Free Origin by Dan Brown Page B

which she had been entombed centuries ago.
    Today, the Virgin of Almudena is the patron saint of Madrid, and pilgrims and tourists alike flock to mass at Almudena Cathedral for the privilege of praying before her likeness. The church’s dramatic location—sharing the Royal Palace’s main plaza—provides an added attraction to churchgoers: the possibility of glimpsing royalty coming or going from the palace.
    Tonight, deep inside the cathedral, a young acolyte was rushing through the hallway in a panic.
    Where is Bishop Valdespino?!
    Services are about to begin!
    For decades, Bishop Antonio Valdespino had been head priest and overseer of this cathedral. A longtime friend and spiritual counselor to the king, Valdespino was an outspoken and devout traditionalist with almost no tolerance for modernization. Incredibly, the eighty-three-year-old bishop still donned ankle shackles during Holy Week and joined the faithful carrying icons through the city streets.
    Valdespino, of all people, is never late for mass.
    The acolyte had been with the bishop twenty minutes ago in the vestry,assisting him with his robes as usual. Just as they finished, the bishop had received a text and, without a word, had hurried out.
    Where did he go?
    Having searched the sanctuary, the vestry, and even the bishop’s private restroom, the acolyte was now running at a sprint down the hallway to the administrative section of the cathedral to check the bishop’s office.
    He heard a pipe organ thunder to life in the distance.
    The processional hymn is starting!
    The acolyte skidded to a stop outside the bishop’s private office, startled to see a shaft of light beneath his closed door.
He’s here?!
    The acolyte knocked quietly. “
¿Excelencia Reverendísima?
”
    No answer.
    Knocking louder, he called out, “
¡¿Su Excelencia?!
”
    Still nothing.
    Fearing for the old man’s health, the acolyte turned the handle and pushed open the door.
    ¡Cielos!
The acolyte gasped as he peered into the private space.
    Bishop Valdespino was seated at his mahogany desk, staring into the glow of a laptop computer. His holy miter was still on his head, his chasuble wadded beneath him, and his crozier staff propped unceremoniously against the wall.
    The acolyte cleared his throat. “
La santa misa está—
”
    “
Preparada
,” the bishop interrupted, his eyes never moving from the screen. “
Padre Derida me sustituye.
”
    The acolyte stared in bewilderment.
Father Derida is substituting?
A junior priest overseeing Saturday-night mass was highly irregular.
    “
¡Vete ya!
” Valdespino snapped without looking up. “
Y cierra la puerta.
”
    Fearful, the boy did as he was told, leaving immediately and closing the door as he went.
    Hurrying back toward the sounds of the pipe organ, the acolyte wondered what the bishop could possibly be viewing on his computer that would pull his mind so far from his duties to God.
     
    At that moment, Admiral Ávila was snaking through the growing crowd in the Guggenheim’s atrium, puzzled to see guests chatting with their sleek headsets. Apparently the audio tour of the museum was a two-way conversation.
    He felt glad to have jettisoned the device.
    No distractions tonight.
    He checked his watch and eyed the elevators. They were already crowded with guests heading to the main event upstairs, so Ávila opted for the stairs. As he climbed, he felt the same tremor of incredulity he had felt last night.
Have I really become a man capable of killing?
The godless souls who had ripped away his wife and child had transformed him.
My actions are sanctioned by a higher authority
, he reminded himself.
There is righteousness in what I do.
    As Ávila reached the first landing, his gaze was drawn to a woman on a nearby suspended catwalk.
Spain’s newest celebrity
, he thought, eyeing the famous beauty.
    She wore a formfitting white dress with a black diagonal stripe that ran elegantly across her torso. Her slender figure, lush dark hair,