The First Face of Janus

by Valentine, Phil

  “I don’t know.”

  “You?”

  “No,” Crow insisted. “Whoever killed them tried to kill me, too. At least twice.”

  “I thought you were Jean-Claude’s killer. I thought you had come for me.”

  “I think Father Simonin also sensed the danger. He gave me some clues. He told me, ‘Behold the cup and follow the choir. The straight path ends for the non-believer.’ That’s how I found this passageway. Where does it lead? What am I supposed to find here?”

  “I do not know what you are looking for, señor. As for this passageway, I am afraid you have literally reached a dead end.”

  “Well, there’s got to be something here.”

  “Simonin sent you to me?”

  “No. He didn’t mention you. He said—” Crow realized they hadn’t been introduced. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

  The little man squinted. “Get that thing out of my eyes.” He waddled over and hit a switch carved into the cave wall and illuminated the room. “My name is Alejandro de la Aiza.”

  “He didn’t mention you or anyone else,” Crow said. “He gave me the directions from the cup and told me to find… Wait a minute, did you say Alejandro de la Aiza?”

  “I did.”

  “Alejandro. Alexander. Alexander means defender.”

  “That is correct.”

  “And Aiza means—”

  “Rock, señor.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Crow said almost to himself.

  “How do I know Father Simonin sent you?”

  Crow reached into his front pocket and produced a small piece of paper. “He gave me this.” He handed the small paper to Alejandro.

  The little man smiled. “Father Simonin’s Bible verses.” He unrolled it. “Sánchez Muñoz,” Alejandro read out loud, recognizing the handwriting. “His way of sending you to Valencia. But why?”

  “He told me to find the defender of the rock. That’s you.”

  “And you are?”

  “Crow.” He extended his hand down and clasped the man’s tiny hand in his.

  “And you know the meaning of Basque words? Impressive.”

  “Words are sort of my business.”

  “And what is your business here?”

  “I’m looking for the Custos Verbi.”

  Alejandro threw back his head and laughed. “Is that right?”

  Crow was irritated. “That’s funny?”

  “Sí, señor. The Custos Verbi is a legend, a myth. Where did you get such wild ideas?”

  “Let’s stop the charade. We both know better than that.”

  “We do, do we?” Alejandro said.

  “I have to find them. I can help them.”

  The little man stared at Crow for a time. “And what could I possibly have that you need?”

  “Knowledge,” Crow said. “Simonin said if I find you, I find the answer I’m looking for.”

  Alejandro smiled. “That depends on the question.”

  A perplexed look crossed Crow’s face. He hadn’t really thought what his question would be. He hadn’t considered meeting someone who was the defender of the rock. He’d thought in much more esoteric and symbolic terms. “I’m trying to stop the next prophecy,” Crow finally said.

  Alejandro smiled. “And what prophecy is that?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Crow admitted. “I only have clues, guesses.”

  Alejandro walked over to the rock wall. He pushed two stones on the wall simultaneously and the rock parted to reveal a passageway. He hit a light switch just inside the opening and Crow followed him in. The rock closed behind them and they walked for maybe thirty feet until the corridor opened up into another chamber, what appeared to be the little man’s living quarters. It was modestly appointed with just a small bed, a toilet, a sink, a bathtub, sparse furnishings, a bookshelf with a dozen or so books, and a dim lamp.

  “Señor Crow, you said your name was?”

  “Yes. Benson Crow.”

  The man turned to face him. “The author Benson Crow?”

  “Yes.”

  “How odd,” the man said. “Why you?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

  Alejandro took a seat at a small wooden table. “I do not know what it is that I can offer you.”

  Crow sat down beside him. “I want to know what the next prophecy will be.”

  Alejandro threw up his hands. “As do we all. Is that all you have? Just a desire to stop the prophecy? You are wasting your time and mine.”

  “No, I have more than just a hunch.”

  Alejandro leaned back in his chair and locked his tiny hands together across his chest. “I am listening.”

