The Omega Factor(45)

His phone vibrated.

He thought at first to ignore the call. Probably his office again. But he decided that he’d acted strange enough for one day. No sense piquing the interest of everyone around him by not answering.

He checked the display.

Unknown.

Ordinarily he’d never answer.

But today was anything but ordinary.

He pushed Accept.

“Are you listening carefully?” a male voice said.

“Who is this?”

“The person who sent the video.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m listening.”

“I want you at Montségur, at 4:00 p.m. today. Alone. If you do not come, or bring others with you, that video will be headed to the media. Are we clear?”

“What do you want?”

“You at Montségur at 4:00 p.m.”

The call ended.





Chapter 29

Abbaye de Saint-Michael

Pyrénées Mountains

1:45 p.m.



Claire stood in the center of the chapter hall. Though she was physically back home, in France, her thoughts were hundreds of miles away in Ghent, wondering what was happening. The maidens had gathered, all twenty-three then in residence, the only ones missing the two still in Ghent on assignment and Sister Rachel, her body most likely in a morgue. Her colleagues sat upon plain wooden benches that fronted long pitted oak tables. This was where they took meals and gathered for important discussions. The abbess had opened the session with a prayer, explained all that had happened, then turned the floor over to her.

“I take full responsibility for everything that occurred last evening,” she said in English. “I want that clear. I was the one in charge and things did not go as we expected.”

“It was an ill-gotten plan that resulted in the death of a good woman,” one of the maidens called out.

Anyone was allowed to speak without restriction or recognition, though civility was required.

“There was no need for such a rash act,” another added. “It did nothing but draw attention to something that had no attention.”

Several others chorused their agreement.

Another meeting less than a month ago had decided on the course to be taken. The vote had been a narrow one, with a significant minority, herself included, arguing that the Just Judges panel should be ignored. It had been gone since 1934 and there was no real danger emanating from its reappearance. That same minority was now re-expressing their objections, but with the added ammunition of Sister Rachel’s untimely death.

“I need not be reminded of your concerns,” the abbess interrupted and said. “A majority wanted the panel destroyed.”

“No one wanted anyone to die,” another said.

Claire faced the older woman. “Of course not. Sister Rachel sacrificed herself to ensure those images came into our possession. I doubt she thought the police would kill her. Merely arrest her. What happened was their fault, not hers, or ours.”

Her voice stayed firm, the tone certain, and she meant every word.

“We are not here to re-debate our previous decision,” the abbess made clear. “The Vestal and I have already had that discussion earlier. I am well aware how you, and she, feel. So please focus on the issue at hand.”

To be abbess was to be absolute ruler. That person could appoint and depose any of those beneath her. She decided if novices were to take their final vows and if maidens would continue in the order’s service. She made every decision within the convent and was their mother in a great many ways, treated with the greatest reverence, the person they all turned to in time of trouble. The current abbess was regarded as a mild disciplinarian, refined, courteous, but firm almost to obstinacy. A lady of pleasant and easy speech, with a memory stored with anecdotes. She was university-educated and a competent manager of the order’s affairs. Long ago it was learned that if a leader was capable, conscientious, and devoted, the collective prospered. Thankfully, the Maidens of Saint-Michael had always been blessed with competent leadership. And though Claire disagreed with the course taken, she’d never doubted the abbess. Good thing. As this place harbored a great secret. And, when it came to that, no amount of clever scheming or economy of thought could counterbalance a bad leader. All who rose to be abbess had been the best of the best.

Herself included.

“Forgive us,” one of the women said. “But it is hard to focus with Rachel dead.”

“What would you have had us do?” the abbess said to the group, and seemingly straight to those who’d voted no a month ago. “Sit back and allow the panel to be revealed? To be studied by every art expert in the world, including the Vatican? And not with a steady eye and a magnifying glass. But with the clarity of electronic high resolution. Nothing would have escaped detection. All its secrets would have been revealed. Is that what you wanted?”

“We are dealing with a work of art that was created six hundred years ago,” one of the maidens said. “Whatever secrets existed within it are long forgotten. Meaningless. To everyone.”

“Not everyone,” the abbess said. “The Vatican is always watching.”

“We don’t know that,” came the challenge. “What we guard, what we protect, could well be one nobody cares about anymore.”

Exactly what Claire believed too, and a sizable portion of the women staring at her felt the same way. Not quite a majority, as yet. But a surprising number. She’d long wondered if what they did still made sense, and Rachel’s untimely death had brought her doubts into clearer focus. But she swept those doubts aside and, acting like the Vestal, said, “Whether the Vatican or anyone else cares is irrelevant. What we all swore to do is the important matter. The vow we took before God. That is what we are obligated to follow. Perhaps I missed something, but the last I looked none of us have been released from that duty. The Just Judges was gone. Now it’s back. The threat was gone. Now it’s back. Whether we personally agree or not, we must deal with that.”