A point Caroline had not seemed to consider.
“Get. Her. Back.”
“Caroline,” he called out. “You need to return.” He’d never had a gun aimed at him before. A terrifying sensation, actually.
One he did not like.
“Now. Please.”
THORVALDSEN SAW CAROLINE DODD TOSS THE CHAIRS AT Lyon, then disappear into the darkness of the west transept. She had to be working her way forward, using the tombs, the columns, and the darkness for cover, moving his way. There was no other route, since the far transept was too close to Peter Lyon and much more illuminated.
His eyes were accustomed to the dimness, so he stood his ground, keeping one eye on Lyon and Ashby, the other on the stillness to his left.
Then he saw her.
Inching stealthily his way. Most likely headed for the south portal’s open doors, where the wind and rain continued to announce their presence.
Toward the only way out.
Trouble was, Lyon would know that, too.
MALONE’S FINGERS WRAPPED AROUND THE BERETTA. HE DIDN’T want to, but he’d shoot Olive Skin, right here, if he had to.
His target stood thirty feet away and he waited for the man to make a move. A woman approached Olive Skin and intertwined her arm with his. She gently kissed him on the cheek and there was clear surprise on his face, then recognition as the two started to chat.
They turned and walked back toward the main entrance.
Malone’s grip on the gun relaxed.
False alarm.
His gaze returned to the nave as mass began. He caught sight of Long Nose as he eased his way out of the pew toward the center aisle.
Malone continued to search for problems. He should order the whole place evacuated, but this could well be another nothing.
A woman stood in the pew Long Nose had abandoned, holding a backpack. She motioned to the man, signaling he’d left something. Long Nose waved her off and kept walking. The woman stepped out into the center aisle and hustled after him.
Malone remained in the transept.
Long Nose turned, saw the woman coming for him, backpack in hand. He rushed toward her, wrenched the black nylon bundle from her grip, and tossed it forward. It slid across the marble floor, stopping at the base of two short risers that led up to the altar.
Long Nose turned and ran for the exit.
Thoughts of Mexico City flooded Malone’s brain.
This was it.
Do something.
SEVENTY-TWO
THORVALDSEN WAITED FOR CAROLINE DODD TO CREEP CLOSER. She was skillfully using the wall’s nooks, shielding her advance toward the basilica’s south portal. He crouched and eased himself into position, waiting for her to pass. One hand clutched the gun, the other ready to snag his target. He could not allow her to leave. Over the past year he’d listened to tape after tape of her and Ashby conspiring. Though she may well be ignorant of all that Ashby did, she was no innocent.
He hugged the short side of a marble sarcophagus topped with an elaborate Renaissance carving. Dodd made her way down the tomb’s long side, the monument itself, and one of the massive columns shielding them both from view. He waited until she tried to make a dash for the next monument, then wrapped an arm around her neck, his palm finding her mouth.
Yanking her down, he jammed the gun into her neck and whispered, “Quiet, or I’ll let the man out there know where you are. I need you to nod your head if you understand.”
She did, and he released his grip.
She pushed back.
“Who the hell are you?” she whispered.
He heard the hope in her question that he was perhaps a friend. He decided to use that to his advantage.
“The person who can save your life.”
ASHBY KEPT A TIGHT GRIP ON HIS EXPRESSION AND STARED AT the gun, wondering if this would be the end of his life.
Lyon had no reason to keep him alive.
“Caroline,” Ashby called out. “You must return. I implore you. This man will kill me if you don’t.”
THORVALDSEN COULD NOT ALLOW PETER LYON TO DO WHAT he’d come to do.
“Tell Lyon to come and get you,” he whispered.
Caroline Dodd shook her head no.
She needed reassurance. “He won’t come. But it will buy Ashby time.”
“How do you know who we are?”
He had no time for explanations, so he aimed his gun at her. “Do it, or I’ll shoot you.”
SAM DECIDED TO MAKE A MOVE. HE HAD TO KNOW IF MEAGAN was okay. He’d seen no movement from the top of the stairs, behind the altar. Lyon seemed more concerned with Caroline Dodd, forcing Ashby to have her return to where they stood, at the nave’s far west end.
While Lyon was distracted, this might be the time to act.
“Hey, asshole,” Meagan called out through the dark, “you missed.”
What in the world?
“AND WHO ARE YOU?” LYON ASKED THE DARKNESS.
Ashby wanted to know the answer to that question, too.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
The echo off the stone walls made it impossible to pinpoint the woman’s location, but Ashby assumed it was the same figure they’d spotted climbing the stairs into the ambulatory.
“I’m going to kill you,” Lyon said.
“You have to find me first. And that means you have to shoot the good Lord Ashby there.”
She knew his name. Who was this?
“Do you know who I am, too?”
“Peter Lyon. Terrorist extraordinaire.”
“Are you with the Americans?” Lyon asked.
“I’m with me.”
Ashby watched Lyon. The man was clearly rattled. The gun remained pointed directly at him, but Lyon’s attention was on the voice.
“What do you want?” Lyon asked.
“Your hide.”
Lyon chuckled. “Many covet that prize.”
“That’s what I hear. But I’m the one who’s going to get it.”
THORVALDSEN LISTENED TO THE EXCHANGE BETWEEN MEAGAN and Lyon. He realized what she was doing, creating confusion, forcing Lyon to possibly make a mistake. Reckless on her part. But perhaps Meagan had gauged the situation correctly. Lyon’s attention was now divided among three possible threats. Ashby, Caroline, and the unknown voice. He’d have to make a choice.
Thorvaldsen’s gun remained aimed on Caroline Dodd. He could not allow Meagan to take the chance she’d clearly assumed. He jutted the weapon forward and whispered, “Tell him you’re going to reveal yourself.”
She shook her head.
&
nbsp; “You’re not really going to do it. I just need him to come this way so I can shoot him.”
She seemed to consider that proposal. After all, he did have a gun.
“All right, Lyon,” Dodd finally called out. “I’m coming back.”
MALONE PUSHED HIS WAY THROUGH THE NEAREST PEW, FILLED with sitting worshipers. He figured he had at least a minute or two. Long Nose had apparently planned on surviving the attack, which meant he’d given himself time to leave the church. But the Good Samaritan woman, trying to return his left backpack, had eaten into some of that cushion.
He found the center aisle and turned for the altar.
His mouth opened to shout a warning, but no sound came out. Any alarm would be futile. His only chance was to get the bomb away.
As he’d studied the crowd, he’d also studied the geography. Adjacent to the main altar was a stairway that led down into what he assumed was a crypt. Every one of these old churches came with a crypt.
He saw the priest take notice of the commotion and stop the service.
He reached the backpack.
No time to know if he was right or wrong.
He snatched the bundle up from the floor—heavy—and darted left, tossing it down the steps where, ten feet below, an iron gate was open into a dimly lit space beyond.
He hoped to God no one was in there.
“Everybody,” he yelled in French. “Get down. It’s a bomb. Down to the floor, behind the pews.”
Many dove out of sight, others stood stunned.
“Get down—”
The bomb exploded.
SEVENTY-THREE
ASHBY BREATHED AGAIN AS LYON HEARD CAROLINE AND LOWERED his weapon.