Survival.
That took precedence.
He抎 invested a hundred thousand euros, which slid his foot in the door. Months back he抎 agonized over how he would maneuver any restorer to look beneath the overpaint. But Sister Deal had come through on her own, making the discovery and allowing him to stay back out of the way.
Which had been perfect.
But why would someone destroy the panel? Why steal the electronic images? What was the point? It was all so strange, but he assumed Belgian investigators were working on determining answers.
He抎 already answered the curator and asked for a copy of Sister Deal抯 images. He抎 been assured they would be forwarded along tomorrow. And the press conference they were planning for next week or the week after? That would go ahead too, only sooner, in the next day or so, with the narrative changing to now include the deliberate attack.
He stared out into the night.
A lot lay ahead.
A cruel spring had long wound tight inside him. He was too strong and too mature for a bout of nerves, but he could not deny the sudden fatigue that had overcome him. Like a marathoner who抎 mistimed his final surge and burned himself out a hundred meters too soon, he wondered if he possessed the will to keep going and cross the finish line. Life had taught him that satisfaction was bought in fractions, tiny amounts here and there that eventually balanced the whole.
And led to the God of Light.
He reached over to the metal table and retrieved a copy of the day抯 La D閜阠he. The regional newspaper was published throughout the Midi-Pyr閚閑s region. A photograph of Archbishop Gerard Vilamur, the titular head of the archdiocese of Toulouse, appeared on the front page, along with a story of his possible elevation to cardinal in the coming months. In the ambient glow from the lights in his room, seeping out through the open terrace doors, he studied the prelate抯 features. The fleshy lips. Wide nose. An owlish face adorned by thin wire-rimmed glasses. The head topped with a perfectly coifed mop of wavy dark hair. The mouth split into a toothy, annoying smile.
揟ime to end you,?he whispered.
Chapter 18
Toulouse, France
Wednesday, May 9
8:40 a.m.
Archbishop Gerard Vilamur loved everything about his chosen profession. He抎 joined the priesthood fifty years ago as a young man of twenty-seven, rising through the ranks to monsignor, then bishop, and finally archbishop. He was presently one of only fifty-six hundred bishops that existed within the Eastern and Latin Catholic churches.
The next logical step upward was the red hat of a cardinal, and the Vatican had assured him that one would soon be coming his way. For several decades he抎 faithfully served the archdiocese of Toulouse, a conservative enclave that dated to the fourth century, with competent and steadfast leadership. Which was no small feat. It spanned sixty-four hundred square kilometers. Nearly eight hundred thousand Catholics. Six hundred and two parishes. Two hundred seventeen priests. One of the few metropolitan archdioceses left in the world.
His own personal fiefdom.
As bishop he could perform the sacrament of Holy Orders, ordaining new priests. He was responsible for teaching doctrine and governing the religious lives of all of the Catholics who lived within his borders. He supposedly sanctified the world, representing the church in an official capacity. His office traced back to the apostles, who had been endowed as special by the Holy Spirit. Over a billion Catholics believed that such a transmittal of goodness had continued through an unbroken succession of men from then to now. Bishops were required to be men of good reputation, possessed of outstanding faith, with high morals, piety, a zeal for souls, wisdom, and prudence. Each had to be older than thirty-five, ordained for at least five years, and in possession of a doctorate or at least a licentiate in sacred scripture, theology, or canon law from an institute of higher studies approved by the Apostolic See. Not many ever bothered to obtain such a higher degree, so there was a catchall in canon law that allowed a bishop to simply be a true expert in those same disciplines.
Whatever that meant.
No matter.
He抎 earned his doctorate in theology through study and hard work. He carried the additional label of archbishop because his diocese had existed for so long. It traced back to St. Saturnin, sent by Pope Fabian to Christianize Gaul in the third century, who became the first bishop of Toulouse. The current basilica bore both Saturnin抯 name and his bones. The church stretched over a hundred meters, shaped like a cross and built to last of stone and brick. Its tower was unusual, eight-sided, five-tiered like a cake, and topped with a spire. Its ceilings were vaulted, beneath which were Romanesque sculpture, intricate capitals, and a beautiful sequence of relief panels representing Christ, the saints, and angels. A number of radiating chapels displayed important relics. An ambulatory wrapped the nave and side aisles, allowing for an uninterrupted walk while viewing the chapels, even while mass was being said.