The Omega Factor(94)
“I’d like to get back to mine.”
Fire burned in the dark ball-bearing-like eyes.
What had John Kennedy said? Necessity has made us allies.
And he might need the help.
“How about we head up together and let’s see where this goes.”
Chapter 61
Vilamur kept behind the four Dominicans as they followed a defined path grooved from the rocky soil by the soles of countless feet. The singing continued, the melody almost hypnotic, drawing them ever closer like a siren. They stopped at another iron gate that led into a cemetery. Across the closely trimmed grass and various stone cairns and markers six nuns stood around an open grave.
Singing.
Fuentes motioned and the four Dominicans withdrew weapons.
“Is that necessary?” Vilamur asked.
“I assure you it is. These women are quite formidable.”
They advanced into the cemetery and headed directly to the maidens. Fuentes raised a hand and halted their advance, allowing the song to be completed. Five of the women wore gray smocks. One did not.
Who was she?
The maidens finished.
The Dominicans assumed positions to the left and right of the grave, their guns at their sides.
Fuentes stepped forward, removed his sunglasses, and pointed to the odd woman out. “Who are you?”
“I want to ask you the same thing. You have no business here.”
“But I do. Again, who are you?”
“Sister Kelsey Deal.”
“You’re the one who found the Just Judges,” Fuentes said.
“How would you know that?”
“It is part of my business here. I’ve been aware of your work for some time.”
“Who are you?” Deal asked.
Fuentes raised a finger. “I’ll ask the questions. My prerogative since I have the men with guns.”
The other five just watched the conversation in silence.
“Keep them here,” Fuentes said to Friar Dwight, then he motioned for Vilamur to join him as he walked off into the cemetery.
“Look for a headstone,” Fuentes whispered. “It would be really old. Worn. Hopefully, it is here.”
“How old?”
“Fifteenth century.”
They fanned out separately, their eyes down on the markers. Many were crosses. Some simple slabs. Others just plain stone.
After a few minutes, Fuentes called out, “Here.”
And he walked over, seeing a cracked and pitted stone marker projecting about half a meter from the ground. Not limestone. Marble. Which explained why it had lasted. Little was on its face. Just a few words and a number, eroded and nearly gone, but there.
ALS ICH KAN
1441
Fuentes bent down close. “Jan van Eyck was the only fifteenth-century Dutch painter to sign his canvases. He did that with a variant of the words”—the cardinal pointed—“Als ich kan. As I Can. Or, As Best I Can. The year 1441 is when he died. No one really knows what he meant by the signature. It could be a type of modesty, where he prefaced his work with an apology for a lack of perfection. But that may be reading too much into things. It could be just a playful reference. No matter. Here it is.”
He recalled what he read in the poem. This flower shot early off this world. The one who came from Maaseik. Bruges keeps him. His life ended there. But he will live for eternity. Among the holy.
Jan van Eyck was here.
Fuentes smiled.
“We are in the right place.”
Kelsey had never before faced down a gun, much less four. The sight of them made her legs flutter with anxiety and her body shake. She worked hard to keep her nerves under control. The stoic calm of the five other maidens helped. Isabel had made eye contact and she drew strength from the woman’s clear resolve. Not a hint of concern or emotion swept across that face.
The maidens stood dutifully, with their hands behind their backs, on one side of the open grave, facing the four men with guns on the other. What level of training had these women endured to prepare themselves for this? Obviously, quite a bit. They seemed ready.
But for what?
“Who are these men?” she asked Isabel.
“Dominicans.”
“With guns?”
“They have a long history of violence. They led the crusade that slaughtered thousands of Cathars in this region. They also killed women and children.”
Okay. Not the reassurance she was looking for. “What do they want?”
“That which we cannot give.”
“Oh, but you can,” the man she’d addressed a few minutes ago said, walking over. “And you will.”
“I asked before,” Kelsey said. “Who are you?”
“Hector Cardinal Fuentes,” Isabel replied, the contempt clear in her voice. “The other man is our metropolitan archbishop. Gerard Vilamur.”
“I’ve been a nun for a long time,” Kelsey said. “Never have I seen prelates of the church act as all of you do.”
“We do what is necessary,” Fuentes said.
“A woman has died,” she made clear to the cardinal. “This is her grave. What you do desecrates this sacred ground.”
Her nerves had calmed. She was strong and defiant, defending what she swore to God to uphold.