Luke sat in the holding cell.
Familiar territory.
How many had he graced over the years?
His clothes were still wet from his second dip in the Med. His boat had sunk the yacht, killing all the men aboard. The harbor patrol had responded to the explosion and fished the bodies and him from the water, though he’d tried to avoid them in the dark.
Damn night-vision goggles.
It would have been so much easier to just swim back to shore unnoticed. The locals were rarely helpful. Most times they were a giant pain in the ass. And this time was no exception. He’d deflected all of their questions, practicing the ol’ Sergeant Schultz of I see nothing, hear nothing, know nothing. He’d loved Hogan’s Heroes. The only thing he had said was United States Justice Department and Stephanie Nelle, coupled with a request to make a call.
Which they’d allowed.
He’d explained his current dilemma to Stephanie, keeping his story short, and she’d told him to sit tight.
No problem there.
But over an hour had passed since then in silence.
Which had given him time to think.
The steel door beyond the cell clattered open and a man entered the holding area. He recognized the face from the safe house. Kevin Hahn, head of Maltese security, and he did not look happy.
“I’ve spoken with Ms. Nelle,” Hahn said. “She told me about what happened with Laura. We found her body, and that of the Entity’s second in command, just where you said.” He pointed. “You killed four men, Mr. Daniels. This isn’t the United States. Murders are rare here. Yet we’ve had seven in the past twelve hours.”
He stood and faced the idiot through the bars. He wasn’t in the mood for lectures. Like Malone taught him. Never take crap from the locals. “I’m an agent for the United States government, on assignment, doing my job. Now get me out of here.”
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Over the past hour a lot had raced through his mind. Especially what Laura had told him when they first talked outside the guva. When he’d asked who’d told her he was on the island.
“My boss. He gave me an order. I do what he tells me.”
“How did you know I was headed into trouble?”
“Same answer. My boss told me.”
“How did you know that I’d been sent here?” he asked Hahn.
“Who says I did?”
“Your dead agent. What were you doing with Spagna at that safe house?”
“You don’t really expect me to answer either question.”
“Actually, I do.”
“We need to go.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all you’re going to get.”
But he didn’t need one. He’d already concluded that there was one constant across his entire encounter with Laura Price and that was this man, her boss. He was actually planning on looking this roly-poly up just as soon as he was sprung. Stephanie had just saved him the trouble.
“You were working with Spagna,” he said.
And he suddenly saw regret in the man’s eyes.
“I made a mistake. There’s more going on here than I realized.” Hahn paused. “Much more. Spagna asked for help. He made a good case, so I went along.”
“Apparently Spagna and you underestimated the opposition. Whoever the opposition is.”
“We’re still working to identify the men from the boat.”
“Laura and the guy from the Vatican said they were Secreti.”
“That would be amazing, if true. That group was disbanded two centuries ago.”
“They both seemed real sure that it was still around. And some of them tried to toss me through a window.”
“Your Ms. Nelle was sparse on information when she called to tell me about you. Care to tell me what’s going on?”
“I know about as much as you do.”
Which wasn’t far from the truth. But if Stephanie had stayed silent, so would he.
“She asked me to secure your release,” Hahn said. “I’ve done that.”
“I appreciate it. I also need a car.”
“That can be arranged. Where are you headed?”
This guy was a bit of a Nosy Nellie, as his mother liked to say. So he gave him the standard reply.
“To do my job.”
Pollux stepped outside into the night. He and his men had come back to ground level to retrieve what they needed to finish. The clock was now ticking and there was a lot to be done.
Thankfully, he was ready.
He heard the buzz of a phone and one of his men drifted away and answered the call. He watched as the conversation ensued, then ended.
“We’ve just learned there’s a problem. Our boat offshore was attacked and sunk. All of the brothers are dead.”
He kept the shock to himself and calmly asked, “How?”
“The American, Daniels. He escaped during the kill on Laura Price and Bishop Roy and found his way to our boat.”
Disturbing news, no doubt. But not game changing. And there it was again. That ability to shift directions at a moment’s notice. To turn a problem into an opportunity. “Where is Daniels now?”
“In custody.”
Perfect.
His personal motto came from the Book of James. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.