  Crow brought him up to speed. The odd quatrains, the trail that led him from Montreal to Valencia, the murders. He left nothing out.

  “Then why did Simonin send you to me?”

  “I have no idea,” Crow said. “What was your connection with him?”

  “We have been exchanging information for years, he along with Delacroix and several others.” His eyes brightened. “You might call it our own little secret society.”

  “You each discovered pieces of the jigsaw puzzle,” Crow said. “We have to put those pieces together. There’s going to be a bloodbath. Most of a wedding party is going to be slaughtered. I’m looking for that wedding. I’m convinced that’s part of the prophecy. But where? Who’s getting married?”

  “That’s the trouble with these prophecies,” Alejandro observed. “They make no sense until they happen, and then it is as if the clues were screaming at you the entire time.”

  “We have to change that. We have to see these clues before the event happens. This man Babineaux,” Crow said, “is he part of your group with Simonin and Delacroix?”

  Alejandro shook his head. “I have never heard of him.”

  “Interesting. He seems to be looking for the same thing we are.”

  “Yes, perhaps, but I was going to say that he seems a rather odd fixture in the story. Almost like he does not belong. How does he fit in?”

  “I wish I knew,” Crow said. “Surely I’m not the first to try and stop the prophecy.”

  “Yes, but this Babineaux does not strike me as them.”

  “Them?” Crow said. “So you do acknowledge the Custos Verbi exists.”

  “Who knows what is real and what is not?”

  “What are you trying to hide?”

  Alejandro looked at him intently for a moment then smiled. “Oh, you think I am Custos Verbi?” He let out a laugh.

  “You’re not?”

  Alejandro said through his chuckles, “I hate to disappoint you, Señor Crow.”

  “But you admit they exist.”

  “If that is what you wish to believe.”

  “Stop playing games with me,” Crow demanded. “Simonin said if I found you, I’d find my answer.”

  The little man lowered his defenses. “If there is such a thing, I am not a part of it.”

  “Then what are you?”

  He held his arms out. “I am but a lowly caretaker. I am paid to roam these catacombs and check for leaks and rat infestation and,” he gestured to Crow, “the odd lost visitor.”

  Crow pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up the photos. He turned the phone around and laid it on the table in front of Alejandro. The little man’s eyes widened.

  “Where did you get this?” He stared at the picture of the coin Crow found in Father Simonin’s desk.

  “Your boy, Simonin,” Crow said.

  “Señor, do you have any idea what this means?”

  Crow leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “It has been a delight getting to know you,” Babineaux said. He motioned to the server for the check.

  “Likewise,” Sidney Rosenfeld said.

  “There is still so much to discuss. One of the things I appreciate about the Spanish culture is the siesta.
We have both traveled a long way and a relaxing nap would do us both good. I would love to continue our discussion over dinner.”

  “I’d like that,” she lied.

  “Splendid. I will have my automobile brought around at six. I know of a special place in town that features the local cuisine.”

  “I’ll meet you at six.”

  ALEJANDRO STUDIED THE photograph of the odd coin on Crow’s phone. “It is the calling card of the First Face of Janus.”

  “I’m confused. Simonin was a First Facer?”

  “Not possible,” Alejandro said.

  “Then what was he doing with the coin?”

  “He studied the First Facers for many years, señor. He must have come across the coin in his research. But that coin, if you are a First Facer, opens many doors. I have heard about it. I thought it was legend, but there it is.”

  “Sounds like to me he was one of them,” Crow said.

  “He helped you in your quest to stop the prophecy. What kind of First Facer would do that?”

  Crow had to admit he had a point. “You say Simonin is not one of them, how can you tell if someone is a member of the First Face of Janus?”

  The little man laughed slightly. “That is a great question. The short answer is you cannot. They look like everyone else. They are in all sectors of society. Some are famous, most are ordinary people. That is how your 9/11 was allowed to happen.”

  “You’re not gonna tell me President Bush was part of the conspiracy, are you?” Crow asked.

