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You’re right, Ávila thought. He was worse.
The dark truth about Kirsch was a secret Ávila had learned only a week ago during a phone call from the Regent. Our pope is asking you to target the famous futurist Edmond Kirsch, the Regent had said. His Holiness’s motivations are many, but he would like for you to undertake this mission personally.
Why me? Ávila asked.
Admiral, the Regent whispered. I’m sorry to tell you this, but Edmond Kirsch was responsible for the cathedral bombing that killed your family.
Ávila’s first reaction was complete disbelief. He could see no reason whatsoever for a well-known computer scientist to bomb a church.
You are a military man, Admiral, the Regent had explained to him, and so you know better than anyone: the young soldier who pulls the trigger in battle is not the actual killer. He is a pawn, doing the work of those more powerful—governments, generals, religious leaders—those who have either paid him or convinced him that a cause is worthy at all costs.
Ávila had indeed witnessed this situation.
The same rules apply to terrorism, the Regent continued. The most vicious terrorists are not the people who build the bombs, but the influential leaders who fuel hatred among desperate masses, inspiring their foot soldiers to commit acts of violence. It takes only one powerful dark soul to wreak havoc in the world by inspiring spiritual intolerance, nationalism, or loathing in the minds of the vulnerable.
Ávila had to agree.
Terrorist attacks against Christians, the Regent said, are on the rise around the world. These new attacks are no longer strategically planned events; they are spontaneous assaults carried out by lone wolves who are answering a call to arms sent out by persuasive enemies of Christ. The Regent paused. And among those persuasive enemies, I count the atheist Edmond Kirsch.
Now Ávila felt the Regent was beginning to stretch the truth. Despite Kirsch’s despicable campaign against Christianity in Spain, the scientist had never issued a statement urging the murder of Christians.
Before you disagree, the voice on the phone told him, let me give you one final piece of information. The Regent sighed heavily. Nobody knows this, Admiral, but the attack that killed your family … it was intended as an act of war against the Palmarian Church.
The statement gave Ávila pause, and yet it made no sense; Seville Cathedral was not a Palmarian building.
The morning of the bombing, the voice told him, four prominent members of the Palmarian Church were in the Seville congregation for recruiting purposes. They were targeted specifically. You know one of them—Marco. The other three died in the attack.
Ávila’s thoughts swirled as he pictured his physical therapist, Marco, who had lost his leg in the attack.
Our enemies are powerful and motivated, the voice went on. And when the bomber could not gain access to our compound in El Palmar de Troya, he followed our four missionaries to Seville and took his action there. I’m so very sorry, Admiral. This tragedy is one of the reasons the Palmarians reached out to you—we feel responsible that your family became collateral damage in a war directed against us.
A war directed by whom? Ávila demanded, trying to comprehend the shocking claims.
Check your e-mail, the Regent replied.
Opening his in-box, Ávila discovered a shocking trove of private documents that outlined a brutal war that had been waged against the Palmarian Church for over a decade now … a war that apparently included lawsuits, threats bordering on blackmail, and huge donations to anti-Palmarian “watchdog” groups like Palmar de Troya Support and Dialogue Ireland.
More surprising still, this bitter war against the Palmarian Church was, it appeared, being waged by a single individual—and that man was futurist Edmond Kirsch.
Ávila was baffled by the news. Why would Edmond Kirsch specifically want to destroy the Palmarians?
The Regent told him that nobody in the Church—not even the pope himself—had any idea why Kirsch had such a specific abhorrence for the Palmarians. All they knew was that one of the planet’s wealthiest and most influential people would not rest until the Palmarians were crushed.
The Regent drew Ávila’s attention to one last document—a copy of a typed letter to the Palmarians from a man claiming to be the Seville bomber. In the first line, the bomber called himself a “disciple of Edmond Kirsch.” This was all Ávila had to see; his fists clenched in rage.
The Regent explained why the Palmarians had never shared the letter publicly; with all the bad press the Palmarians had gotten recently—much of it orchestrated or funded by Kirsch—the last thing the Church needed was to be associated with a bombing.
My family died because of Edmond Kirsch.
Now, in the darkened stairwell, Ávila stared up at Robert Langdon, sensing that the man probably knew nothing of Kirsch’s secret crusade against the Palmarian Church, or how Kirsch had inspired the attack that killed Ávila’s family.
It doesn’t matter what Langdon knows, Ávila thought. He is a soldier like I am. We have both fallen into this foxhole, and only one of us will climb out of it. I have my orders.
Langdon was positioned a few steps above him, aiming his weapon like an amateur—with both hands. Poor choice, Ávila thought, quietly lowering his toes onto a step beneath him, planting his feet, and staring straight up into Langdon’s eyes.
“I know you find it hard to believe,” Ávila declared, “but Edmond Kirsch killed my family. And here is your proof.”
Ávila opened his palm to show Langdon his tattoo, which, of course, was no proof at all, but it had the desired effect—Langdon looked.
