Authors: Carolyn McCray
Even though it was a church in the middle of one of the most isolated regions in the world, they still observed protocol. And for that
,
Rebecca was thankful. There was a certain comfort in it. The men moved with military precision. Except for Lopez
,
of course.
He stayed with the car, a
nd David
son had vanished as usual
.
Although
,
the village offered very
few
spots for a nest. Her guess? The sniper was heading for the tree line. Well, their unofficial sniper was heading there. Talli was second in
to the church
. Rebecca took Vakasa
’
s hand as Brandt brought up the rear.
The
interior
of the small church
, unlike many of the great, sprawling houses of worship they had visited
,
was nearly
s
partan. Instead of gold chalices and thick red velvet, above the altar there was only a single wooden figure of Christ on the cross.
Brandt quickly dropped to one knee, crossing himself
.
T
hen he was up again, on the job.
A woman
—who,
from the look of her formless dress and cleaning rag
,
seemed to
be the church
’
s caretaker
—
approach
ed from the back of the church. Then her eyes narrowed as she spotted Rebecca. The woman turned on her heel and rushed back the way she
had
c
o
me.
Slowly
,
they made their way down the central aisle as the heat followed them
in. Even the heavy stone
walls could not keep the summer
heat
out.
A scrape of wood as the
antique door opened announced the priest as he hurried to meet them. Clearly
,
he had hurried to don his formal robes. His
biretta
, a four
-
corner
ed hat, sat askew on his head.
The black pom at the tip listed to the right side.
He met them at
the altar.
“
Father Hern
á
ndez,
”
Rebecca said as she held out her hand.
The man spit into her palm.
Okay, so that
’
s how this was going to go.
* * *
Brandt put his forearm between the priest and Rebecca. The guy was a man of the cloth
,
but no one
—
and Brandt meant
no one
—
spit on his fiancée.
“
I
’
d back that up, Padre.
”
Hern
á
ndez
,
however
,
did not seem to understand or care. While
he
kept his spit in his mouth
,
he went on a verbal tirade.
Brant heard something along the lines of
me cago en tus muertos
, whatever that meant.
“
Um,
”
Levont said as the priest went on and on
,
“
m
y European Spanish isn
’
t all that great
,
but I think he
’
s
—
”
“
Yeah, I think we get it,
”
Brandt said
,
not wanting Rebecca to have to hear the curses in stereo.
He glanced over
,
but instead of finding Rebecca looking hurt, there was that steel glint in her eye. Brandt had seen it before. Many times when he suggested they go to the sports bar for dinner. But this time it was even more pronounced.
“
Borgo
ñ
a,
”
she said quietly. Brandt vaguely remember
ed
the name from the plan
e ride lecture as the sculptor
who
had
first created the Black Madonna.
At first
,
Hern
á
ndez didn
’
t seem to
notice that Rebecca had spoken
.
T
hen he suddenly sputtered, his face glowing an unseemly ruddy red.
She repeated the name,
“
Borgo
ñ
a.
”
Only
,
this time she put her hands on Vakasa
’
s shoulders. The priest followed her gesture, appearing surprised the little girl was even in the church. Then his eyes dilated to the point
they
seemed pitch
-
black. He stumbled back a step.
“
Shiva.
”
Rebecca frowned.
“
Shiva is the Hindu god of
—
”
“
Creation and
d
estruction,
”
Brandt finished. Seriously
,
didn
’
t Rebecca know by now his interest in world religion?
B
y the look on her face, Rebecca
’
s
mind was not focused on Brandt whatsoever. She had that
“
I wish I had my laptop
”
frown.
“
It is also means the
‘
Auspicious One,
’
”
she explained.
The priest stepped forward, placing a hand on Vakasa
’
s cheek.
“
Mari.
”
The girl covered his hand with hers.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow to Brandt
.
“
Well
,
Mr. Ancient Religions?