  “In the conventional sense, as in, it was some kind of inside job and they blamed it on the terrorists like these people are saying—what do they call themselves?”

  “9/11 Truthers?” Crow said.

  “Yes, those people. No, but the First Facers were inside his administration.”

  “Really? Like who?”

  “Before I answer that, you must understand how the First Face of Janus works. They do not fabricate events just to match up with Nostradamus’ predictions. What they do is they either allow them to happen or aid in their happening. The terrorists had been plotting to topple the World Trade Center towers for years. The First Facers knew the towers must be destroyed based on their reading of something called the Unriddled Manuscript.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with that,” Crow said.

  “Excellent,” Alejandro said. “Then you will save me the time. As you have no doubt heard, that manuscript is in much more detail than the quatrains. Once they understood what had to happen, it was their job to make sure no one stopped it. Ask yourself this question. How did the hijackers get on those planes?”

  “They bought tickets like everybody else.”

  “That is true, but had anyone simply run a background check on any number of them they would have learned of their terrorists connections. At the very least, they would have learned that some of their visas had expired, and they would not have been allowed to board the planes. One of the ticket agents said he saw the ringleader, Mohamed Atta, and knew in his heart that he was a terrorist but sold him a ticket anyway. There had to be a policy in place that would allow that to happen.”

  “You’re right,” Crow said. “There was a strict policy that there would be no profiling at airports. That ticket agent you’re talking about was in Portland, Maine. He said he gave himself a ‘mental slap’ because they weren’t allowed to profile. That no-profile policy came from the transportation secretary at the time, oh, what’s his name?” Crow snapped his fingers.

  “Norman Mineta,” Alejandro reminded him.

  “That’s right. Norm Mineta. Are you telling me Mineta was a First Facer?”

  “I am telling you it was either Mineta or someone in his close circle who influenced him to adopt the no-profile policy. Do you not find it odd that a lifelong Democrat would find himself in a Republican administration in the position to make such a decision at just the right time?”

  “That’s incredible,” Crow said.

  Alejandro lowered his eyes and his voice as if to draw him closer. “Several key members of the German government who paved the way for Hitler to come to power were First Facers. It is incredible, but it is quite common.”

  “The wedding,” Crow said. “What wedding could it be?”

  The little man shrugged. Crow turned his head in frustration and muttered something under his breath. Alejandro reached for a block of cheese protected by a rounded glass top and cut himself a piece. “Señor?” he offered, gesturing to the cheese.

  Crow waved him off.

  Alejandro took a bite then decided to speak. “I cannot imagine why Simonin would send you to me.”

  “It has to be you,” Crow said. “Sánchez Muñoz obviously means Valencia. The directions from the chalice? Defender of the rock? Well, that’s literally your name.”

  Alejandro turned the edges of his mouth down and tilted his head as if to agree.

  “You may not even realize that what you know is important,” Crow explained. “Think.”

  “Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, as you say,” Alejandro said. He grimaced and scratched the back of his head as he searched the dark recesses of his mind.

  “Anything you may have stumbled upon recently?” Crow asked. “It doesn’t have to make sense to you. Any odd bit of information. Anything at all.”

  Alejandro slowly shook his head then stopped and tapped his lip with his index finger. “We have been monitoring a couple of gentlemen we believe to be First Facers.”

  “We?” Crow asked.

  “A colleague of mine who runs a cafe.”

  “Go on.” Crow pulled himself closer to the table.

  “This is certainly an odd bit of information, as you put it. At least, it struck me that way. One of these men said, ‘The apparition of monsters presages the outbreak of war.’”

  “Interesting,” Crow said.

  “Given their dedication to Nostradamus, when they said ‘presages’ we took notice,” Alejandro said. “But nothing else was that much out of the usual. They talked about a book.”

  “What book?”

  “Don Quixote,” Alejandro said, “and how one of the men thought he was a knight. Standard discussion about the book’s meaning.” Alejandro deliberated in silence for a moment. “Do you think the next prophecy will lead to war?”

