'You'll be amazed,' Fulano said.

'I bet.'

Beyond the windows, Tess continued to notice the sentries patrolling. She quickly pretended to pay attention to the row of various foods. That stack of plates. How do we…?'

'One type of food to each plate,' Gerrard said. 'It's important to separate each taste.'

'Then let's get to it. I'm starved.'

There wasn't any red meat, she noticed, a significant omission given the dietary beliefs of the heretics. With pretended delight, she nooned olives, calamari, and whatever else appealed to her onto various plates, spreading them in a row before her. The tapas indeed were delicious, perfectly prepared, each complementing the other.

'Would you like some vintage wine?' Fulano asked. 'Spanish wine is superb. Or perhaps some excellent cerveza.'

'Excuse me?' Tess looked confused.

'The Spanish word for "beer".'

'Thanks.' Craig swallowed hungrily. 'But I'd prefer water.'

'The same with me,' Tess said. 'Alcohol and I don't get along. It makes me groggy.'

'I have the same reaction. Interesting,' Fulano said. He filled her ceramic cup from a pitcher.

Tess didn't drink until Fulano filled his own cup and drank the same water.

'My God, I think I'm full,' Craig said.

'Exactly when to stop.' Fulano chewed and swallowed an olive, placing its pit at the side of his plate. 'Remember, the main course is later.'

'And now we have another surprise.' Gerrard touched a napkin to his mouth.

Here it comes, Tess thought. The condemned have had their final meal.

'Oh?' Craig lowered his fork. 'Another? This valley. This castle. These tapas. We've been surprised several times already. And now you're telling us there's more?'

'Something truly special. Extremely unusual. It happens only one time each year,' Fulano said. 'But it does require another helicopter ride to see what I mean. I'm sure you're still tired from your trip, but I promise you won't be disappointed. Indeed you'll find it remarkable.'

'In that case, being tired doesn't matter. Let's go.' Craig stood.

Uncertain about Craig's strategy, Tess followed his example.

The Secret Service agents stood as well.

With another rap of his knuckles on the table, Fulano summoned his servants. While they gathered the remnants of the tapas, Fulano Pointed Tess and Craig toward the corridor that led outside.

Five minutes later, as the sun touched the rim of the mountains, its glow more crimson, they reached the helicopter. When Tess climbed inside, carefully watched, she felt troubled that she hadn't seen Gerrard's assistant, Hugh Kelly, since they'd arrived.

Where was he? Why hadn't he joined them?

She had almost no time to analyze the possibilities. A minute later, as if on an urgent schedule, the helicopter lifted off, veered upward, and sped toward the northern mountains. The sun was now behind the peaks, its blood-red glow reflecting off a purple sky.

Her stomach already tense despite the energy-renewing meal, Tess clutched her tight, criss-crossing shoulder belt and expected that at any time the two Secret Service agents would grab her, unbuckle her restraints, and throw her, twisting and turning, into the valley.

Instead everyone stayed in position, the helicopter rising higher, nearing the shadowy mountains.

'Alan tells me that you've been threatened in America,' Fulano said. 'If it helps, I want to encourage you that what you're about to see will help take your mind off your troubles.'

The helicopter crested the northern mountains. Beyond, the sun had almost completely set behind farther ridges. A murky valley lay below them.

'We're approaching the Spanish-French border,' Gerrard said. 'We won't cross it, of course. Without advance diplomatic clearance, even I don't have the authority to violate French air space. But the surprise we want you to see is a custom in southern France that centuries ago drifted down to this area of Spain. It's quite remarkable.'

The helicopter sped over more jagged ridges, crossing another dark valley.

But something was different. As Tess peered down, she realized, puzzled, that this valley wasn't completely dark. Hundreds of isolated lights flickered throughout the murky basin.

'What are those…?' She shook her head. 'They can't be from villages, not with the lights so small and so widely separated. I can't see anything else, but it's almost as if… I'm sure of it. The lights are coming from fields.'

That's correct,' Fulano said. 'What you see are bonfires. The local farmers and villagers are conducting a festival.'

Gerrard pressed against his shoulder harness, leaning toward her. 'Do you know what day this is? I don't mean the day of the week. I mean the date.'

Tess had to think a moment. 'June twenty-second?'

'Very good. And some time between today and yesterday, the summer solstice occurred, the beginning of summer. What you're seing are flames in honor of the new precious season, the growth of the crops, the fulfillment of the fertile promise of spring.'

'The ritual is extremely ancient,' Fulano added. 'It's much older than Christianity, although of course like Easter, the true meaning of which is the resurrection of nature, Christian elements have been layered onto it. Those villagers are praying to Saint John.'

Tess felt an inward jolt. In turmoil, she didn't know if the saint Fulano referred to was John, the Baptist, or John, the Disciple of Christ, but she was betting on the latter, the same John who'd written the final gospel in the Bible, numerous epistles, and the Book of Revelations.

Her mind focused on the photographs in her purse, particularly the photograph of the Bible she'd found in Joseph's bedroom, a Bible from which Joseph had cut out everything except the works of John and the theories that so matched those of the heretics, especially the war between good and evil at the end of the world.

'The farmers and villagers are praying around those flames,' Gerrard said. They're holding crosses made from wild flowers and wheat.'

Yet again Tess felt jolted. Flames. Wheat.

She recalled the grotesque statue: the torch bearers, Mithras slicing the throat of the bull, its blood cascading to fertilize the earth, the dog straining to intercept the blood, the serpent lunging to destroy the wheat that the blood caused to sprout from the soil. A war between good and evil, and depending on which side won, nature would live or die.

With shock, she understood that the sacred festival in this valley was a remnant of Mithraism, that the heresy was more deeply rooted, more widely spread than she'd ever anticipated.

Nests. Father Baldwin had said he'd been searching for nests, particularly in Spain, although his attention was directed toward the Picos de Europa to the west, not the Pyrenees to the east. What he didn't know was that the nests existed not just in the Picos but all along southern France and northern Spain, and that the villagers had so absorbed Mithraism into Catholic traditions that they perhaps didn't even know the true origin and meaning of the fertility ritual they now performed

Or perhaps they did know its true origin and meaning, and that made the ritual all the more awesome as well as terrifying. Like the villagers and farmers around the bonfires in the valley, Tess had devoted herself to nature, but Gerrard and Fulano – who'd devoted themselves to Mithras, the god of nature – controlled her, and maybe she and Craig would be the next sacrifices to the god.

The helicopter began to descend, approaching the isolated flames in the valley.

'We're not going back?' Craig asked.

'Not just yet,' Fulano said.

'Why?' Craig's voice deepened.

'We have a further surprise,' Gerrard said.

'This evening is full of them. I'm tired. I don't know if Tess and I can take any more,' Craig said.