the other maidens, that this was not worth the risk. Now there was Sister Rachel’s sacrifice to weigh.

But how much of a sacrifice had it been?

She stood and left her room, navigating the halls to the convent’s inner chapel. The building was deserted. It was time for nightly prayers in the outside main church. Inside the dimly lit chapel, an older woman knelt in one of the pews, hands folded underneath her chin. Claire crossed herself and knelt too, praying for forgiveness, but all her effort brought was the unaccustomed dampness of renewed grief to her eyes. The older woman stopped praying and turned to face her.

“What happened?” the older woman asked in French.

“Sister Rachel has been taken. She might even have been killed or injured.”

And she told her what happened.

“The abbess must be informed.”

“This is her fault,” she said.

“Keep your opinions to yourself.”

She glared at the older woman. “I don’t need any lessons on my duty.”

“I would hope not.”

“This entire thing was unnecessary. And you know it.”

“I know nothing, other than what a majority of the maidens wants. As should you too. What of the main objectives?”

“Accomplished. It’s Sister Rachel who needs our help.”