Origin (38 page)

“There he is,” Marco whispered excitedly. “Pope Innocent the Fourteenth.”

He calls himself Pope Innocent XIV?
The Palmarians, Ávila knew, recognized the legitimacy of every pope up to Paul VI, who died in 1978.

“We’re just in time,” Marco said. “He’s about to deliver his homily.”

The pope moved toward the center of the raised altar, bypassing the formal pulpit and stepping down so that he stood at the same level as his parishioners. He adjusted his lavalier microphone, held out his hands, and smiled warmly.

“Good morning,” he intoned in a whisper.

The congregation boomed in response. “
Good morning!
”

The pope continued moving away from the altar, closer to his congregation. “We have just heard a reading from the Gospel of Mark,” he began, “a passage I chose personally because this morning I would like to talk about
forgiveness
.”

The pope drifted over to Ávila and stopped in the aisle beside him, only inches away. He never once looked down. Ávila glanced uneasily at Marco, who gave him an excited nod.

“We all struggle with forgiveness,” the pope said to the congregation. “And that is because there are times when the trespasses against us seem to be
unforgivable
. When someone kills innocent people in an act of pure hatred, should we do as some churches will teach us, and turn the other cheek?” The room fell deathly silent, and the pope lowered his voice even further. “When an anti-Christian extremist sets off a bomb during morning mass in the Cathedral of Seville, and that bomb kills innocent mothers and children, how can we be expected to
forgive
? Bombing is an act of
war
. A war not just against Catholics. A war not just against Christians. But a war against goodness … against
God
Himself!”

Ávila closed his eyes, trying to repress the horrific memories of that morning, and all the rage and misery still churning in his heart. As his anger swelled, Ávila suddenly felt the pope’s gentle hand on his shoulder. Ávila opened his eyes, but the pope never looked down at him. Even so, the man’s touch felt steady and reassuring.

“Let us not forget our own
Terror Rojo
,” the pope continued, his hand never leaving Ávila’s shoulder. “During our civil war, enemies of God
burned Spain’s churches and monasteries, murdering more than six thousand priests and torturing hundreds of nuns, forcing the sisters to swallow their rosary beads before violating them and throwing them down mineshafts to their deaths.” He paused and let his words sink in. “
That
kind of hatred does not disappear over time; instead, it festers, growing stronger, waiting to rise up again like a cancer. My friends, I warn you, evil will swallow us whole if we do not fight force with force. We will never conquer evil if our battle cry is ‘forgiveness.’”

He is correct
, Ávila thought, having witnessed firsthand in the military that being “soft” on misconduct was the best way to guarantee increasing misconduct.

“I believe,” the pope continued, “that in some cases forgiveness can be
dangerous
. When we
forgive
evil in the world, we are giving evil permission to grow and spread. When we respond to an act of war with an act of mercy, we are encouraging our enemies to commit further acts of violence. There comes a time when we must do as Jesus did and forcefully throw over the money tables, shouting: ‘This will not stand!’”

I agree!
Ávila wanted to shout as the congregation nodded its approval.

“But do we take action?” the pope asked. “Does the Catholic Church in Rome make a stand like Jesus did? No, it doesn’t. Today we face the darkest evils in the world with nothing more than our ability to forgive, to love, and to be compassionate. And so we allow—no, we
encourage
—the evil to grow. In response to repeated crimes against us, we delicately voice our concerns in politically correct language, reminding each other that an evil person is evil only because of his difficult childhood, or his impoverished life, or his having suffered crimes against his own loved ones—and so his hatred is not his own fault. I say,
enough!
Evil is evil! We have
all
struggled in life!”

The congregation broke into spontaneous applause, something Ávila had never witnessed during a Catholic service.

“I chose to speak about forgiveness today,” the pope continued, his hand still on Ávila’s shoulder, “because we have a special guest in our midst. I would like to thank Admiral Luis Ávila for blessing us with his presence. He is a revered and decorated member of Spain’s military, and he has faced unthinkable evil. Like all of us, he has struggled with forgiveness.”

Before Ávila could protest, the pope was recounting in vivid detail the struggles of Ávila’s life—the loss of his family in a terrorist attack, his descent into alcoholism, and finally his failed suicide attempt. Ávila’s initial reaction was anger with Marco for betraying a trust, and yet now,
hearing his own story told in this way, he felt strangely empowered. It was a public admission that he had hit rock bottom, and somehow, perhaps miraculously, he had survived.

“I would suggest to all of you,” the pope said, “that God intervened in Admiral Ávila’s life, and saved him … for a higher purpose.”

With that, the Palmarian pope Innocent XIV turned and gazed down at Ávila for the first time. The man’s deep-set eyes seemed to penetrate Ávila’s soul, and he felt electrified with a kind of strength he had not felt in years.

“Admiral Ávila,” the pope declared, “I believe that the tragic loss you have endured is beyond forgiveness. I believe your ongoing rage—your
righteous
desire for vengeance—cannot be quelled by turning the other cheek. Nor
should
it be! Your pain will be the catalyst for your own salvation. We are here to support you! To love you! To stand by your side and help transform your anger into a potent force for goodness in the world! Praise be to God!”

