Veil of the Goddess (20 page)

"Wonderful. I'm sure a hashish-abusing priest is exactly what we need."

Zack managed to get the attention of a male waiter and ordered four coffees and Ivy took the opportunity to look around.

Like everything in this part of Istanbul, the coffee shop looked as if it had been there forever.

Wooden pillars held up a wooden ceiling, both of which had blackened from centuries of smoke.

Intricate carvings decorated the pillars and the walls. Many were in Arabic calligraphy, almost certainly going back to the pre-Ataturk days. Greek script might have been left during the Greek occupation—but might, perhaps signify that this building had once been a Byzantine wine-shop. The few notes in the modern Roman-Turkish script were almost apologetic by comparison.

Ivy guessed that all the inscriptions, whichever the language, proclaimed either subversive political messages or prayers to various gods.

In darkened corners of the shop, Turks, Arabs, and Europeans sipped coffee and read flimsy newspapers that proclaimed the coming revolution. In this crowd, atheistic Communist revolution mingled easily with theistic Islamic revolution. From time to time, oddly matched pairs would join, whisper dark conspiracies to one another, then separate again, like lovers exchanging secrets under the watchful eyes of jealous spouses.

Nesip emerged from his computer-daze just as Zack finally persuaded the waiter to bring his coffee paraphernalia to their table.

Ivy had thought Starbucks went overboard in their presentation of a simple beverage. Compared to what she saw in the Turkish coffee house, the Starbucks ritual was nothing.

First, the waiter measured out a dose of beans, which he proceeded to hammer into a powder. Once the coffee was pulverized to his satisfaction, he poured the dustlike grains into a tiny pot he called an ibrik. He held the long-handled ibrik over a flame, then added what looked like enough sugar to clog arteries just as it neared a boil. Each time the coffee foamed, he poured off the foam into tiny coffee cups, then returned the ibrik and the remainder of the coffee to the flame.

"This had better be good after all this production,” Ivy whispered to Zack.

"This will be the best coffee you have ever tasted, Madam,” the waiter assured her in perfect English. He carefully poured four tiny demitasse cups of the blackest coffee Ivy had ever seen, then stepped back from the table, crossed his arms across his chest and watched.

"He's waiting for your approval,” Zack said.

Feeling suddenly large and clumsy, she picked up the small paper-thin porcelain coffee cup and sipped.

Hot and strong, the coffee's bitterness cut by the sweetness of sugar, she could almost feel the caffeine entering directly into her bloodstream. No wonder the Turks, whose religion forbid alcohol, made such a ritual about their coffee. This was powerful stuff.

"Good,” she managed.

The waiter nodded, mollified, then vanished.

"I don't think little bitty cups like this are going to catch on at home, though,” she told Zack. “People in America like to super-size."

"Speaking of super-sized.” He gestured at the door where an enormous man was entering.

"Father Galen.” Cejno was on his feet, shaking the massive priest's hand. “Come meet my friends."

Father Galen eyed the chairs at their table suspiciously until the waiter appeared with something reinforced. Then he sat down heavily at the head of the table, looking, for all the world, like a put-upon king in his black robes. “I understand you need a priest. You wish to be married, is that it?"

If his mother ever found out she'd spent weeks on the road with Zack, she would be horrified they weren't married. But Ivy didn't have time to think about that.

"Bad guess, father,” she said. “Have you ever heard of something called ‘The Foundation?’”

"There was a famous Science Fiction novel by that name. By the Russian author Dr. Isaac Asimov. Quite excellent, really. I suspect he must be Orthodox, as are most Russians."

"I'm thinking about something a little more here and now. This particular Foundation appears to be a U.S.-based group with considerable authority even over the armed forces. We don't even know if it's a governmental organization or a private group."

Father Galen made a major production of a shrug. As he raised, then lowered his shoulders, waves of fat rippled down his torso, then rippled up again. “America is home to thousands of religious beliefs. Recently they have become more involved in the political process. As I understand it, many have influence in your government. This is not new. In Europe, religion has long been involved with politics. In Germany, there are the Christian Democrats. Here in Turkey, the Welfare Party has a Moslem agenda. Of course, in Greece, the Church is central to our political life. Even the Greek Communist Party has great respect for the Church."