  “Wars have been started over far less. The assassination of an archduke started a world war. If this bride is someone of importance and the wedding party is murdered, there could be someone of note there. And you’re sure there was nothing else they said?”

  Alejandro shrugged.

  “And you’re sure these were First Facers?”

  “Señor, can we be sure of anything these days?”

  Crow knew no truer words had been spoken since he fell down this rabbit hole.

  “The Custos Verbi,” Crow said. “They’re here?”

  Alejandro frowned. “In Valencia?”

  “Here at the cathedral.”

  “No, no, no,” he insisted.

  “But the Holy Chalice. I heard the Custos Verbi drink from that when they are inducted into the society.”

  “What?” the little man said. “No. Who filled your head with such nonsense?”

  “But it all fits,” Crow said. “If you’re a devout Catholic, then this would be the holiest of holies.”

  “Señor, the Custos Verbi are not Catholic. Not as we know Catholics today.”

  “What do you mean?” Crow said. “Keeper of the Word? That’s what Custos Verbi means.”

  “I know very well what it means,” the man said impatiently, “but they would not be here in a Catholic church because they are not Catholic, at least not in the true sense that we know the Catholic Church.” He cut another piece of cheese and plopped it in his small mouth. He smiled, “I can see that you are confused.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, then let me elucidate. You were on the right path with Sánchez Muñoz.”

  “He was a pope.”
/>
  “He was an antipope,” Alejandro corrected. “You are familiar with the Western Schism?”

  Crow nodded. “When the papacy moved back to Rome from Avignon and the Avignon pope didn’t want to give up his power. So there were two men claiming to be pope at the same time.”

  “Three, actually,” Alejandro said. “There was Benedict XIII of Avignon. There was the real pope, Pope Gregory XII, in Rome. There was also a third man who claimed legitimate right to the papacy. His name was Peter Phillarges. He was the Archbishop of Milan. He was a proponent of reuniting the Church under one pope and advocated for the Council of Pisa. This is where he hoped to end the Western Schism. Representatives from both sides—Avignon and Rome—met in 1409 at the Cathedral of Pisa in Italy. You know, where the leaning tower is. The council did anything but reunite the Church. The council vacated the seat of the papacy and both Benedict and Gregory were told to step down. In their place, they elevated Peter Phillarges and he became Pope Alexander V.”

  “I see where this is going,” Crow said.

  “Sí, neither Gregory nor Benedict would step down. Furthermore, Rome declared the Council of Pisa illegitimate and there were then three men claiming to be pope. One of the cardinals of Roman obedience at the Council of Pisa was an unscrupulous scoundrel by the name of Baldassare Cossa. He changed allegiance to Pope Alexander V once Alexander claimed to be pope. Within a year, Antipope Alexander, while traveling with Baldassare Cossa in Bologna, suddenly fell ill and died. Some say he was poisoned by Cossa. Conveniently, Cossa was consecrated pope on 25 May 1410. He had been ordained a priest only one day before. He took the name John XXIII.”

  “And we still had Gregory and Benedict.”

  “Correct,” Alejandro said. “John XXIII was very shrewd. A few years prior, in order to build his power base, he borrowed money from the Medici family, one of several Italian banker families in Florence trying to make a name for itself. Cossa did not forget the favor and upon becoming pope—or antipope as the Catholic Church now recognizes him—he made the Medici bank the official bank of his papacy.”

  “That must’ve been a huge boost to the Medicis.”

  “Indeed. This added considerably to the Medici family’s wealth, not to mention their prestige, and was the catalyst that launched the Medicis into power in Florence that lasted for the better part of 300 years. It also made John XXIII extremely powerful. So powerful, in fact, that he took a gamble. He convened the Council of Constance ostensibly to reunite the Church, but it was all about consolidating his power. If he could eliminate the other two men claiming to be pope, then he would increase his power exponentially. And he got Gregory XII in Rome, the legitimate pope, to sanction the council.”