The Omega Factor(40)

“I have not the faintest idea. Could you enlighten me?”

“I can. But I choose not to at the moment, and I would ask your patience.”

He realized he had no choice. “Of course, Eminence. I am at your disposal.”

Another smart play. He knew that Fuentes was part of the pope’s inner circle. One of half a dozen cardinals who acted as an unofficial papal cabinet. Angering or irritating him would not be smart. The man had involved himself in this quagmire for a reason.

Which had to be important.

“Has there been any indication, prior to this, of Cathar activity in your diocese?” Fuentes asked.

“Beyond rumor, gossip, and lore? Nothing. They are the things of legend, here for tourists. Occasionally, from time to time, we hear of their possible presence. But nothing definitive.”

“And what do you know of them?”

“Forgive me, Eminence, but I do not concern myself with a religion that disappeared six hundred years ago.”

“Disappear is such a generous word. More like the church extinguished them.”

“The church did that to a lot of people. We were quite proficient in the art of killing.”

No sense mincing words. History was clear. Cathars had been slaughtered by the tens of thousands. The Waldensians, and other religious groups across southern Europe and northern Italy, were murdered at the same time too. Maybe as many as a million overall. The Spanish Inquisition tortured and killed untold numbers. During the fifteenth century, Hussites were slain by the thousands. In 1572 Pius V ordered the death of twenty thousand Huguenots. Nearly 40 percent of the Protestant population of Germany was killed by Catholics during the Thirty Years’ War. And the Jews. They’d been murdered indiscriminately by Christians for two millennia.

“I am aware of your master’s thesis,” Fuentes said. “‘A Statistical Analysis on the Use of Deadly Force by the Holy Roman Church from AD 1000 to AD 1900.’”

He was impressed. But his personnel file within the Vatican would surely contain a copy. All part of his work history, which would soon come under sharp scrutiny with his consideration for elevation.

“You checked me out before calling?” he asked.

“Force of habit.”

More red flags started to wave.

“Les Vautours,” Fuentes said, “are a subject that interests me. When you mentioned them in your call earlier, my office was alerted. That is why you are speaking to me and not them.”

“Are they some sort of radical, clandestine group? Would they have killed Father Tallard?”

“Vultures in nature do not kill,” Fuentes said. “The group who took their name practices the same principle. So no, they would not have harmed anyone.”

He wanted to know, “Why is this happening to me?”

“I am wondering the same thing. My first impression is that there are two separate, but not mutually exclusive, motivations here. The dead priest and the Cathar implications seem directed at you. The vulture reference seems directed somewhere else. Until today, there has not been any indication of their presence for nearly two hundred years.”

Now he was intrigued. “Care to explain that last statement?”

“We have been actively searching for this group for a long time, particularly since the 1930s. Some here thought they existed in secret, apart from society, cloistered away. Others believe they are hiding in plain sight, under another name, as another entity, right before us.”

“I had no idea.”

“I’m sure you did not,” Fuentes said. “But while the vultures may be a shadow, that priest’s corpse is real. The video you received is real. Clearly you have an enemy.”

“I would say we have an enemy. But that enemy just eliminated a big problem.”

“And recorded a confession on video first. Hence why I think there are differing motivations here. You do realize, if this information goes public, that red hat you seek will prove elusive.”

“You are well informed.”

“That I am.”

Fuentes was right. If that video was sent to the media the damage would be irreparable. No containment possible. True, everything he’d done had been with Rome’s assent. But that would never be admitted, and, to save himself, he’d be forced to challenge them with the evidence he’d kept. Of course, that would end his clerical career. He’d lose his archdiocese and be forced off into oblivion.

No one won in that scenario.

But he did not want to be the fall guy either.

Thankfully, it could be a while before Tallard’s body was found. The man had no family, no friends. The deal had been for Tallard to stay out of sight and allow time to work its magic. Perhaps the witnesses might recant, forget, or die. So far that had proven a sound course. The murder itself would surely be chalked up as some sort of revenge killing. But that assumed the recorded confession did not surface.

“I called to inform you that I am coming to Toulouse. I will be there tomorrow. In the meantime, I want you to keep me personally posted on any further developments. Here is my mobile number.”

Vilamur jotted it down. He had a million questions, but realized their talk, for now, was over. He’d save them all for tomorrow. “I shall keep you informed, Eminence.”

“And one more thing, Archbishop.”