Veil of the Goddess (35 page)

"Oh, great. Our one great helper is a priestess who's been dead for thousands of years and whose religion died out hundreds of years before Jesus."

Somehow that twinged wrong to him. “Really? Are you absolutely sure?"

Ivy hadn't noticed she'd been drinking her wine but when Zack refilled her glass for the second time, she decided she had better slow down. The last thing they needed was to be arrested for public intoxication.

But Zack was right. Or rather, he was wrong about the Priestess being alive thousands of years later or Ishtar worship continuing after all that time, but he was right that they needed to find some opposition to the Foundation. Staying one jump ahead of the Foundation was a game they couldn't win. Sooner or later, an Agent would get lucky. They needed a more permanent solution. For that, they needed real allies.

She had no idea where to start looking, but if the priestess's message meant anything, at least they were in the right city.

"We'll start early tomorrow,” Zack suggested. “Maybe you can use your second sight to pick up on something. In the meantime, we might as well head back to the freighter. At least we can sleep there for free."

"We don't have time.” At least they'd had a chance to catch up on their sleep while they'd been sailing from Greece to Venice. Because Ivy didn't plan on resting until she'd either found someone who could help her or at least found a safe place to hide the Cross.

"If you've got a better idea, I'm wide open."

If she had any better ideas, she wouldn't be sitting her in the middle of a piazza drinking cheap red wine and surrounded by an admiring flock of pigeons.

Still, they had to do something.

"The Patriarch was helpful. And remember that the Agents seemed to hate the Orthodox Church. Maybe we could make contact with the local Greek Orthodox congregation and see if they could point us in the right direction."

Zack was unimpressed. “Even if there is an Orthodox Church, why would we be sent
here
to find it? I mean, we spent days in Greece. They have thousands of Orthodox priests there."

"Because it's something to do, Zack. It's got to be better than just sitting here waiting for the Foundation Agents to figure out how we got past them."

Zack considered, then nodded. “Why not? Let's get started."

Since they were wearing Greek sailor clothing, no one seemed surprised that they were looking for the Orthodox Church. After a couple of misdirections, they finally found the beautiful domed church standing near one of the many canals that cut through the island city.

The striking Church's red glow of faith was so similar to that of Saint Marks where they'd recently celebrated Mass that Ivy wondered how the different churches had managed to keep themselves at war with one another for so many centuries before Pope John had finally started the movement to bring people of faith together.

The priest who met them was as complete an opposite to Father Galen as Ivy could have imagined. He was over six feet tall, but he couldn't have weighed much more than she did. His skin clung to his skull like a mummy and he peered at them through a pair of bifocals that looked like they were about to collapse into a pile of rust.

"Ti?"

Okay, their Greek sailor uniforms were convincing. Unfortunately, she had no idea what he was saying. “Do you speak English, Father?"

"You're a woman.” He started to make the sign of the Cross, then restrained himself. “Yes, I speak English."

"Father, we need help."

"Are you Orthodox? There are many Churches in Venice. Perhaps you should seek council from your own priest, or a pastor of your faith."

"That's the problem, Father. We don't know who to trust."

He squinted at her, took off his glasses and polished them, then looked at her again.

"If your problems are not spiritual, the police may be more helpful to you than a priest.” His expression suggested that contacting a mental health professional might be an even better solution but that he was afraid of making the suggestion in case they turned violent.

"Father, have you ever heard of an extreme Christian organization called The Foundation?"

"Extreme Christian?” He gave them a benevolent smile. “I like to think that we are all extreme Christians."

"Enough that you'd kill to gain control of the True Cross?” Zack put in.

The priest laughed, then stopped abruptly when he saw they weren't joking. He looked at the doorway at the back of the church and lowered his voice. “Why don't you come into my office and tell me what this is about?"

The priest's office was a part of the late medieval Church. Unlike the rest of the church, though, it had been updated with comfortable leather chairs, air conditioning, and recessed lighting.

Everywhere around the room, Ivy saw images of saints and of Jesus. Oddly, though, she saw none of Mary or any other female.

