The Omega Factor(72)
Any regrets?
Not a one.
His encounter with the archbishop still unnerved him, and Raymond Barbe’s question about how he’d felt was a fair one. He’d wondered for a long time what it would feel like to finally be back in Vilamur’s presence. His biological father. The man who’d raised him, whom he’d thought to be his father in every way, had been a gentle soul who died far too young. Aside from her indiscretion with Vilamur, his mother had lived an otherwise exemplary life, also dying young. She had, though, drifted away from Catholicism, eventually discovering Catharism, which offered her a measure of comfort and peace. She’d achieved Perfectus status just before dying. He’d followed her into the religion, trying to find his own inner peace. He hated that he carried any of Vilamur’s DNA inside him. The hypocrisy of the man’s life, along with the evil of his religion, disgusted him.
The Catholic Church had murdered more people during the past two thousand years than any other institution devised by man. It systematically suppressed knowledge and fought scientific progress. Across time, at one point or another, it had actively supported slavery, racism, fascism, and sexism. It published the Hammer of Witches, detailing how to torture and murder innocent women. It jailed and burned scientists at the stake in a futile attempt to keep the masses ignorant. It terrorized Jews and Muslims for centuries, torturing and murdering during the Inquisition and crusades, all in the name of a supposedly loving God. It ignored eyewitness accounts that Jews were being slaughtered by Nazis. It systemically covered up tens of thousands of cases involving sexual misconduct by priests. It even had the audacity to absolve fault that had not yet been committed, thanks to indulgences bought with wealth.
John Paul II’s apology in 2000 for all of the sins committed by the church seemed laughable.
“They will pay,” he muttered.
He realized that the video sent to Vilamur was a two-edged sword. Not only did it incriminate Tallard as a sexual predator and Vilamur as an accomplice after the fact, it linked him to Tallard’s death. Could Vilamur go to the police? Possibly. But he would never. The last thing the archbishop wanted was for the authorities to be involved. The resulting publicity would be uncontrollable. No. This was going to be a private affair. He doubted the bastard would even run a DNA test.
Vilamur knew the truth.
He’d known it thirty-two years ago when his mother first confronted him. And he’d seen it earlier when Vilamur’s mouth said one thing, but the eyes another. They were related. No question. But the test would provide incontrovertible proof that Vilamur could never deny.
Which gave him a day or so.
And before he destroyed Vilamur, he wanted the bastard to witness his greatest triumph. He stared at the computer screen.
The Just Judges.
Apt.
As he was about to be.
Chapter 46
1:20 a.m.
Kelsey woke.
She was lying in the dark inside a confined space. Her hands were bound behind her back, her mouth taped shut. Not good. And she was moving, the compartment vibrating. A trunk? Yep. She was inside the trunk of a car, motoring down a relatively smooth road.
Her prioress had betrayed her again.
Her head was foggy, and she recalled smelling something strange then blacking out. She tested the bindings on her hands and feet. Solid. No way to get free. She did not like the confined feeling and told herself to calm down. Stay still. Breathe through her nose.
Then she kicked the side of the compartment.
Repeatedly.
The car began to slow.
Then came to a stop.
She heard doors open and close then, a few moments later, the trunk lid raised. In the light that came on inside the compartment she saw the faces of the two maidens from earlier, Sisters Ellen and Isabel. They helped her out and unbound her restraints. She peeled the tape from her mouth and wanted to scream but realized that the effort would be fruitless. Besides, she wasn’t going to show these women that she was scared.
Despite the fact that she was.
Sister Ellen faced her. “We’re willing to have you ride with us, inside the car, if you promise to behave.”
“Why should I?”
“Because,” Sister Isabel said, “we are not your enemy.”
“You have a terrible way of showing that.”
“We had no choice,” Ellen said. “You gave us no choice.”
“And how did I do that?” The fog had fully lifted from her brain. “Where are you taking me?”
“To a safe place.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Haec est speciosior sole et super omnem stellarum dispositionem. Luci comparata invenitur prior. Candor est enim lucis aeternae et speculum sine macula dei maiestatis.”
Sister Ellen delivered the Latin with perfect inflection.
Kelsey instantly knew what it meant. She’d studied Latin.
She is more beautiful than the sun and excels every constellation of the stars. Compared with the light she is found to be superior. She is in fact the reflection of the eternal light and the immaculate mirror of God’s majesty.
And she recognized its significance.
Above the center panel of the Ghent Altarpiece were three other panels. One depicted God enthroned, which she’d shown to Nick. Another displayed John the Baptist, and the third was the Virgin Mary. In the halo that surrounded Mary’s head, Jan van Eyck had painted an inscription.