The Omega Factor
Steve Berry
Acknowledgments
This is my first book with the Hachette Book Group. My sincere thanks to Ben Sevier, senior vice president and publisher of Grand Central, for taking a chance on an old guy like me. To Wes Miller, my editor, whom I’ve greatly enjoyed getting to know and working with. He’s a man of remarkable insight. This book became much better thanks to him. Then to Tiffany Porcelli for her marketing expertise; Staci Burt, who handled publicity; and all those who created the cover and made the interior of the book shine. A grateful nod also goes to Sales and Production who made sure there was a book and that it was widely available. Thank you, one and all.
A deep bow goes to Simon Lipskar, my agent and friend, who made this book possible.
A few extra mentions: Jessica Johns and Esther Garver, who continue to keep Steve Berry Enterprises running smoothly. Nathalie Dumon, who showed Elizabeth and me around Ghent and provided some early research materials. Noah Charney, the expert on all things relative to the Ghent Altarpiece. And Christophe Masiero for helping out with my French.
As always, to my wife, Elizabeth, who remains the most special—and most intuitive—of all.
One other sad point. During the writing of this book, the man who pushed me to learn the craft of writing passed away. Frank Green lived a long and productive life. Many writers, myself included, owe him a great deal. He was a tough taskmaster, generous with his time, and if you kept your mouth shut and ears open you could learn a great deal. Previously, I’ve dedicated two books to Frank, but it seemed only right to thank him one last time. He will be greatly missed.
The dedication for this book is a bit unusual. Novelists deal in the world of imagination. A novel is, by definition, not real. Sure, there are facts and people and things that might be real, but the plot, the conflicts, crucibles, and conclusions are only a story, designed simply to entertain the reader.
Walt and Roy Disney also dealt in the world of imagination. Walt was the dreamer, a visionary. Roy was more grounded, practical, the financier. Neither could have flourished, though, without the other. Dreams languish unless somebody can find a way to transfer them into reality.
That was what Roy did for Walt.
Together they were an amazing creative team who produced some of the most enduring characters, places, and stories in human history.
Their relationship was a close one, but not perfect. They disagreed and fought, as brothers do, but, in the end, they always came back together. Both seemed to realize that neither was complete without the other. Proof of that came after Walt died in 1966. The dream of a second theme park on the East Coast was just that, a dream. Its creator gone. But Roy made it his mission to see to it that the “Florida project” came to fruition. On October 1, 1971, that happened when Roy formally dedicated, not Disney World, but what he renamed as Walt Disney World.
Seventy-nine days later Roy died.
So this book is for the two Disneys, Walter Elias and Roy Oliver, imagineers extraordinaire, creators of the incredible, two men who continue to spark wonder, produce joy, and touch the world.
Every day.
For Walt and Roy Disney, who left an extraordinary legacy of inspiration and imagination
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Like a dog that returns to its vomit,
is a fool who reverts to his folly.
Proverbs 26:11
Prologue
Pyrénées Mountains
Late Spring 1428
His pursuers were gaining, so Jan van Eyck prodded the horse with a jab from his boots. The animal seemed to sense their quandary and increased his speed, blasting out each breath of the cool mountain air in a torrid wheeze.
Jan was alone, being chased in terrain that was both unfamiliar and hostile. When he’d first spotted the Moors, before midday, he’d counted nine on horseback. Two more had joined the chase since. The task he’d been sent to achieve was vital to his benefactor, capture was not an option, so he urged the steed forward with a snap of the reins.
He knew his ride well. A good horse, with quickness and intelligence, could, and had, succored him many times. When ill, a horse was cared for with more wisdom than was vouchsafed to most Christian denizens. Horses were the means whereby kingdoms flourished, and the coursers, the palfreys, and especially the destriers responded to affection with an unmatched loyalty. He knew of one knight who returned home from war and was not recognized by his betrothed but was instantly embraced by his faithful stallion.
He stared ahead.
Jagged, snow-topped mountains rose all around him. To the west, like a sphinx on the desert plain, a svelte peak stood detached, its upper folds sheathed in silvery white, another spur of the pointed Pyrénées shadowed far behind it. He did not need to stop and listen to know that hooves were beating across the meadow behind him. He’d wanted to make his way north unnoticed. It was a mere two-day ride from Tormé, on the Spanish side of the mountains, to Las Illas on the French side. The refurbishing of the ancient town into a new fortress had only recently been completed, and he knew its presence, so close to the border, was a source of friction to the Moors.
Though Navarre and Aragon both were in Christian hands, Moors still freely roamed northern Spain. Slowly, the reconquista was driving the Arabs southward. Castles and towns were being regained every year. Eventually, surely, the Moors would be forced to board ships and return to Africa, ending six hundred years of occupation. But, in the meantime, they continued to spoil churches, sack convents, and waylay travelers, especially those who ventured too far south and dared to cross the Pyrénées.