He poured tea for them and Ivy accepted a cup. “Right. I assume you are using the example of the Cross as some sort of hyperbole."

"Not at all, Father,” she said. In a few sentences, she summarized their discovering the Cross, the Foundation's chase, and the Patriarch's assistance.

"But how did you come to Venice?"

"We took the train,” Zack interrupted.

Ivy hadn't been brought up to lie to priests, but when she looked at Zack, he frowned back at her. Okay. He didn't have the second sight, but he had an instinct for people she could only admire.

"And where is the Cross now?"

"We hid it in Saint Marks.” Zack continued his lie. “It seemed safer there, surrounded by all of the other relics. And who would notice two more beams among the scaffolding where they're cleaning and preserving."

"Very wise,” the priest said. “I have not heard of this Foundation. Until now, my vocation has dealt more with counseling local Greeks and performing marriages for those who think Venice would make a wonderful honeymoon than in battling American hate groups. Still, I can go on-line and see what I can discover. There are chat groups and bulletin boards where cults and heresies are discussed. My fellow priests have taken to the virtual world in a big way. As you suggest, I can get guidance from the Patriarch in Constantinople."

"We'd appreciate it if you could do that,” Ivy said. She felt like an idiot for not thinking of it herself. There were Internet cafes all over Turkey where she could have done research.

"Perhaps you'd like to look around the Church while I, as you say,
surf
.” He seemed proud of himself for using that outdated verb.

"Fine.” She set down her untouched tea and stepped out of the priest's office.

"What was that lying about?” she whispered to Zack.

"Remember how Galen wanted the Cross and Veil for himself? I figured we'd be smart not to throw too much temptation in the way of this priest."

Ivy nodded, although she didn't think it was quite fair to assume all priests would be tempted. She busied herself walking around the church. It was, according to her guidebook about five hundred years old, with a tall dome and a heavy sense of religious awe and the bright red of power that should have felt peaceful and reassuring, but that somehow seemed almost oppressive.

After ten minutes, she couldn't stand it any more. “I'm going to see how our priest is doing."

"You know it can take time to do online research."

"I'm still going."

She opened the office door and the priest grinned at her. “I've been able to locate some information on the Foundation."

"Great. What have you learned?"

"They aren't just Protestant extremists after all. The Foundation includes Catholic, Orthodox, even Coptic leaders as well as a broad spectrum of the Protestant wing.

"They are men who are concerned about the loss of Christian faith to the secular and New Age movements as well as the Moslems and eastern occult movements."

"Interesting. Your Patriarch didn't seem to know about them."

"The Patriarch in Constantinople is a strange man. He is, perhaps, more liberal than many in our church. Unlike the Catholics, we do not recognize the authority of a single supreme leader for the entire Orthodox communion, despite occasional pretenses from Constantinople."

Zack must have been feeling some of the same warning signs Ivy was because he physically interposed himself between her and the priest. “And so who opposes the Foundation?"

The priest shrugged. “Moslems, worshipers of the occult, the Liberal Protestant faiths, heretical Catholics and Orthodox. The usual suspects, as you Americans say, Captain Hererra."

He moved without conscious thought.

The instant the priest said his name, Zack threw Ivy over his shoulder and headed for the door.

"You won't get far,” the priest shouted behind him. “We know where the Cross is now."

Once outside the Church's elegant courtyard, Zack set Ivy down. “We've got to get back to the freighter and hide the Cross."

"But we told them it's hidden in Saint Mark's."

"Which they'll believe for how long? We came in dressed as Greek sailors. You don't think they put two and two together and start looking in Greek ships?"

"You're right. And I have to admit that going to the Orthodox Church turned out to be a bad idea. Sorry."

"And I'm sorry I treated you like a sack of potatoes when we needed to get out of there. But at least we learned something."

"Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"Why would he lie? He thinks he's on the side of angels here, defending his church against evil influences of modern times. And I don't believe he thought we'd get away. At least now we have an idea of where to look for organized opposition to The Foundation."