His life had been a series of hurdles. He’d dutifully served in the military, then was hired by the Hospitallers to work abroad in their medical missions. He eventually professed his allegiance and took the oaths of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Then he’d languished in unimportant jobs. Playing second to one knight after another. He eventually rose to grand commander, charged with spreading the faith, supervising priories, and compiling reports to the Holy See, becoming one of the order’s top four officers.
Then came Kastor’s chaos.
And he was made temporary head.
Time for another promotion.
“We keep going. As planned.”
He headed back inside, then down to the guva chamber. His men followed, one carrying a folding chair and a duffel bag. He passed the hole in the ground and exited from the second door into another corridor that led to the next chamber. He’d chosen this spot for not only its privacy but also its lighting, which was much brighter.
“Set the chair up there,” he said pointing. Then he pointed at the other brother. “Keep a watch outside. Though I doubt we’ll be disturbed.”
The man left.
He faced the remaining brother.
“Shall we start?”
Cotton rounded a curve and realized that the chapel was not far ahead. His senses were on full alert. The situation had shifted from curious to serious. One or both Gallos could be in trouble.
He doused the headlights and stopped on the side of the road.
In the distance he saw the chapel on the ridge. A car remained parked out front. Were the two brothers still there?
How many times had he been in this exact situation?
Too many to count.
He thought of Cassiopeia. Where was she? Surely asleep, at home in France. He hadn’t heard from her in a few days. Good thing, too. If she knew he was deep into a mess, she’d be on a plane headed his way. He didn’t like placing her in danger, though she was more than capable of handling herself. She was an extraordinary woman who’d dropped into his life out of nowhere. Initially, neither of them had cared for the other, but time and circumstances had changed everything. What would she say now? Figure it out. Finish it. He smiled. Good advice.
He spotted a splash of light in the dark. The chapel’s door had opened and a man stepped out into the night.
Alone.
He watched as the solitary figure stood for a moment, then eased away from the door, leaving it partially open. He waited to see if the figure was leaving. No. The car remained dark and still.
A guard?
Maybe.
He switched off the car’s interior light, then eased open the door and slipped out, pocketing the key remote. The chapel was about three hundred yards away. He hustled in that direction, using the dark and a mass of low scrub and the few trees as cover. He approached from the western side and kept low, not catching sight of the man he knew was outside. It wasn’t until he came close to the building that he spotted the figure about fifty yards away, back to him, surveying the valley that stretched to the south. A dull glow had begun to rise on the eastern horizon. Dawn was coming. He needed the guard distracted and had decided on the hike over that the car might prove the best mechanism. He pressed his body against the chapel wall and aimed the remote control back toward where he’d come from, hoping its range was sufficient.
Then he hesitated.
Pressing the button would set off the horn, accompanied by the headlights flashing, and the element of surprise would be gone. He decided instead to be patient and glanced back again around the corner at the solitary figure. Darkness remained thick across the valley. The man casually turned to his right and moved farther away from the chapel, finding a cell phone and making a call. He crouched and used the shadows for cover, darting toward the open front door. He slipped in, keeping his eyes on the guard, who’d noticed nothing.
Inside was empty and quiet, the same lights from earlier still burning. He hustled toward the far apse and through the concealed panel, which also remained opened.
The inner chapel was likewise empty. This was as far as he’d gone earlier. The reliquary remained on the altar. He noticed chucks of red wax lying beside it and realized one end had been opened, but the parchments were still safe inside. He scanned the interior and noticed that the chapel extended farther into the limestone ridge. He followed its path and spotted another oak door, half open. Beyond, a spiral staircase wound down. He descended to a narrow, lit corridor. Immediately he was uncomfortable with the tight, enclosed space.
Not his favorite.
He sucked a deep breath and walked ahead to where he found a more spacious chamber with a black hole in the earthen floor. Everything was illuminated by honey-colored light, as thick and sickly sweet as the confined air around him. He glanced down into the hole and saw only blackness. A rope snaked a path from a wooden pillar embedded into the ground down into the void. He wondered how deep the thing was and its purpose.
He heard voices.
Coming from beyond a half-open door at the other end, about fifty feet away.
He crept toward the sound.