The Omega Factor(84)

Every detail had been addressed.

Which made him wonder.

What were they going to do with him?





Vilamur was exercising the patience that forty years of wearing a white collar had taught him. True, he’d once engaged in multiple sexual affairs with a great deal of women. But he quit all that a decade ago. Not even a rumor of his amorous exploits had ever surfaced. He’d thought all that a thing of his past.

But that was not the case.

So he wanted to make clear to de Foix, “This ends here. You can’t go any further with whatever you had in mind.”

“I can still ruin you,” de Foix said. “The allegation alone is enough. I read that you’re being considered for a cardinal. So much negative publicity will surely end that.”

He glanced over at Fuentes. Hard to gauge the man’s eyes or features in the dark. But what de Foix had just said rang true. The time was approaching 4:00 a.m. Dawn less than two hours away. Which meant daylight. People. Witnesses. Trouble.

Wherever this was going, it better get there fast.

“Archbishop,” Fuentes said. “May I have a word with you. In private.”





Fuentes had come to France to find answers.

And he had.

Now it was time to make the hard call, the type that bishops, cardinals, and popes had made for centuries. The church had not survived for two thousand years by being weak or stupid. Instead, it was smart and strong. True, the Holy See no longer fielded an army or engaged in open warfare. But that did not mean battles were not fought. And he was now faced with one of long standing.

Prior to 1852, the Holy Inquisition had dealt with the problem of les Vautours. But it made little progress. Once the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology came into existence, the matter was transferred there. Over the course of the last 170 years the eighteen predecessors in his job had generally ignored the Vultures, arguing that it was better to let a sleeping dog lie. But none had been presented with the golden opportunity that had dropped into his lap. Archbishop Vilamur’s problem had, at first, seemed the most promising lead. But events in Ghent had played out better than expected. The trail now seemed clear. He knew precisely where to find the Vultures. Which meant the matter of Bernat de Foix was more an annoyance. One he had no time to indulge.

He wanted to be pope.

Nothing and no one else mattered.





Vilamur walked with Cardinal Fuentes away from de Foix and the two Dominicans into the blackened trees. A day ago he was a relatively unknown metropolitan archbishop who wanted to be a cardinal, one of many other bishops around the world with the same ambition. Now he was the confidant of a man actively seeking to be pope, one who apparently commanded Dominicans.

Talk about good fortune.

What a difference a day made.

“It is sad but true that, throughout our history, violence has been a part of the church,” Fuentes said. “Pope John VIII was poisoned and clubbed to death by his own clerics. Stephen VI imprisoned and strangled by other prelates. Leo V murdered on orders of Pope Sergius III. John X imprisoned and eventually smothered to death. Benedict VI, killed by a priest on orders from an emperor. John XIV’s life ended by an antipope. Not to mention the many crusades, inquisitions, and wars popes waged for centuries where millions died. You know all about that, though, thanks to your thesis.”

Yes, he did. But he had to know, “Are you equating me with those dead, corrupt popes?”

“Let us be frank, Archbishop. Those popes I just mentioned were horribly corrupt. They abused their position. You, of course, also abused your position. You took advantage of women. You violated your oath of celibacy. You are corrupt. I also want to point out what other Catholics, when faced with similar corruption, chose to do.”

He understood. They killed.

“Please know that I did not come here to judge you,” Fuentes said. “None of us are free of sin. But I also do not want you to become unmindful of the seriousness of your past actions.”

“I don’t need to be reminded.”

“I think you do. And you also need to grasp the degree of salvation I am extending toward you.”

“Which will not be free.”

“Not in the least. There will most assuredly be a conclave sometime in the next twelve months. If granted a cardinal’s hat, you will be eligible to participate and vote. Once you reach the age of eighty, in three years, you will lose that vote.”

“But you will be pope by then.”

Fuentes nodded. “And you can work within the Curia, for as long as you desire, well past the age of eighty. In a position befitting your status.”

“As a cardinal whom you own.”

“That’s a crude way of referring to things. But accurate. If it is any comfort, you will not be alone.”

Which was no comfort.

He’d dreamed about his elevation for many years, wondering what the moment would feel like. To be there, in St. Peter’s Basilica, at a consistory, where his selection would be decreed in the presence of all the remaining cardinals. He would swear allegiance and be presented the ring, scarlet zucchetto, and biretta by the pope.

What a glorious moment.

“Archbishop. No. Gerard. Might I call you that?”

“Of course, Eminence.”

“Gerard, thankfully, the Dominicans have always been there when the church needed them. They were here, in the Languedoc, during the Albigensian Crusade. They were there during the Inquisition, Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and every other challenge we’ve faced during the past eight hundred years. The Point of the Spear is their elite. The ones called upon for the most difficult tasks, the ones that try our consciences and keep us awake at night. I’m fortunate that the current head of the Dominicans is a close friend and understands the gravity of this situation.” Fuentes paused. “And the importance of me being the next pope.”