“
Praise be to God!
” the congregation echoed.

“Admiral Ávila,” the pope continued, staring even more intently into his eyes. “What is the motto of the Spanish Armada?”

“
Pro Deo et patria
,” Ávila replied immediately.

“Yes,
Pro Deo et patria.
For God and country. We are all honored to be in the presence today of a decorated naval officer who has served his
country
so well.” The pope paused, leaning forward. “But … what about God?”

Ávila gazed up into the man’s piercing eyes and felt suddenly off balance.

“Your life is not over, Admiral,” the pope whispered. “Your work is not done.
This
is why God saved you. Your sworn mission is only half complete. You have served country, yes … but you have not yet served
God
!”

Ávila felt like he had been struck by a bullet.

“Peace be with you!” the pope proclaimed.

“
And also with you!
” the congregation responded.

Ávila suddenly found himself swallowed up by a sea of well-wishers in an outpouring of support unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He searched the parishioners’ eyes for any trace of the cultlike fanaticism he had feared, but all he saw was optimism, goodwill, and a sincere passion for doing God’s work … exactly what Ávila realized he had been lacking.

From that day on, with the help of Marco and his new group of friends, Ávila began his long climb out of the bottomless pit of despair.
He returned to his rigorous exercise routine, ate nutritious foods, and, most important, rediscovered his faith.

After several months, when his physical therapy was complete, Marco presented Avila with a leather-bound Bible in which he had flagged a dozen or so passages.

Ávila flipped to a few of them at random.

“Remember,” Marco had told him with a smile. “When evil rears its head in the world, God works through each of us in a different way, to exert His will on earth. Forgiveness is not the only path to salvation.”

AS ROBERT LANGDON
searched the final few sections of Edmond’s library, he felt his hopes fading. Outside, the two-tone police sirens had grown louder and louder before abruptly stopping directly in front of Casa Milà. Through the apartment’s tiny portal windows, Langdon could see the flash of spinning police lights.

We’re trapped in here
, he realized.
We need that forty-seven-letter password, or there will be no way out.

Unfortunately, Langdon had yet to see a single book of poems.

The shelves in the final section were deeper than the rest and appeared to hold Edmond’s collection of large-format art books. As Langdon hurried along the wall, scanning the titles, he saw books that reflected Edmond’s passion for the hippest and newest in contemporary art.

S
ERRA
… K
OONS
… H
IRST
… B
RUGUERA
… B
ASQUIAT
… B
ANKSY
… A
BRAMOVIĆ
…

The collection stopped abruptly at a series of smaller volumes, and Langdon paused in hopes of finding a book on poetry.

Nothing.

The books here were commentaries and critiques of abstract art, and Langdon spotted a few titles that Edmond had sent for him to peruse.

I’m still trying to survive it
, Langdon thought, quickly moving on. He stepped around another rib and started sifting through the next section.

Modern art books
, he mused. Even at a glance, Langdon could see that this group was dedicated to an earlier period.
At least we’re moving back in time … toward art I understand.

Langdon’s eyes moved quickly along the book spines, taking in biographies and catalogues raisonnés of the Impressionists, Cubists, and Surrealists
who had stunned the world between 1870 and 1960 by entirely redefining art.

V
AN
G
OGH
… S
EURAT
… P
ICASSO
… M
UNCH
… M
ATISSE
… M
AGRITTE
… K
LIMT
… K
ANDINSKY
… J
OHNS
… H
OCKNEY
… G
AUGUIN
… D
UCHAMP
… D
EGAS
… C
HAGALL
… C
ÉZANNE
… C
ASSATT
… B
RAQUE
… A
RP
… A
LBERS
…

This section terminated at one last architectural rib, and Langdon moved past it, finding himself in the final section of the library. The volumes here appeared to be dedicated to the group of artists that Edmond, in Langdon’s presence, liked to call “the school of boring dead white guys”—essentially, anything predating the modernist movement of the mid-nineteenth century.

Unlike Edmond, it was here that Langdon felt most at home, surrounded by the Old Masters.

V
ERMEER
… V
ELÁZQUEZ
… T
ITIAN
… T
INTORETTO
… R
UBENS
… R
EMBRANDT
… R
APHAEL
… P
OUSSIN
… M
ICHELANGELO
… L
IPPI
… G
OYA
… G
IOTTO
… G
HIRLANDAIO
… E
L
G
RECO
… D
ÜRER
… D
A
V
INCI
… C
OROT
… C
ARAVAGGIO
… B
OTTICELLI
… B
OSCH
…

The last few feet of the final shelf were dominated by a large glass cabinet, sealed with a heavy lock. Langdon peered through the glass and saw an ancient-looking leather box inside—a protective casing for a massive antique book. The text on the outside of the box was barely legible, but Langdon could see enough to decrypt the title of the volume inside.