Garza snatched the device from her and eyed the screen, seeing a stock photo and bio of the silver-bearded Spaniard who had been identified as the Bilbao shooter—royal navy admiral Luis Ávila.
“There’s a lot of damaging chatter,” said Martín, “and much is being made of Ávila’s being a former employee of the royal family.”
“Ávila worked for the navy!” Garza spluttered.
“Yes, but technically, the king is the commander of the armed forces—”
“Stop right there,” Garza ordered, shoving the tablet back at her. “Suggesting the king is somehow complicit in a terrorist act is an absurd stretch made by conspiracy nuts, and is wholly irrelevant to our situation tonight. Let’s just count our blessings and get back to work. After all, this lunatic could have killed the queen consort but chose instead to kill an American atheist. All in all, not a bad outcome!”
The young woman didn’t flinch. “There’s something else, sir, which relates to the royal family. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
As Martín spoke, her fingers flew across the tablet, navigating to another site. “This is a photo that has been online for a few days, but nobody noticed it. Now, with everything about Edmond Kirsch going viral, this photo is starting to appear in the news.” She handed Garza the tablet.
Garza eyed a headline: “Is This the Last Photo Taken of Futurist Edmond Kirsch?”
A blurry photograph showed Kirsch dressed in a dark suit, standing on a rocky bluff beside a perilous cliff.
“The photo was taken three days ago,” Martín said, “while Kirsch was visiting the Abbey of Montserrat. A worker on-site recognized Kirsch and snapped a photo. After Kirsch’s murder tonight, the worker re-posted the photo as one of the last ever taken of the man.”
“And this relates to us, how?” Garza asked pointedly.
“Scroll down to the next photo.”
Garza scrolled down. On seeing the second image, he had to reach out and steady himself on the wall. “This … this can’t be true.”
In this wider-frame version of the same shot, Edmond Kirsch could be seen standing beside a tall man wearing a traditional Catholic purple cassock. The man was Bishop Valdespino.
“It’s true, sir,” Martín said. “Valdespino met with Kirsch a few days ago.”
“But …” Garza hesitated, momentarily speechless. “But why wouldn’t the bishop have mentioned this? Especially considering all that has happened tonight!”
Martín gave a suspicious nod. “That’s why I chose to speak to you first.”
Valdespino met with Kirsch! Garza could not quite wrap his mind around it. And the bishop declined to mention it? The news was alarming, and Garza felt eager to warn the prince.
“Unfortunately,” the young woman said, “there’s a lot more.” She began manipulating her tablet again.
“Commander?” Valdespino’s voice called suddenly from the living room. “What is the news on Ms. Vidal’s transport?”
Mónica Martín’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Is that the bishop?” she whispered. “Valdespino is here in the residence?”
“Yes. Counseling the prince.”
“Commander!” Valdespino called again. “Are you there?”
“Believe me,” Martín whispered, her tone panicked, “there is more information that you must have right away—before you say another word to the bishop or the prince. Trust me when I tell you that tonight’s crisis impacts us far more deeply than you can imagine.”
Garza studied his PR coordinator a moment and made his decision. “Downstairs in the library. I’ll meet you there in sixty seconds.”
Martín nodded and slipped away.
Alone now, Garza took a deep breath and forced his features to relax, hoping to erase all traces of his growing anger and confusion. Calmly, he strolled back into the living room.
“All is well with Ms. Vidal,” Garza announced with a smile as he entered. “She’ll be here later. I’m headed down to the security office to confirm her transportation personally.” Garza gave Julián a confident nod and then turned to Bishop Valdespino. “I’ll be back shortly. Don’t go away.”
With that, he turned and strode out.
As Garza exited the apartment, Bishop Valdespino stared after him, frowning.
“Is something wrong?” the prince asked, eyeing the bishop closely.
“Yes,” Valdespino replied, turning back to Julián. “I’ve been taking confessions for fifty years. I know a lie when I hear one.”
CHAPTER 34
ConspiracyNet.com
BREAKING NEWS
ONLINE COMMUNITY ERUPTS WITH QUESTIONS
In the wake of Edmond Kirsch’s assassination, the futurist’s massive online following has erupted in a firestorm of speculation over two urgent issues.
WHAT WAS KIRSCH’S DISCOVERY?
WHO KILLED HIM, AND WHY?
Regarding Kirsch’s discovery, theories have already flooded the Internet and span a wide range of topics—from Darwin, to extraterrestrials, to Creationism, and beyond.
No motive has yet been confirmed for this killing, but theories include religious zealotry, corporate espionage, and jealousy.
ConspiracyNet has been promised exclusive information about the killer, and we will share it with you the moment it arrives.
CHAPTER 35
AMBRA VIDAL STOOD alone in the cabin of the water taxi, clutching Robert Langdon’s jacket around her. Minutes ago, when Langdon asked why she had agreed to marry a man she barely knew, Ambra had replied truthfully.
I was given no choice.
Her engagement to Julián was a misfortune she could not bear to relive tonight, not with everything else that had happened.
I was trapped.
I’m still trapped.
Now, as Ambra looked at her own reflection in the dirty window, she felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness engulf her. Ambra Vidal was not one to indulge in self-pity, but at the moment her heart felt brittle and adrift. I’m engaged to a man who is involved somehow in a brutal murder.
The prince had sealed Edmond’s fate with a single phone call only an hour before the event. Ambra had been frantically preparing for the arrival of the guests when a young staff member had rushed in, excitedly waving a slip of paper.
“¡Señora Vidal! ¡Mensaje para usted!”
The girl was giddy and explained in breathless Spanish that an important call had just come in to the museum’s front desk.
“Our caller ID,” she squeaked, “said Royal Palace of Madrid, and so of course I answered! And it was someone calling from the office of Prince Julián!”
“They called the front desk?” Ambra asked. “They have my cell number.”
“The prince’s assistant said he tried your mobile,” the staffer explained, “but they couldn’t get through.”
Ambra checked her phone. Odd. No missed call. Then she realized that some technicians had just been testing the museum’s cellular jamming system, and Julián’s assistant must have called while her phone was disabled.
“It seems the prince got a call today from a very important friend in Bilbao who wants to attend tonight’s event.” The girl handed Ambra the slip of paper. “He hoped you would be able to add one name to tonight’s guest list?”
Ambra eyed the message.
Almirante Luis Ávila (ret.)
Armada Española
A retired officer from the Spanish navy?