Dan Brown - Origin

“So tell me,” Marco said. “Do you still go to mass at the Seville cathedral?”

“Never.”

“Fear?”

Ávila shook his head. “Rage.”

Marco laughed. “Yeah, let me guess. The nuns told you to forgive the attackers?”

Ávila stopped short on the bars. “Exactly!”

“Me too. I tried. Impossible. The nuns gave us terrible advice.” He laughed.

Ávila eyed the young man’s Jesus shirt. “But it looks like you’re still...”

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely still a Christian. More devout than ever. I was fortunate to find my mission — helping victims of God’s enemies.”

“A noble cause,” Ávila said enviously, feeling his own life was purposeless without his family or the navy.

“A great man helped bring me back to God,” Marco continued. “That man, by the way, was the pope. I’ve met him personally many times.”

“I’m sorry... the pope?”

“Yes.”

“As in... the leader of the Catholic Church?”

“Yes. If you like, I could probably arrange an audience for you.”

Ávila stared at the kid as if he’d lost his mind. “ You can get me an audience with the pope?”

Marco looked hurt. “I realize you’re a big naval officer and can’t imagine that a crippled physical trainer from Seville has access to the vicar of Christ, but I’m telling you the truth. I can arrange a meeting with him if you like. He could probably help you find your way back, just the way he helped me.”

Ávila leaned on the parallel bars, uncertain how to reply. He idolized the then pope — a staunch conservative leader who preached strict traditionalism and orthodoxy. Unfortunately, the man was under fire from all sides of the modernizing globe, and there were rumblings that he would soon choose to retire in the face of growing liberal pressure. “I’d be honored to meet him, of course, but—”

“Good,” Marco interjected. “I’ll try to set it up for tomorrow.”

Ávila never imagined that the following day he would find himself sitting deep within a secure sanctuary, face-to-face with a powerful leader who would teach him the most empowering religious lesson of his life.

The roads to salvation are many.

Forgiveness is not the only path.

Located on the ground floor of the Madrid palace, the royal library is a spectacularly ornate suite of chambers containing thousands of priceless tomes, including Queen Isabella’s illuminated Book of Hours , the personal Bibles of several kings, and an iron-bound codex from the era of Alfonso XI.

Garza entered in a rush, not wanting to leave the prince alone upstairs in the clutches of Valdespino for too long. He was still trying to make sense of the news that Valdespino had met with Kirsch only days ago and had decided to keep the meeting a secret . Even in light of Kirsch’s presentation and murder tonight?

Garza moved across the vast darkness of the library toward PR coordinator Mónica Martín, who was waiting in the shadows holding her glowing tablet.

“I realize you’re busy, sir,” Martín said, “but we have a highly time-sensitive situation. I came upstairs to find you because our security center received a disturbing e-mail from ConspiracyNet.com.”

“From whom ?”

“ConspiracyNet is a popular conspiracy-theory site. The journalism is shoddy, and it’s written at a child’s level, but they have millions of followers. If you ask me, they hawk fake news, but the site is quite well respected among conspiracy theorists.”

In Garza’s mind, the terms “well respected” and “conspiracy theory” seemed mutually exclusive.

“They’ve been scooping the Kirsch situation all night,” Martín continued. “I don’t know where they’re getting their information, but the site has become a hub for news bloggers and conspiracy theorists. Even the networks are turning to them for breaking news.”

“Come to the point,” Garza pressed.

“ConspiracyNet has new information that relates to the palace,” Martín said, pushing her glasses up on her face. “They’re going public with it in ten minutes and wanted to give us a chance to comment beforehand.”

Garza stared at the young woman in disbelief. “The Royal Palace doesn’t comment on sensationalist gossip!”

“At least look at it, sir.” Martín held out her tablet.

Garza snatched the screen and found himself looking at a second photo of navy admiral Luis Ávila. The photo was uncentered, as if taken by accident, and showed Ávila in full dress whites striding in front of a painting. It looked as if it had been taken by a museumgoer who was attempting to photograph a piece of artwork and had inadvertently captured Ávila as he blindly stepped into the shot.

“I know what Ávila looks like,” Garza snapped, eager to get back to the prince and Valdespino. “Why are you showing this to me?”

“Swipe to the next photo.”

Garza swiped. The next screen showed an enlargement of the photo — this one focused on the admiral’s right hand as it swung out in front of him. Garza immediately saw a marking on Ávila’s palm. It appeared to be a tattoo.

Garza stared at the image for a long moment. The symbol was one he knew well, as did many Spaniards, especially the older generations.

The symbol of Franco.

Emblazoned in many places in Spain during the middle of the twentieth century, the symbol was synonymous with the ultraconservative dictatorship of General Francisco Franco, whose brutal regime advocated nationalism, authoritarianism, militarism, antiliberalism, and National Catholicism.

This ancient symbol, Garza knew, consisted of six letters, which, when put together, spelled a single word in Latin — a word that perfectly defined Franco’s self-image.

Victor .

Ruthless, violent, and uncompromising, Francisco Franco had risen to power with the military support of Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy. He killed thousands of his opponents before seizing total control of the country in 1939 and proclaiming himself El Caudillo — the Spanish equivalent of the Führer. During the Civil War and well into the first years of dictatorship, those who dared oppose him disappeared into concentration camps, where an estimated three hundred thousand were executed.

Depicting himself as the defender of “Catholic Spain” and the enemy of godless communism, Franco had embraced a starkly male-centric mentality, officially excluding women from many positions of power in society, giving them barely any rights to professorships, judgeships, bank accounts, or even the right to flee an abusive husband. He annulled all marriages that had not been performed according to Catholic doctrine, and, among other restrictions, he outlawed divorce, contraception, abortion, and homosexuality.

Fortunately, everything had now changed.

Even so, Garza was stunned by how quickly the nation had forgotten one of the darkest periods in its history.

Spain’s pacto de olvido — a nationwide political agreement to “forget” everything that had happened under Franco’s vicious rule — meant that schoolchildren in Spain had been taught very little about the dictator. A poll in Spain had revealed that teenagers were far more likely to recognize the actor James Franco than they were dictator Francisco Franco.

The older generations, however, would never forget. This VICTOR symbol — like the Nazi swastika — could still conjure fear in the hearts of those old enough to remember those brutal years. To this day, wary souls warned that the highest reaches of Spanish government and the Catholic Church still harbored a secret faction of Francoist supporters — a hidden fraternity of traditionalists sworn to return Spain to its far-right convictions of the past century.