The Messiah Code (39 page)

turned his gaze upon Bernard and Ezekiel could see the countless candles that lit the cavern reflected in his thick lenses.

"Of course not," replied Bernard.

"But you are convinced that she
can't
be the New Messiah?"

Bernard crossed his arms. "Yes."

"You are utterly certain?"

"Yes. As I can be."

"So, when Maria is executed in three weeks' time you will sleep in peace? No doubt will cross your mind that after a wait of two thousand years we perhaps let the New Messiah die on our watch...on
your
watch. You will take that responsibility, because you are sure she can't be the one. Is that right?"

Bernard said nothing, but nodded. Ezekiel could see that the others were now shuffling nervously in their seats.

"I envy your certainty," said Helix softly.

"I've known Maria for twenty years," repeated Brother Bernard by way of protest. "She can't be the one."

Helix nodded slowly. "You would have known earlier?"

"Exactly."

"Even if she didn't know herself? Still doesn't know?"

Silence.

Helix paused to let his point sink in before continuing, "Don't forget the prophecy. This time the Messiah will not know his or her calling. We, the Brotherhood, have to find them to inform them of their destiny. And then help them fulfill it."

"Yes, but Maria will be executed."

"Then perhaps we should try and stop that."

Bernard laughed and looked to Ezekiel, but the Leader said nothing. He was happy to let Helix argue his case for him. "But," protested Bernard, looking for support from the others, "the Brotherhood can't risk its very existence rescuing Maria, just on the chance she might be the one."

"I disagree," said Helix evenly. "The whole point of our existence is to risk everything to save the New Messiah. That's why we're here."

"I agree," blurted Brother Luciano, suddenly changing

his mind. "And what is the harm in trying to save her?"

Bernard turned and glared at him.

Haddad blinked his heavy lids. "The risk of exposure, even if Maria isn't the one, must surely be less than the risk of letting our New Messiah die. So perhaps we should save her? Just to be sure."

Bernard looked around the table, knowing the argument had turned against him. "So now you all want to give Maria the benefit of the doubt?"

The others nodded.

Ezekiel chose his words carefully before he spoke. "Brother Bernard, are you still adamant that she can't be the New Messiah? It is important that we act as one, and we particularly need your expertise if we are to achieve what we need to. Have you no doubt at all?"

The fat Brother sat back then, milking this face-saving moment, before nodding magnanimously. "Yes, of course I have doubts. The possibility exists, certainly."

"I'm glad you share our concerns," said Ezekiel solemnly. "But what worries me is how to act."

"It will be a delicate operation," said Bernard with a frown.

"Do you think we can do it?" asked Helix respectfully, clearly taking his cue from Ezekiel.

Bernard nodded sagely. "Through our Brethren within America, I think we can find a way. But what about Carter?"

Ezekiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. On it were four names; the top one was Tom Carter's. "Now that the scientist has done our bidding, the Righteous Kill can go ahead as planned. You can tell Gomorrah immediately." He handed the paper to Brother Bernard. "According to Dr. Carter, this is the whole Project Cana team. They have been working in secret, and nobody else has been involved in the technical side of it. Kill them all, and you will kill the blasphemy of Cana. It will be what Maria, our Messiah, wanted."

Bernard nodded. "Very well, I will contact Gomorrah today. And I will start planning Maria's rescue as soon as this meeting is over." He turned then and looked down the

table. "Brother Olazabal, I will need the relevant names of Brethren in the U.S."

"You will have them," replied the Head of the Brotherhood in the New World.

Ezekiel now addressed all three regional heads. "If any of you have ideas speak to Bernard. Otherwise, return to your regions and tell the Brethren that the time for searching and waiting may be over. Prepare them for when they may be called on to anoint the New Messiah. Soon she may be walking the world as the savior of mankind."

Wide-eyed, they nodded in assent.

"Good," said Ezekiel. "If there is no other business, then I suggest we get to work. I for one need to give our New Messiah the tidings."

He stood, crossed his arms, and said: "May
she
be saved."

The others rose in unison, crossed their arms, and chorused as one: "So
she
may save the righteous."

C
arter checked the address in the FBI file on the passenger seat beside him, then looked back to the winding road ahead. He turned the rented Peugeot convertible into the next bend and was rewarded with his first sight of the single turret dominating the skyline.

Below, to his right, the Mediterranean glowed apricot pink as a dying, overripe sun bled into the horizon. In the rearview mirror he could see the medieval citadel of Calvi towering over the terra-cotta-topped buildings that studded the contours of the large sandy bay.

The day was almost over, but the air was still mild and he was grateful for the open top. It felt good to drive and enjoy the caress of warm sun on his skin. At that moment he thought of Olivia and he felt the touch of sadness.

Three days ago, Karen Tanner had told him all she knew about the killer, and passed him copies of the more relevant files. He had been disheartened at first because everything Karen had told him, and everything he had read in the files, pointed to only one thing: that Maria was highly skilled at
taking
lives. Nothing had even hinted that she had any desire, let alone ability, to
save
them. He had determined to probe further back into her past.

Karen had warned him that the Preacher wasn't inter ested in doing deals. But yesterday Tom had visited the state governor, Lyle Mellish, to see what bargaining chips he could gain. Governor Mellish had been a friend for many years, and was as straight as a politician could ever be. Tom had also cured his grandson of cystic fibrosis, which helped. When Tom had asked how likely it was that Maria's death sentence could be postponed or commuted to life, Mellish had stressed that her death penalty was written in stone, and nothing short of a miracle could change it. "Look, Tom, I'm here on a crime and punishment ticket," he'd said. "That's what's sexy. I can't be seen to be soft on one of the most notorious killers of recent times. Can I?"

