Authors: Carolyn McCray
“
Only some,
”
Rebecca corrected.
“
The
later
ones. Many consider them knockoffs. Artists indulging in the fad. The first ones
,
though? Those created in the early AD years? Those show definitive negroid features.
”
The corporal huffed and went back to driving. Which is just as well. He didn
’
t stand a chance against Rebecca.
“
Okay, great
,
”
Levont commented.
“
But what
’
s that got to do with a remote Basque village?
”
Davidson looked to Rebecca
,
who gave him the nod
to explain
.
“
It is where the first Black Madonna was ever created.
”
* * *
With half an ear, Brandt listened to the rise and fall of conversation. Rebecca was going into detail about the history of the Black Madonna. Its acceptance, then rejection, then acceptance by the Catholic
C
hurch. She was really getting her history geek on.
Brandt didn
’
t need to pay particular attention to her
,
since he pretty much already knew the story. Th
ere was a Black Madonna in the church across town. His friend
had taken him to see it as a kid. He
’
d thoug
ht it would be dumb, as all kid
s thought religious artifacts were when they were kids, but even at ten years old, Brandt had been stirred by the beauty of the statue.
He
’
d learned that the church had even tried to cover the color
,
but the congregation
had
complained so vehemently that they had to paint it back. When his priest couldn
’
t explain the phenomena, dismissing it out of hand, Brandt even talked his mother into letting him bicycle to the library to research it.
So when Rebecca mentioned the Basque region, he
’
d pretty much known where she was going with it. This area was ground zero for Black Madonnas.
“
Turn left up ahead,
”
Rebecca broke off from the history lesson.
“
You sure?
”
Lopez asked with a frown.
“
The GPS says left is going to take us off a cliff.
”
Rebecca leveled her gaze.
“
Ricky. Left.
”
“
You
’
ve been here before?
”
Talli asked.
Brandt shifted to get a better listen. The conversation sti
ll wasn
’
t eyelid
-
raising worthy, at least not yet.
“
Yeah…
”
Rebecca said
,
sounding far less excited.
“
Yes, I have.
”
Levont
’
s
smile was so bold that Brandt
heard
it.
“
Ah, come on. You can
’
t drop a hint like that and not follow it up with the story.
‘
C
ause we know there
’
s a story there.
”
Brandt was pretty sure Levont got a smile out of Rebecca. She was a little bit
of
a sucker for flattery. Why she hung out with
him
, he wasn
’
t quite sure.
“
I did some DNA research based on the Basques
’
assertion that they had DNA unique to the European continent…
”
“
And?
”
Levont pressed.
“
Well, unfortunately
,
beyond the fact they have a very high Rh
-
negative blood factor, they are pretty much a Pyrenees mountain mutt mix.
”
Davidson turned in the seat next to Brandt to r
ejoin the conversation.
“
T
hat wasn
’
t all
,
though
, was it?
”
Huh. The kid knew something about Rebecca that he didn
’
t. That wasn
’
t being a very good fiancé. However
,
after hearing about three dozen different research grants, his eyes kind of glazed over.
“
Well,
”
Rebecca answere
d
,
not sounding all that thrilled
that Davidson had brought
up
the subject
,
“
I also proved that they didn
’
t have the
‘
smart gene
’
that I
’
m looking for.
”
“
Ouch,
”
Levont exclaimed.
“
Yes, I
’
m a little bit of person non
grata around here.
”
Brandt peeked
open
an eye
,
to find Rebecca blushing and suddenly becoming interested in the hem of her shirt.
She even looked pretty
as
an outcast.
* * *
Frellan
peered
at
Benedicto
,
who sat
across from him. They
’
d found a small table in the shade of an alley to talk.
They were sheltered from view of the main street by a row of almond trees, their trunks short and squat, their branches and leaves wide and spread. The trees were in bloom, their perfume scenting the air with a sweetness that contained just a touch of raw almond to it.