"Yeah. Our big allies are liberal kooks. It's real reassuring we'll have them to count on when we go up against knife-fighters and gunmen. Maybe we we're in the wrong place. Maybe we were supposed to go to Venice, California rather than Venice, Italy. If we'd gone there, we could be hanging out with New Agers and surfers."

Ivy had been a tower of strength for weeks. Now it was up to him to suck it up while she suffered her doubts.

"I don't believe you misinterpreted what the Priestess told you. Now, let's get the Cross and find a place to go to ground. Then we can figure out what to do next."

Since those were so obviously the next steps, Ivy couldn't argue.

Unfortunately, following through on the steps was not so easy.

They crossed the first bridge with no problems. By the time they reached the second, Italian police had set up checkpoints and were demanding identification from everyone crossing over. Since Venice consists of dozens of tiny islands connected by bridges, the Foundation could cordon the city, sending Agents through each section while controlling all movement between them. With the Italian police as witting or unwitting accomplices to the Foundation, he and Ivy were trapped like rats.

"The Priest will have described us,” Ivy said. “Time for me to be a chick again.” She yanked the wadded fabric from around her waist, borrowed Zack's cap, and tied the ends of the baggy shirt over her navel.

The transformation was almost shocking. Those few changes altered her appearance from that of a pudgy male to a sexy female.

They'd retreated into one of the narrow alleys that actually seemed to be the main streets of this section of Venice.

"Don't you think we're past disguises by now?” Zack said. “The priest will have told them that you're a woman and he knew my name. You won't fool anyone by changing back to your normal appearance."

"It's worked so far. Besides, at least I'm me and not an ugly fat man,” she said. “Now, how are we going to get out of here?"

They were trapped on a tiny island connected to the other parts of the city by four bridges. Foundation Agents and Italian policemen guarded each bridge. Across one of the bridges, on the island with the Orthodox Church, police were already checking in every shop and street corner systematically narrowing down their possible hiding places. The search would slow as it moved in concentric rings away from the last contact point, but it wouldn't take long before they moved to the neighboring islands. When that happened, if they were still there, they'd be caught.

Zack looked down at the narrow canals. “We could swim across that."

"That would be a bit obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, we'd just be on another little island."

A policeman carried his submachine gun on the ready as he patrolled the far side of the canal and Zack and Ivy retreated into a tourist shop to escape his prying eyes.

"We can't wait here like frogs hypnotized by a cobra,” Zack protested. “We've got to move."

Ivy started giggling. “I've got an idea."

He followed her gaze. “Oh, no. Not going to happen."

Zack looked quite charming in his striped shirt and white gondolier hat. Its wide brim hid his dark eyes and the broad red ribbon around the crown gave him a rakish appeal.

"I'm not going to sing,” he promised.

"Don't be a sissy. Didn't your mother play operas when you were growing up? I'll bet you have a pretty voice."

She'd found a wig pair of skinny pants and a halter top for herself. A big floppy hat and a cheap camera completed the outfit. She thought she looked like a tourist from somewhere in Northern Europe. Germany, maybe, or Scandinavia. Definitely nothing like an American. And the Foundation and cops would be looking for an American couple or a pair of Greek sailors, not for a single European woman who insisted on being rowed around the city by a handsome Italian gondolier.

At least she hoped so.

Obtaining a gondola was a lot trickier. Stealing one was the obvious solution but it didn't take a genius to guess that the owner would report the theft to the authorities, which would blow their disguise. And purchasing one was way beyond their resources. One question established that a gondola cost as much as an SUV, although Ivy did have to admit it would probably get better mileage.

They pooled what was left of their cash, threw in the fake ID's Cejno had provided them, and finally convinced a lazy gondolier that he would be happier renting them the boat and getting drunk than waiting for a fare. Ivy credited their persuasiveness to the power of the Veil, although Zack insisted it had more to do with her feminine charms. They even convinced the slacking gondolier to throw in a phone call—and warned the freighter Captain to offload the Cross onto one of the ship's launches, setting up a rendezvous for that evening.