The Omega Factor(93)

Like Sister Rachel.

She felt partially responsible for what had happened to her, though she knew it was not her fault. The decisions that led to Rachel’s death were made by others. These women, living here in the mountains, dedicated to something that she as yet did not know, were determined. True, they’d destroyed a priceless work of art, but she was beginning to believe that there might have been a good reason for that, and she desperately wanted to know what that might be.

Isabel started and the other maidens began to sing the Ave Maria.

She was not much of a singer but joined them.





Fuentes had not felt this satiated in a long while.

Of late his job had become more a depressant, one that had slowly drained him of talent and energy. But the news that the pope was dying had invigorated him. Now he could achieve so much more. Cardinals had, for centuries, taken advantage of situations that developed within the Vatican. Some had even managed to propel themselves to the papacy, and he wanted to follow their lead. Was it essential that this matter with the Virgin Mary be put to rest? Not really. The issue was only known within the most upper echelons of the Curia. But those dozen or so cardinals would be needed in the conclave, and this would be his way of showing them that he was the right man for the top job. The one who could get things done. Even those tasks that others had deemed impossible. The question of Mary’s tomb had been hanging for an extremely long time.

Too long.

Over roughly seventeen hundred years Mary’s exalted status had been good for the church. She’d brought comfort to millions of believers, softening the hard male edges that God and Christ could sometimes project. She was the perfect counter of female to male, and those early church fathers had been smart to invent her. And if this was five hundred, two hundred, or even fifty years ago it might not matter. But this was the age of instant, worldwide communication. Anyone and everyone had access to everyone else. So finding the tomb of the Virgin Mary and proving that Pius XII’s dogma was far from infallible would have traction. True, the maidens had kept the secret and surely intended to keep doing so. But he wasn’t going to rely on that.

Better to end this here and now.

Without further worry.

They came to the top of the road and an open gateway that led toward the motherhouse beyond. He heard singing. From off to the left. Away from the abbey.

He stopped their advance. “It’s the Ave Maria.”

Coming from the direction of the cemetery.

Earlier, he’d thoroughly scouted the local geography on Google Earth, noting that the maidens apparently buried some of their dead on-site. He’d planned on checking out the cemetery at some point.

Why not now?

He motioned and they all headed in that direction.





Nick had hidden in the trees, off the narrow roadway, and watched as the six men marched by and continued upward. Friars Dwight and Rice were definitely there. As to the other men? No clue. But one definitely seemed in charge, leading the way. A bull of a man, stoic, thick-set, with heavy cheekbones and a protruding jaw. It would take them a few minutes to make it to the top and he could easily catch up. In the meantime, he was more interested in the seventh man, still following the group at a discreet distance. He was not part of the Dominicans.

So who was he?

He kept to his hiding place, which afforded a clear view of the paved path. From around a bend the newcomer appeared. A slim, muscular youth with black curly hair and a flat face, dressed in jeans, boots, shirt, and jacket. Walking with a purpose. Almost marching. Eyes ahead. Arms at his side. So obviously looking like a tourist that he certainly was not one. Nick allowed him to pass, then stepped from behind the tree onto the road.

“Who are you?” he asked in English.

The younger man stopped and turned. Not a hint of surprise in the face.

“My name is Andre Labelle. Who are you?”

The English was excellent.

“Nick Lee. Are you following those guys up ahead?”

“I am. I need one of them.”

“Might I ask who?”

“Archbishop Gerard Vilamur.”

Interesting that so high a figure in the church was here, with the Dominicans. “Why?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Nick advanced a few steps closer. “There’s trouble about to happen up there. Trouble I have to stop.”

“Then stop it. I won’t get in your way. I just want Vilamur.”

“Maybe I can help you.”

“I doubt it. Look, a friend of mine is missing. I was supposed to accompany him on a trip today, but he disappeared. I decided to stake out the archbishop and that led me here.”

“Is the archbishop connected to your missing friend?”

“He is. And I’m sure he’s also part of whatever may have happened to him.”

“It seems the archbishop is also connected to my trouble. Does your friend have a name?”

“Bernat de Foix.”

He instantly connected the dots. “I’m familiar with him. He was involved with the restoration of the Ghent Altarpiece.”

“That’s right. We were headed there today for a formal announcement on what was found. But he disappeared last night. He would not have missed that ceremony.”

“Seems we’re both on a mission.”