Day 21 – Thursday, one p.m.
Mater Dolorosa
“Are we still in Mater Dolorosa?” Ginny asked.
Grace screwed up her forehead. “I think so. I’ve been able to hear the bells for mass.”
“Okay. Let me think.” Ginny cleared her mind of all the trouble they were in and let her eyes do their job. Old paint on the walls, crumbling and peeling. An old ceiling, too, the plaster falling to make mounds of white dust on the floor. Storage shelves and a large, bare sink with large, bare faucets. A utility room. Rags and a jug or two of cleaning solution.
Ginny wasn’t a chemist. Even if she could locate the right chemicals, the most she could do would be to combine ammonia with chlorine bleach and kill Grace and herself with poison gas. Not the best outcome.
She gazed up at the naked light bulb that hung over their heads. If she could reach it, she could short out the system and alert someone to come check on them. Also not the best outcome.
There were a few tools: a rubber mallet, a screwdriver, a paint brush. A quick check confirmed they had taken her coat, purse, phone, keys, watch, and the small gun she wore on her ankle when she went out. On a really good day she might be able to strangle someone with her bra, but this was not a good day. Nor would they come alone. They would come in pairs, and armed. Jumping them would probably only get her killed faster.
The church was old enough to have a historic marker. Solidly built, but more than a century and a half ago. Ginny’s brow furrowed. What was it her mother had told her about this building? That the land on which it sat had subsided, because of the weight.
All the buildings in the north Texas area had similar problems. The clay on which they stood sucked up the water, then dried out, unevenly, and the foundations cracked. With a big, heavy cathedral-type structure, the weight had compressed the earth beneath it as far as it could go. It didn’t rock back and forth, as the smaller buildings did, but it had settled five feet since it was built.
Meanwhile, Dallas had grown up around it. Over time, the streets had been repaved and drainage added and utilities buried and landscaping done. At the point where the entrance to the church lay fully below ground level, they gave up and made a new entrance on what had been the second floor. A magnificent staircase now invited worshippers to divine service, climbing toward heaven, rather than descending into the bowels of the earth.
Ginny blinked slowly, her eyes on the dust piles on the floor. They seemed out of place. The rest of the room was neat and reasonably clean. There was a broom in the corner, and a dustpan. Someone swept this room regularly. So why the dust? She crawled over to the nearest pile and examined it. A tiny mountain of white powder, a stream from the ceiling above.
Construction. There was always construction going on in Dallas. One could not escape it. In this part of town, Ginny knew, it was a subway extension. The Rapid Transit people had proposed a new set of rails, with a stop at the church. The tunnel had been dug. Once the rest of the infrastructure was in place, they would knock down a portion of the church wall and make a new entrance. That explained the dust. The heavy equipment needed to make a subway would shake this old building hard.
There was no work going on this week, of course. It was Christmas and everyone had the week off. So, no one to hear if they screamed. Thick walls, too.
Ginny’s eyes moved from the floor to the walls. When the church was first built, this was the ground floor. Every room with exterior walls would have had windows. She climbed shakily to her feet, crossed to the shelves and tried to lift one end.
“What are you doing?”
“We need to barricade that door.”
“What good will that do? They’ll just break it down.”
“It might give us enough time to find a way out of here.”
Grace nodded and gave her a hand moving the shelving and supplies. The door opened inward, so it would take some time to push past the obstruction.
“Okay. Next.” Ginny picked up the mallet. She rejected the wall with the interior door, turning her back on it, and facing the opposite side of the room. She walked over and began tapping, listening to the sound the small blows made. Small blows, because she didn’t want anyone who might be outside that door to hear.
She moved methodically across the expanse, listening carefully. Windows were usually installed at waist level or higher. She estimated the distance to that naked light bulb. Not twenty feet. Might be twelve.
About one third of the way along, she heard a change in the resonance. She turned to Grace.
“Would you bring me that screwdriver and see if you can find something to pry with? A crowbar of some sort?”
Working carefully, quietly, aware their captors could come check on them at any moment, Ginny and Grace broke holes through the wallboard, then peeled it away, revealing the original interior wall.
“There it is.” Ginny pointed.
It was higher than she expected, about five feet off the floor, but clearly an old-fashioned window that was intended to be raised to let light and air into the room. Ginny climbed one of the racks and inspected it.
“Nailed and painted shut. We’ll have to break it. Hand me that drop cloth, please, and stand clear. There may be flying glass.”
Ginny laid the drop cloth over the ancient glass and gave it a sharp rap with the mallet. The pane broke sweetly and fell outside. Cold air rushed into the room.
“Okay. Turn out the light and come over here.”
“If I turn out the light, I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.”
“It will give our eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness outside and will help to blind the bad guys if they manage to break through that door.”
“Oh, okay.”
Ginny knocked out the other five panes as quickly as she could, then broke the wooden frame, making a hole large enough for them to crawl through. That part of the process was noisy.
“Come on.” She spread the drop cloth over the shattered edge of the window, then hoisted herself through, dropping to the ground outside. Grace followed.