"Would your electorate thank you for helping put away even bigger killers?" Tom had asked calmly. "Such as cancer, heart disease, and possibly many more?"

Mellish had pricked up his ears at that. "Depends. What exactly are you talking about?"

When Tom had explained about the healing genes in general terms, including the fact that Maria Benariac possessed them, Mellish had been flustered.

"What exactly do you need?" he had asked eventually after pacing around his office at least five times.

"I need unrestricted access to her, and if necessary permission to conduct tests."

"Is that all?"

"I also need to be able to offer her something to co-operate."

"Like what?"

"Her death sentence commuted to life."

"You've got to be kidding. Tom, she killed Olivia, for Christ's sake."

Sharp intake of breath. "I'm aware of that. I've got to offer her
something
. Or she'll have no reason to help."

A pause. "She would have to do something big to justify her death sentence being commuted.
Before
her execution date."

"How about curing a terminally ill patient?"

A nod. "That would do it."

"Good. I'm demanding no less."

With the governor's deal in his pocket he had taken the

next flight to Paris, and then to here: Calvi, Corsica.

He turned the Peugeot around the next corner and caught his first complete sight of the gray, Gothic building beneath the looming turret. It sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. A cross between Colditz and the Bates Motel. Not an appealing place to spend one's childhood.

The large gates were open but the grounds looked deserted. He turned into the driveway and up to the main house. The tall dark windows were broken and the maquis had run wild, not only invading the gravel drive but creeping up the walls as well. A yellow earthmover, a stack of bricks, and other building equipment were piled outside the large French windows to the right of the imposing front door. A brand-new construction sign indicated that L'Hotel Napoleon was due to open on this site in the summer of 2004.

The orphanage had closed down five or so years ago, but the staff at Europcar where he'd hired the Peugeot had told him that an old woman, who once had something to do with the orphanage, still lived there. She had been working the gardens over the last few years and in exchange had been allowed to stay on the grounds. The man at the Europcar desk had tapped his temple a couple of times and warned Tom that Madame Leforget was a little "confused."

But confused or not she didn't appear to be here now. Trying to curb his disappointment, Tom brought the car to a stop and looked around. What did he expect? To just turn up and find her strolling around the grounds? It would be getting dark soon. He should go back to Calvi and come back tomorrow. He drove farther down the drive looking for a place to turn. On his left was a gap in the bougainvillea, where a small path snaked around the end of the house. Since he was here, he thought he might as well check it out.

Parking the car, Tom followed the overgrown path on foot. The pungent smell of maquis and bougainvillea accentuated the long shadow of unease cast by the dark house. Behind the main building was a row of children's swings and a small ordered garden surrounded by a white waist

high fence. Something about them seemed unusual; then Tom realized that unlike the surrounding jungle they were beautifully maintained. The fresh, glossy red paint of the swings gleamed in the dying sun, and the white fence, manicured lawns, and well-stocked borders of the small garden formed an island of order and care in this sea of neglect.

Madame Leforget was obviously still a very active presence around here.

A sound to Tom's right made him turn. There, standing silently beneath the cluster of trees, was a woman of about seventy. Squat, she had an obese body and a sagging round face. Her eyes, behind large glasses, were tiny beads set deep into fleshy sockets--her mouth, a frowning line bracketed between heavy jowls. Wispy gray hair hung down on either side of her face and her dark shapeless dress looked like a habit. The beady, unblinking eyes appeared to be studying him closely.

"Madame Leforget?" he asked.

The woman stood motionless, and said nothing.

Tom walked toward her and introduced himself in his rusty French, hurriedly trying to explain that he hadn't come to trespass on the grounds or damage them, but to visit her.

"
Pourquoi
?" the woman asked eventually.

Tom explained about the orphanage, and how he was trying to find somebody who might remember a girl who had stayed there from about 1968 to 1983.

The old woman appeared to think about the question for a while and then said, "There were so many children." Her voice suddenly became sad. "And now they've all gone--
Elles sont
disparues
--but when they return the gardens and playground will be ready for them...and they will be safe."

Tom nodded slowly. "The gardens are indeed beautiful."

The woman gave him an angry look. "And
safe
. Nothing will happen to them here," she said defensively.

Tom's heart sank. He could see from her wild eyes that Madame Leforget was more than just a little confused. It didn't look as if he was going to get any new information.

He turned to go back to the car. "I'm sorry I troubled you, madame. I was just trying to find out about someone called Maria Benariac."

The change was incredible. Her eyes cleared and her posture straightened in an instant. "Maria?" she asked in a faraway voice. "It was my fault, you know. All my fault."

"What was your fault?"

She looked suddenly wretched. "Father Angelo. Sister Delphine. I didn't believe, you see. I thought the girls were all lying. I thought Maria was a liar. So clever, so pretty, and so deceitful."

"You knew Maria well?"

"All the nuns remember her."

He looked at her habitlike dress again. "You were a nun here?"

A short sad laugh. "I was the Mother Superior once--many years ago. Until the troubles, and my breakdown. They tried to make me leave, but I insisted I stay here and work out my penance."

"Will you tell me about Maria? What she was like?"

She stared at him with those unnerving eyes for a moment, as her troubled mind came to a decision. "Come," she said, eventually. "You will be my confessor."

T
he lodge where she lived was humble but surprisingly cozy, and Tom found himself seated in the kitchen. In no time a bowl of fish soup, croutons sprinkled with grated cheese, and a glass of red wine appeared on the table in front of him. Eventually she sat opposite and proceeded to tell him of the young girl called Maria Benariac.

"The nuns never knew whether she was an angel or devil. She looked beautiful and was very clever, but she was a terrible liar--so I thought anyway. The poor girl was punished often." A sad shake of the head. "I punished her often."

Tom sipped his wine. "Why did you think she was a liar?"