”
He didn
’
t bother to answer. Basque pre-Christian beliefs were not part of his repertoire
,
and they both knew it.
She
flashed a grin
at him before continuing.
“
Mari Urraca was the Basque goddess. The head of their pantheon. Their messiah.
”
The priest
’
s hand dropped away from Vakasa
’
s cheek as he sighed. He looked none to happy about it, but he bowed his head to their group. In a thickly
accented English
,
he
urged them out of the church
and
toward his cottage.
“
Will you join us for
el almuerzo
?
”
Lunch
.
While Brandt was hungry, he wanted to get the hell out of here ASAP.
“
We can talk here just fine.
”
Rebecca nudged him.
“
We would love to, Father.
”
Hern
á
ndez
, his hand on Vakasa
’
s shoulder
,
led them out the side door of the church.
Brandt hung back, gently catching Rebecca by the elbow.
“
What was that about?
”
Rebecca kept her tone quiet.
“
These people are extremely traditional. If we don
’
t allow them to feed us…
I
f we don
’
t break bread with them, they are not going to give us the information we need.
”
Brandt did enough work in foreign countries to understand the need to observe and interact in local customs. It didn
’
t mean he had to like it
,
though. However
,
with the rumbling above his belt, his stomach was pretty keen on the idea.
* * *
Rebecca sat on the hard wood bench
,
watching as the villagers piled plates
and more plates on the table. Competing for their attention were
bacalao al pil pil
,
tortilla con chorizo
,
jamon ib
é
rico de bellota
, and pretty much every imaginable kind of
tapas
you might encounter on a traditional Spanish Basque bar crawl, or
txikiteo
.
They had included both
manchego
and the more traditional Basque
idiazabal
cheeses, as well as black and green olives. The green ones were
aceitunas rellenas de
anchoa
, or stuffed with anchovies.
Included in the beverage department were the Basque cider
sagardo
, the
Cava
sparkling wine from Cataluña
,
and sherry from Jerez.
The meal was fit for a king
—o
r in this case
,
fit for a little girl whom they were
all
clearly fascinated by.
And Vakasa returned the affection, taking nibbles of everything offered. Rebecca noted
,
though
,
that she was also hiding about half the food under her plate. Even
supposed Messiahs didn
’
t like
seso frito
—fried pork brains
.
T
hough Brandt had objected to the lunch, he was plowing through his second plateful
of
paella
. Levont might have been on his third yet took heaping servings of any new dish put in front of him. Talli was the only one who appeared to have a discerning palate. It seemed he wasn
’
t all that fond of olives
,
which was a slight problem since just about everything had olives in it.
“
Lopez and Davidson are going to be so pissed,
”
Levont said
,
shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. Brandt just grunted his acknowledgment.
“
This food rocks.
”
Rebecca couldn
’
t argue. The
bacalao al pin pin
was her favorite from the last time she had visited the village.
It was a soup made of salted cod, olive oil, garlic
,
and pinch of chili. Didn
’
t sound like it would be much to write home about, but when made with skill, it was mouthwatering. And not nearly as salty as one might think.
And w
as sh
e just that hungry
,
or was the
tortilla
twice as delicious this time?
She remembered the first time she had been served
tortilla
in Spain
at
a
tapas
bar. She had expected a round, flat cake made of corn or flour and had ended up with a savory omelet of egg, potato, onion
,
and heavenly chorizo—red sausage. What she had meant to be a side dish ended up being most of her meal after she
had taken
that first bite.
She noticed though that
Hern
á
ndez
hadn
’
t touched his food. Instead
,
he stared at the little girl as if visual inspection would be enough to tell if she were divine or not.
“
Has she performed any miracles?
”
he asked
,
obviously sensing her inspection.
Rebecca looked to Brandt
,
who blew a breath out through his nose as he lowered his fork.
“
The kid had a reputation as being an
ajuogo
, a female witch
doctor.
”
“
But a miracle?
”
Hern
á
ndez
asked.