The Omega Factor(85)

The Spaniard gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let me tell you a story. I like stories. They help bring things into clearer focus. I once knew a shop owner in Barcelona who had some puppies for sale. A young boy came into the store and wanted to buy one of them. Their price was ten euros, which the boy had. ‘Can I see the dogs?’ the boy asked. And out of the kennel came a large mother with five tiny balls of fur following. One of the five lagged considerably behind, limping as he walked. ‘What’s wrong with that little dog?’ the boy asked. The shopkeeper told him, ‘He has no hip socket. He’ll always be lame.’ The boy smiled, pointed, and said, ‘That’s the one I want to buy.’ The shop owner was surprised and told the boy the dog wasn’t worth the price. ‘He’s never going to be able to run and jump and play with you like the other puppies.’ But the boy was adamant. ‘I want that one.’ Then the boy rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled leg supported by a metal brace. He looked up at the shop owner and said, ‘I don’t run so well myself, so the little puppy will need someone who understands.’” Fuentes pointed. “You’re my little puppy that I want to buy, and I will understand, too. Neither of us is without fault.”

He realized that his own sins had backed him into a corner with no way out, save for the man standing next to him. To be a cardinal he had to sell his soul. But at least Fuentes was making it easy.

“What are you going to do with de Foix?” he asked.

“There is no choice.”

No, there wasn’t.

“That man is not going to stop,” Fuentes said. “He can, and will, make your life a living hell. And he’s right. You will not be given a red hat.”

“And I will, most likely, also lose my archdiocese.”

Fuentes nodded.

He did not hesitate. “Do what you have to do.”

“You know what that means?”

“Of course. Do it.”

The sale had just been finalized. His soul was gone.

“The Italians have a term. Fiducia. Their bond of trust,” Fuentes said. “You and I will now have that too.”

The cardinal extended a hand, which he shook.

He realized that his actions, swift and natural, with no hesitation, governed by reasoning and convenient rationalizations with zero quarrels of right and wrong, came with a name.

Amoral.

Fuentes motioned and they walked back through the trees, closer to where the others stood. The cardinal waved and Friar Dwight walked over to them.

“Make sure Bernat de Foix joins Father Tallard,” Fuentes whispered to the Dominican. “Neither should ever be seen again.”





Chapter 55

Pyrénées Mountains

Southern France

12:40 p.m.



Nick stood at the base of Mount Canigou. Perched upon a rocky pinnacle thirty-five hundred feet up sat the motherhouse of the Maidens of Saint-Michael. A narrow single-laned, paved road wound a path up the mountain through stands of old-growth oaks, the cool midday disturbed only by a distant solitary church bell. The sole way to get up there was to walk. The idea, as had been explained in the nearby town, was for the arduous trek to allow the visitor to gradually leave the world below behind. There was a vehicular road, a bit wider and paved also, but it was on the other side of the mountain and sealed off, used only by the convent to bring up supplies.

It bothered him that he hadn’t been able to speak with Kelsey. But he had to remind himself that she was part of another world now, one with its own ways and rules. Both of which he had to respect. At least she was safe, out of harm’s way.

He’d contacted Reynaldo after Sister Claire had fled and explained the situation, accepting full responsibility for his own gullibility.

“This is turning ridiculous,” Reynaldo had said. “Perhaps we should end this now.”

“You said I could have two days.”

“That was before you allowed a nun to get the better of you. The Belgians are going to start screaming shortly. Getting you out of there seems like a good idea.”

“Something big is happening here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m here, on the ground, doing my job. I’m telling you that there’s something here to discover. Something I need to follow through on.”

They’d gone back and forth and finally Reynaldo had agreed to honor the two days. But it was clear that he owed his boss a big one. Less than an hour later a NATO chopper found him and he was flown south to Perpignan, where he’d obtained ground transportation and driven the hour west toward the mountains, to the motherhouse, where Sister Claire was headed with the body. Which meant she was most likely going to use the other way up. Fine. He’d allow her that. He just needed to be up there by the time she arrived.

He checked his watch.

That should be soon, if not already.

Assuming she’d driven straight through.

Which was a safe assumption.

He’d managed to grab a little sleep on the flight south, having long ago mastered how to rest in snatches of no more than an hour or so. He’d bought a couple of sandwiches and a bottled water before heading over from town to the abbey. The guy at the local café told him the hike up would take about an hour. Hope you have strong legs. And now, staring up at the start of the inclined journey, he could see that the man had been right.