The Omega Factor(87)

A horribly tragic accident.

Nick kept walking up the path toward the abbey.

He still hadn’t seen the motherhouse, which was much farther up. He also hadn’t passed anyone else going either up or down. No surprise there, as a placard below had indicated that the abbey was closed for the day. He was eating his sandwiches, drinking the water, and thinking back.

It always happened when he hiked.

He ultimately joined the army, became an MP, then went to work for the FBI. Guns had been a part of all his training. He knew how to handle a weapon and was a pretty good shot on the range. But truth be known, he hated them. One killed his friend Marvin Royster, which his other friend Charlie Minter had to live with until the day came years later when Charlie took his own life.

With a gun.

So far, he’d never drawn a weapon in the line of duty. And he only carried one when absolutely necessary. Reynaldo had authorized that he be armed and a weapon had been waiting in the chopper. A semi-automatic pistol with two spare magazines. But he’d left them all there. What awaited him at the end of this path?

Impossible to say.

But he wasn’t going to shoot anybody.





Chapter 56



Kelsey had managed to tumble in and out of sleep, her mind roaming unrestrained. When she woke for good, Sister Ellen was driving with Isabel in the passenger seat and it was daytime. The dashboard clock read 12:20. She’d been out awhile. Amazing, really, considering the situation. The computer still rested on her lap. Outside the car windows she saw trees and mountains.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Not far from the motherhouse, in southern France,” Isabel said. “You slept a long time.”

“I was more tired than I realized.”

They’d made a stop hours ago, before she fell asleep, for food and a bathroom, which she’d appreciated. What she’d discovered within the original Just Judges panel still filled her brain. Was she right? Were the two faces the same? Pointing the way to a building?

It might never be clear why Jef Van der Veken painted over the original Just Judges and handed it off as a reproduction. Had he been part of the theft? After the suspected thief died of a heart attack in late 1934, had he been stuck with the panel and, so as to not be implicated, painted over and returned it, thereby preserving the original masterpiece and not implicating himself?

That made the most sense.

Then there was the poem Van der Veken painted on the back side. I did it for love. And for duty. And to avenge myself. I borrowed from the dark side.

Considering what she now knew, that seemed like a confession.

But none of those whys really mattered anymore.

The fact remained that the original had existed, she’d photographed it, and, most important, two of the faces were identical, something Van der Veken might not have even noticed given the original panel’s horrendous condition at the time. No way those two faces being the same was simply a fifteenth-century mistake. Jan van Eyck didn’t make mistakes. And, another fact, no other character on the altarpiece held anything like a pointer.

That was a message.

From long ago.

But for, or to, what?

Something told her the Maidens of Saint-Michael knew it all. Which was another reason why she’d decided to cooperate.

She wanted those answers.

Nick had to, by now, be wondering what had happened to her. Perhaps he contacted the convent or confronted the prioress? Either way he would learn nothing. How she wished he was here. She was in way over her head and the only person she trusted completely, in all the world, no questions asked, always and forever, was Nick. They might not be able to be husband and wife, or lovers, but they could be man and woman, friends.

And she definitely needed a friend right now.

They were off the main autoroute on a two-laned regional road that wound a path at the base of the mountains. The tires hummed a steady whine on the seamless asphalt. Sister Ellen slowed at a driveway protected by a heavy iron gate. Thick-trunked trees guarded both sides, along with a deep ditch that drained the road. No way to drive around the gate. Ellen stopped the car and Isabel tapped on her phone.

“It’s electronically controlled,” Ellen said. “From the motherhouse.”

The gate began to roll to one side.

Apparently, they were expected.

Ellen drove through and navigated a switchback that zigzagged upward along the steep incline. It had been cut from the rock and paved with concrete, most of it cracked and potholed. Clearly it had been there awhile. The turns were tight and nerve-racking, barely enough room for the car to make the climb. But Ellen handled the challenge with expert precision.

“You’ve done this before,” she said to Ellen.

“Once or twice.”

“She’s the best,” Isabel said. “We all have to do it at one time or another.”

“I actually prefer to walk up from the other side,” Ellen said as she spun the wheel tight to the left and took another sharp curve.

She was beginning to like these two women, despite the fact that they’d assaulted and drugged her. For so long her entire life had been confined to the women in her convent. Sure, she still had her mother, father, and two brothers who all lived back in the United States. But contact with them was limited to a visit once a year, social media, and an occasional FaceTime call. They were all devout Catholics and respected the choice she’d made in life. No problems on the home front. Her closest friends all lived at the convent, with a few more added from the outside assignments she’d managed to snag along the way. That was another reason why she’d decided to contact Nick. She needed a different kind of friend. One who knew her from before, and one that she could count on no matter what.