All very interesting, but not especially helpful. “So you've never heard of a Foundation?"

He shrugged. “I confess that my memory is imperfect.” Father Galen had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed. “Many of my fellow priests are more diligent than I. My faith is strong, but I'm not good at spending long hours at study."

Since he was an acquaintance of Cejno, Ivy had a pretty good idea how he did spend his long hours—and what gave him the munchies that had led to his massive size.

"I don't suppose you'd have a guess about what kind of religious artifact might have been lost in ancient Constantinople, then?” She didn't hold out much hope. He'd already let them know he wasn't the studious type.

He gestured to the waiter, who carried over a large plate of cakes and set it in front of the priest. Ivy hadn't even known you could order food here. It was the kind of detail Father Galen would know.

"Religious Artifact?” Small bits of cake sprayed as he spoke. “Constantinople is full of artifacts. Constantinople was Christian when the pagans still paraded in Rome."

"I'm thinking of something relating to a woman. Perhaps Saint—"

Father Galen held up a hand. “Constantinople has also been called the City of Mary. Although the Protestants accuse Catholics of undue adoration of the virgin, it was with the Orthodox that Marianism first took hold. For five hundred years, Constantinople was safe under the protective veil of Mary, Mother of God."

Ivy almost smacked her forehead. The Virgin Mary was a lot more obvious and a lot more important than St. Helena. Sure St. Helena was associated with the Cross. But the people most closely related to the Cross were Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and Mary Magdalene.

"Tell me about the protective veil of Mary. Was this a real veil, or is that just symbolic for the fact that the city was just a strong fortress?"

"Not
just
a strong fortress. Constantinople was a strong fortress of God,” Father Galen said. Despite his girth and his assumed drug habits, the man was clearly a committed Christian. “For a thousand years, after the fall of the Western Rome, we protected the barbarian west from the despotisms of Asia. Without us, Europe would be Moslem now."

"But the veil. It wasn't an artifact, a relic?"

"Ah, but it was.” Father Galen stuffed another cake in his mouth, chewed once, then swallowed. “The veil of the Mother of God was the most holy symbol of the city. According to legend and church doctrine, the Emperor paraded the veil on the walls of the city the very night before the Turks finally broke through the pitifully few last defenders and sacked the city. It was terribly real, wonderfully holy."

"And what happened to it then?"

"It is said that Mary herself came down from the heavens and recovered her veil, as this City of God would require it no longer."

He ate another of the small cakes. “Constantinople was an experiment,” he explained when he saw that Ivy was still listening. “For a thousand years, the Orthodox strove to create the Kingdom of God here on Earth. Not by waiting for a mysterious rapture, but by living in a Christian way, with a Christian Emperor. The Emperor's title was
Autocrat, Equal to the Apostles
, and it was quite literally meant. Greek Emperors summoned the great councils of the Church, councils that still bind your Catholic Church, and many of the Protestants as well. The bishops and priests argued, but the Emperor decided. For hundreds of years, a Roman Pope could only be elected with our Emperor's approval."

He actually wiped tears from his eyes. “Now, the Church in Constantinople is poor. Even the other Orthodox have their own concerns. Few send money to us and, of course, the Turks expelled most of the Greeks from Anatolia, a land where they had lived for three thousand years or more. But once, we were the city on a hill, the strong shield of the west, the one beacon of civilization while Europe descended into barbarism. And the veil of the Mother of God was our symbol."

The Veil of the Mother of God
. It sounded like something out of a secret codebook.

"What could it do?” Zack asked. “Did it have special powers? Could it really defend an army or a city?"

Father Galen looked at him like he'd peed in the communion bowl. “This is a holy object, but it is only a thing. Objects can be adored to help the faithful focus their attentions on the holy. They themselves must not be worshipped. Objects don't have power."

Which didn't answer Zack's question. He wondered if the Foundation agents knew a more complete answer.

"Are we certain that the Virgin Mary came down and recovered her veil?"