“I think I’ve cut my hand.”
“Me too. Let’s go.”
“Which way?”
It was a good question. They were in deep gloom, with no obvious way out.
“If this is the train tunnel, it has to lead somewhere.”
“Are we in danger from the train?”
“No. The tracks haven’t been laid yet.”
“I wish we had some light.”
Ginny looked both ways, shivering in the cold and anxious to get started. She touched her talisman, silently asking for help, then made a decision. “This way.” If she was right, they would be heading further downtown and into a more populated part of the city.
“I think I see a light.”
Ginny stopped. “Where?”
“That way.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Well, I’m going that way.”
“Grace, wait.” But she was gone.
Ginny hesitated for only a moment, then turned her back on the other woman and headed for downtown. She focused all her attention on the uneven ground, trying to make as good time as possible. Ten minutes later she was rewarded with a steady increase in the ambient lighting. Another ten minutes brought her to the exit.
The winter sun poured through the grille that separated her from freedom, showing her massive steel bars, and a chain with a padlock the size of Jim’s fist. She examined the lock, wishing she’d learned how to pick one, but unconvinced that her hairpins would have been enough against this industrial-strength obstacle. The Transit Authority wanted to make sure no one came onto the construction site and got hurt. It made sense. It also made her heart sink. She examined her options.
The grille did not go all the way to the earthen floor or all the way to the curved roof. What’s more, the ceiling looked like normal dirt. With the right tool, she might be able to move some of it out of her way. She looked around and found a discarded chisel. She climbed the grille, wedged herself into the space to see how much dirt she needed to remove, then set to work.
She was making progress. Her shoulder fit through the gap and her head almost did when she heard the pursuers coming down the tunnel. She could see flashlights waving around and hear voices, one of them Grace’s.
Ginny abandoned her work and looked for some place to hide. The walls and floor were solid earth. There were no construction containers or huge spools of wire or anything else big enough to hide a full-grown woman. She looked up and found pipes and conduits running along the ceiling. If she could reach them, she could use them as a shield.
She swung off the grille and onto a pipe, climbed as high as she could, then squirmed into a spot between the big water main and the ceiling and settled down, prepared to stay very, very still. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t look up. And if they did, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t show from that angle. She thanked heaven she had decided to wear dark sweats today. The pants and top covered most of her pale skin. She stuffed her hair inside her shirt, tucked her hands up against her chest, put her head down on the pipe, and tried to still her racing heart.
* * *
Thursday, one p.m.
Mater Dolorosa
Jim stood in Father Ignacio’s office, trying not to give anything away.
“She never made it this far?” Jim studied the other man’s face, looking for a tell. There! The break in eye contact, just for a second and back almost immediately. He was lying. He’d seen her. So where was she, and why did he have to lie about it? Jim leaned over the surface of the desk, toward the other man, sliding the tiny microphone under the edge and pressing it in place.
“Are you sure?” He tried for just the right balance of confusion, worry, and suspicion.
“We had an appointment, but she never came.” Father Ignacio registered concern. “I do hope nothing has happened to her.”
Jim straightened up, running his hand through his hair, and letting his anxiety show on his face. “Me, too. Will you let me know if you hear from her?” He took out a business card and handed it over.
“Of course.” Father Ignacio rose and escorted Jim to the corridor. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, but I’ll put the word out immediately.”
“Thank you.” Jim shook his hand, then headed back to the car. He needed to be seen leaving.
Fergus beat him to it. “Get in.” He handed Jim the second ear piece, let him close the door, then moved off.
Jim plugged the device in and was immediately rewarded. “Have you found them?” Father Ignacio’s voice sounded in his ear. Then something in Spanish.
Fergus translated. “They pulled the wallboard off and broke a window. They’re in the train tunnel.”
Satisfaction in the priest’s voice this time. “Excellent. They can’t get out. Take as many men as you need. I want them both alive.”
The reply came in Spanish, but Jim had no trouble translating this one for himself. “Yes, Bishop.”
Jim grabbed the GPS and tapped until he got what he wanted.
“Which way?” Fergus asked.
“Turn right at the next corner. You’re looking for the rail line. Unless you’re planning to go sit in the park and wait.”
Fergus’ nostrils flared. “I don’t work for that man.”
They drove until they saw the Coming Soon signs indicating the subway extension.
“There are two places where you can get down into the tunnel. We have to choose.”
Fergus pulled the car over and studied the map, then pointed at a spot on the enlargement. “This is where it joins up with the existing line.”
He parked in the area reserved for construction vehicles, then jumped out, reaching into the trunk. He handed Jim a heavy set of bolt cutters, then slipped a pistol into the space in the small of his back, strapped a loaded thigh holster in place, filled his pockets with ammunition, and pulled a third gun (fourth, if you counted the shoulder holster he was already wearing) out of its case. He looked at the weapon in his hand, then at Jim.
“Can you hit what you aim at?” he asked.
Jim met Fergus’ eyes. He was tempted to lie, to save face, but decided Ginny’s safety was more important. “Not consistently.”
The other man nodded. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
* * *