The Omega Factor(67)

“I didn’t realize there was an us.”

She caught herself. There he went again. Drawing her in. Engaging. “Do you use that charm often?”

“All the time.”

She smiled. “All right. Nick. As I was saying, I have little room to negotiate.”

“You destroyed a Belgian national treasure. I’m assuming there was a really good reason for that. At the moment, the police are not on your trail. Only me. We can keep it that way. The Dominicans, though, seem laser-focused on you.”

“They are, but we will deal with them, as we have in the past. You, though, are another matter. I came to listen to what you propose.”

But she wondered how he would react if he knew that Sister Deal was being taken as they spoke. What was their connection? Friends? Family? Who knew? The mother superior had reported that it seemed there was something familiar between them. But asking would only arouse suspicions.

“Rachel was a friend,” she said. “A close friend. How do you plan to retrieve her body?”

“You left her to face those police alone.”

Yes, she had. The reminder of which she did not appreciate. “At the time, securing those images was more important. Rachel knew that. She did her duty. And I had no choice.”

“We all have choices.”

“I wish that were the case. Unfortunately, it’s not here. Of course, no one, Rachel included, thought they would shoot her.”

“Those cops were fired up and hot. That never ends well. Where are you from? I hear Cajun in your voice.”

“Louisiana. Born and raised. But I’ve lived overseas a long time.”

“If I get your friend’s body back, are we going to talk about why all this was necessary?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“At least you’re honest. But I want you to know that, if you can convince me, I’ll help get the heat off you.”

A cautious atmosphere had sprung between them, as if neither believed a word the other said. They were definitely fencing, and she doubted he could deliver on that promise, especially with the Vatican and the Dominicans, which represented the greatest threat. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Do what you promised and we’ll talk.”

He grinned. “I get it. And it’s okay. I don’t trust you either. But neither one of us has a choice. We seem stuck with each other.”

True.

For now.





Chapter 43



Mary first appeared in the art of Roman catacomb paintings, though it was hard to know for sure since the images of a woman, cradling a baby, were rough and blurred. By the fourth century after Christ her skin became dark, with heavy features, typical of the Mediterranean region. Usually she was depicted as praying with arms raised to heaven. With the rise of the Byzantine Empire she changed to an august, pale, blue-clad figure, hooded and haloed, their patroness in both war and peace. By the Middle Ages her features were firmly established as European, her skin always a milky white.

Marian worship existed nowhere in the church’s origins or in the teachings of the apostles. There was no Immaculate Conception, Annunciation, or Assumption into heaven. She was not the mother of the faithful, the interceder with Christ. The Gospels themselves never described what she looked like and never mentioned where she lived. No ages were listed. She played no part in Christ’s ministry and no role in establishing Christianity. Yet she became the second Eve, bestowed by popes with divine power though she herself was not divine. Protestants generally rejected Marian devotion. For them, Christianity was all about one person. Sure, there were supporting players, but nothing ranked with the Son of God.

Even more puzzling was what happened to Mary after the crucifixion.

She was not present when Christ’s empty tomb was discovered. Nor was she there at his Ascension into heaven or at Pentecost when the Holy Ghost divinely inspired the apostles. She was never visited by the risen Christ, though he did appear to the disciples and Mary Magdalene. There was but one reference in the Gospels.

John 19:25–27.

Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.

The disciple whom he loved.

A cryptic reference that appeared two other times in John’s Gospel. That mysterious man was mentioned with the same five words as being at the Last Supper, his head resting on Christ’s chest. Then again when the risen Christ appeared to the disciples on the shores of Lake Galilee. Who was this person? No one knows.

But he supposedly cared for Mary the rest of her life.

Eventually, Ephesus, in Turkey, became the center of her worship. Supposedly the disciple whom he loved took Mary there. By the fifth century a basilica had been erected there in her honor. Centuries later a house was recognized as belonging to her and venerated.

But no mention of her grave appeared.

And though relics of saints flooded churches, other than a garment and a few supposed drops of her milk, nothing of her was ever found.



“You speak strangely of the Blessed Virgin,” Vilamur said to Cardinal Fuentes.