Father Galen pursed his lips in distaste. With his fat cheeks, doing that made his nose almost disappear in rolls of fat. Which meant he couldn't do it for long without cutting off his breathing. “Some say that the veil was taken to Russia where many of the faithful fled after the fall of the City. Others believe it was taken to the Catholic west and is now hoarded amongst the secret treasures of the Vatican. The story of Mary recovering it could be apocryphal. Although if it was not true, why has the veil not been found and shown? It has been almost six hundred years since the Turks violated the center of western civilization, after all."

He ate another cake, this one pensively, actually taking the time to chew three times before swallowing.

"When the Greeks occupied Constantinople after World War I, many thought that the veil would be recovered, that the time for a new greater Greece had arrived, that we could claim our place as one of the powers of Europe. But that was not to be. Surely, if Mary had not taken the veil back to heaven, they would have discovered it then."

Father Galen's words were almost like a light bulb going off in Zack's head. It was hard to imagine two symbols most closely connected to the wars between the Christian and Moslem worlds. The Cross had been found by the Byzantines, stolen by Persia, recovered by the Byzantines, taken by the Arabs, recovered by the Crusaders and used by them as their battle standard, before finally being captured by Saladin. And this Veil of Mary had apparently been used in a similar role by the Orthodox—and, according to Galen, at least, could launch the Greeks into a war against the Turks.

Armed with the recovered Cross and Veil, could the Foundation be contemplating a new crusade? Given the problems the U.S. was already having in Iraq, only a complete idiot or a fanatic would want to launch a more general war between Cross and Crescent. As they'd proven in Iraq, winning isn't the problem. The problem is what to do once you've won. The Foundation wasn't made up of idiots, but it did seem to have its share of fanatics.

"Let's just assume for a moment that Mary didn't take the Veil back to Heaven,” Ivy said. “And assume that the Russians and the Catholics didn't get it either. Where would it be if the Greeks had hidden it, waiting, perhaps, for the day when the city would become Greek again?"

Father Galen glanced at Ivy, then back at the last of the cakes on the plate. He pushed the plate away as if he were making a huge sacrifice. “Who knows? Perhaps it was looted by the Turks. Perhaps it was destroyed in the fires the Turks set when they rampaged through the city raping our women and murdering our scholars and priests. Perhaps it was buried in a grave."

"You're Greek, right father?"

Father Galen glared at Ivy. “Of course I am Greek. But I am not from Greece. My family has been Greek and in Constantinople for more than a thousand years. Although the Turks persecute us, some of us who will not flee, but will remain to remind the world that Constantinople is a Greek city, a holy city, the Second, perfected, Rome."

"Right. So, where would
you
have hidden the veil? Think hard. Someplace the Turks wouldn't have looked, right. Someplace that only another Greek would guess."

He squinted at Ivy. “I tell you this and then you steal it? How does this help my people?"

Zack figured it was time for him to break in. “Did you notice anything strange when you were outside, father? Maybe you saw the dozens of U.S. sailors with Shore Patrol insignia. But they aren't patrolling the harbor bars the way a Shore Patrol should. They're wandering around the oldest parts of the city, probing, poking, looking for something. One thing you can bet. They aren't doing it because they want to help the Greeks. I don't know exactly what the Foundation believes, but I do know one thing. They aren't Catholics, and they aren't Orthodox, either."

Father Galen sighed. “If the veil is hidden, it has survived detection for over five hundred years. Why should a group of uneducated sailors succeed where holy fathers have failed?"

"The hunters aren't just sailors. They know where to look, and they use the Cross like a dousing rod,” Ivy said. “I've seen it work."

Zack wouldn't have guessed it possible, but Father Galen exploded to his feet, shoving the table away from him and catching his balance by leaning on one of the carved support columns so hard that the entire coffee shop shook. “They are using the Cross, the symbol of Christ's suffering, to work magic? We cannot allow this blasphemy."

Zack caught the priest by the cassock, then wished he hadn't as the big man leaned his four hundred pounds against Zack's battered body. “Careful, Father. If you try to stop them, they'll kill you. They don't care about human life. Probably they figure God will sort it out. But if you help us, we might be able to find it ahead of them, keep it from whatever they plan to use it for."