His men
stood guard at either end
of the street
,
making sure no tourists decided to crash their awkward party. Monnie s
ipped a
café con leche
and munched on
magdalenas
that she occasionally dipped in her cup as Benedicto
licked
the thick, dark chocolate where it dripped down from his
churros y chocolate
.
This black-frocked man seemed little the holy man.
“
My
mon senoir
is arranging for tr
ansportation to the village of Lennore
.
”
“
We know where we need to head,
”
Frellan
stated coolly
,
still trying to puzzle the man out.
“
We do not need your help.
”
“
Ah, but your
m
aster seems to feel differently.
”
Frellan
looked to Ugudo
. The priest only seemed amused.
“
Please. After th
e Congo and then Egypt
?
”
He chuckled.
“
For such an ancient society
,
you aren
’
t exactly batting a thousand out in the field.
”
Frellan
’
s fingers dug into
his own skin
.
He had suffered much, sacrificed much
,
to lead the search for the Messiah. To have this
priest
speak to him in such a way?
“
But I am not he
re to babysit,
”
Benedicto announced.
“
I am here to kill the girl.
”
Monnie coughed out creamy coffee, patting her chest
,
trying to stop the near convulsion. Frellan
was equally horrified yet kept
his visceral reaction inside. Really
,
in retrospect
,
he shouldn
’
t have been even surprised. At least not the kill part. But admitting that the priest
had
planned to kill the girl, that was surprising.
“
And you told the Master
?
”
“
Of course,
”
the priest said with a shrug.
“
We could have spun a tale of wanting to study her ourselves, but why? We both know she is a danger to my church.
”
“
The pope knows of this?
”
Frellan asked.
Again
,
the priest shrugged.
“
As your
m
aster knows everything that you have done or plan to do
in the field
?
”
So true.
Frellan picked up his black coffee and
drank
half the scalding
-
hot liquid.
“
If you know where we are going, then might I ask why you need
us
?
”
Benedicto
nodded to Monnie.
“
We do not have what is in her head.
”
“
Why?
”
“
She holds the key to proving the girl
’
s divinity.
”
The priest seemed deli
ghted by Frellan
’
s ignorance.
“
You did not know, truly?
Well
,
I guess your
m
aster also knows more than she is sharing.
”
Frellan turned to the
w
atcher.
“
What is he taking about?
”
The petite woman looked down at her cup.
“
What?
”
Before he could press further, a
set of SUVs drove up to
the
alleyway, squealing to a stop.
There was no way the large vehicles
—
much more suited to the US than to Spain
—
could ever navigate the narrow stretch where they sat.
Benedicto rose from his seat.
“
Please, does
it
not
make more sense to kill me
after
I
’
ve helped you? It will feel far more satisfying
,
I assure you.
”
Oh, the priest had no idea what Frellan had planned for him. Perhaps genital jewelry was too tame. Frellan had been itching for a subject to try dermal weaving. He
’
d seen the technique at a small, discreet body boutique in Singapore. The subject
’
s skin was flailed off the muscle, cut into strips
,
then woven as one might a basket. Of course
,
the man having the procedure had topical anesthetic and painkillers on board. How would Benedicto feel when Frellan put the knife to his cheek without the benefit of such numbing agents?
Satisfying only began to describe the feeling
.
* * *
Rebecca exited the car with a
bit of trepidation. Her
last
departure
from the village
had not gone well. There hadn
’
t been tar and feathers, but she was pretty sure that was only because the villagers didn
’
t have them handy.
Brandt put a hand on her back, ushering her toward the tiny church set off from the rest of the village.
“
You
’
ve got this.
”
But looking toward the
stone
building
,
with a belfry topped by a cross poking out over the rest of the squat, whitewashed town
, she wasn
’
t so sure.
It was a small church, especially by Spanish standards, but it still demonstrated its dominance, the dominance of the
Católico Apostólico Romano
church. T
he afternoon sun beat on her back, practically pushing her into the shade of the church. Brandt opened the door. However
,
it wasn
’
t for her. It was for Levont. Their point man.