The Omega Factor(89)
Tours and public access had been canceled for the next few days. No reason was given, as none was required. This was private property, and it was a privilege for anyone to be allowed inside. The last time a threat of this magnitude occurred was late 1944, when the Nazis rolled through. For most of the war the Languedoc had been part of Vichy France, unoccupied by the German invaders. But toward the end Hitler took control of southern France and resistance activity soared. Les Vautours had done their part, trying to undermine the concentration camp at Rivesaltes, near Perpignan, with four maidens dying in the effort.
The abbess knelt with her head bowed in prayer. Claire knew this had to be especially painful for her.
Losing a sister.
And on her orders.
She hadn’t been in favor of the attack in Ghent, but followed her vow to obey her superior. If she’d only been more careful and not allowed Nick Lee to track her they would not be in the mess they currently faced. So this was partly her fault too.
The song ended.
Silence reigned.
It was important that Rachel be laid to rest before the trouble began. She deserved that. Would the Dominicans come? Absolutely. No question. Since, for the first time, they knew exactly where to go. No more secrecy. No more guessing. All had been revealed.
The future of everything was on the line.
The abbess crossed herself and stood, stepping to the front of the underground chapel before the plain stone altar where Rachel lay in her wicker coffin. “It is important we speak as a group before we take our sister to her grave.”
Claire and the others looked up from their prayers. The abbess’ face was a bland mask of concern, the eyes exuding a power, determination, and strength of purpose they’d all come to expect. No fear. No doubt. Just resolve.
“I am not unmindful of the dissension that exists within our ranks. We are divided on what we have done. But I ask that you put all that aside. We will soon be challenged, and we cannot allow Sister Rachel to have died in vain.”
No one spoke.
Claire heard movement behind her and turned to see Ellen and Isabel escorting Sister Deal into the church.
“Thank you for coming,” the abbess said to Deal.
“Did I have a choice?”
Claire stood and faced the newcomer. “None of us has a choice any longer. Thanks to you and Nick Lee.”
“You broke into my workshop, set a masterpiece on fire, attacked me, and stole my computer. And this is my fault? Nick’s fault?”
No one replied.
Sister Deal pointed toward the altar and the wicker coffin. “Is that the woman who died?”
“It is,” Claire said. “Nick helped us retrieve her.”
“You’ve met Nick?”
Claire nodded. “He and I worked together.”
“Who are you?”
“Sister Claire.”
“Where is Nick?”
“I left him in Belgium.”
“Left him where?”
Deal’s voice had risen.
“It doesn’t matter,” Claire said. “Through whatever twists of fate, the two of you managed to take advantage of my mistakes and expose us, something that has not happened in over fifteen hundred years.”
“And the Just Judges panel was vital, because it pointed straight here?”
“How do you know that?” Claire asked.
Deal told them what she’d discovered on the ride south.
When she finished, Claire said, “Jan van Eyck visited this site in the spring of 1428. He’d been on a spy mission into Spain. At that time there was no defined border between what would eventually become Spain and France. So we marked our land, which then extended down into the valley, with a symbol that the Moors understood.”
She stretched back the left side of her smock and displayed the tattoo.
“A vulture,” she said, “which we had long adopted as our symbol.”
“A strange choice,” Deal noted.
“Not really,” Claire said. “They are quite formidable. Live solitary lives. Have few enemies. And never kill a thing. That’s us. We carved them into tree trunks. The Moors respected us. We’d nursed several of them back to health after they’d been severely wounded in battle. We talked with them. Prayed with them. Learned from them. We were friends. So they honored our territory. They were not the barbarians the church and history would have everyone believe. Quite the contrary, in fact.”
“Van Eyck came here?” Deal asked.
“He did,” the abbess said. “He spent a few weeks, resting and painting. He was an inquisitive sort and the maidens at the time came to like him. That friendship proved invaluable a few years later when Joan of Arc was executed.”
Claire heard a soft purr. The silence of the crypt amplified what would otherwise have been unnoticeable. The abbess reached into the pocket of her smock, removed a phone, and tapped the screen. The older woman listened for a moment, then ended the call.
“They are here.”
Chapter 58
Fuentes stepped from the car, out into the midday sun. The reflective matte-black lenses of his sunglasses barely muted the harshness of the bright rays. A perfect bowl of blue sky stretched east-to-west. It had been a while since he’d last been in the mountains. He grew up on the Spanish side of the Pyrénées, close to Barcelona. He and his two brothers had hiked the hills repeatedly. One of them was now dead, while the other lived in Madrid and would surely be there the day he was crowned pope.