“No, ma’am,” Lipton said. “Now, please stand back.”
Someone said something that Lipton couldn’t quite catch.
“Ms. McGarvey?”
“They’ve planted explosives,” Elizabeth said.
“Where?”
“In the stone wall about ten feet below our window.”
“Can you see any wires? Maybe something attached to this door?”
“There are wires outside on the wall, but not in here.”
Lipton looked over his shoulder at Tyrell. “A remote detonator?”
“Makes sense,” Tyrell said. “They wanted to lure McGarvey here. Maybe they figured to let him get this far and then blow the place.”
“But he’s not here yet,” Lipton said. “And Spranger’s people have their hands full at the moment.”
“Go for it,” Tyrell said softly, after just a moment’s hesitation.
“Ms. McGarvey,” Lipton called. “I want you and your mother to get as far away from the door as you possibly can. Have you got a bed in there?”
“Yes, yes, there are two beds here,” Elizabeth called.
“I want you to take the mattress off one of the beds, then crouch down in a corner and cover you and your mother with it. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you one minute and we’ll blow this door,” Lipton said, and he stepped aside for Joslow, who expertly placed a few ounces of plastique around the door lock, cracked a short acid fuse and stuck it in the explosive.
They all went to the end of the short corridor, and sixty-five seconds later the plastique blew with a respectable bang.
“Get them out of there, on the double,” Lipton ordered. They were at their most vulnerable at this point. If one of Spranger’s men had heard the explosion and had realized what was going on up here, he might push the button.
Tyrell and Joslow rushed into the cell, and Lipton called to Reid who was halfway down the stairs. “Clear, Tony?” he called softly.
“Clear,” Reid answered.
“We’re on our way.”
Tyrell and Joslow emerged from the cell leading the two very shaken women. For just an instant Lipton was taken aback by their appearance. Their shaved heads made them look bizarre, but they seemed to be relatively unharmed.
“We’re taking you out of here now,” he told them.
“You have to help my father,” Elizabeth cried. “I won’t leave without him.”
“We’ll help him,” Lipton promised. “But first we’re going to get you and your mother out of danger.”
Elizabeth shook her head bitterly. “You’re already too late for that,” she said.
Chapter 58
McGarvey crouched in the darkness of the visitor’s loft above the nave, his breathing ragged, smoke curling off his clothing. His heart was hammering and his vision wavered, but he was alive and he was sure he’d heard a small explosion, a long way off, perhaps somewhere above.
Flames from the still-burning helicopter illuminated the church with a flickering glow, the air temperature was up at least ten degrees, perhaps more.
It was hard to keep his thinking straight. The concussion when the chopper had blown had knocked the wind out of him. But he was aware enough to know what he’d just heard.
If Lipton’s team had come ashore they might have run into trouble by now. He didn’t want to give voice to what he feared most, but he couldn’t stop himself from working out the possible significance of the small blast.
The East Germans had expected him to rush blindly into the monastery complex in an effort to find Kathleen and Elizabeth. They wanted him to make a mistake so that they could corner him. No doubt they’d booby-trapped the area where they were holding the women, turning it into a killing ground.
With explosives?
But he hadn’t done what they wanted. Instead he’d climbed up to the second level and doubled back. Spranger’s people would be coming to see about their precious helicopter, and sooner or later they would have to enter the church.
McGarvey’s grip tightened on his pistol. The only way he could possibly win against such odds was to pick them off one at a time. Lead them into a blind rush. Cause them to make mistakes.
In the meantime, the one who’d fired on Schade was up here somewhere. He could almost feel the man’s presence. Killing him would be a pleasure.
Every joint in his body ached from the concussion, and the ringing in his ears was only just beginning to fade. It felt as if he’d been run over by a railroad locomotive.
But he was lucky to be alive. By some chance the primary force of the explosion had been directed away from him, sending burning fuel from the chopper’s port tanks spewing against the buildings on the opposite side of the courtyard, allowing him time to get out of there before he was too badly burned.
It was possible that Schade had calculated the effect that his grenade would have and had tossed it to just the right spot. Every Navy SEAL was trained in the use of explosives. But Schade had been critically wounded. If his toss hadn’t been lucky, it had been miraculous.
The kid hadn’t one chance in a million of getting out of there alive, of course.
The last McGarvey had seen of him, his body was completely engulfed in flames. He hoped the boy was dead before the fire reached him.
The door into the nave from the residence hall crashed open, the sound reverberating loudly in the cavernous hall, and McGarvey edged around a stone pillar so that he could see down onto the main floor.
Nothing moved for a long second or two. The space beyond the open door was in darkness, so McGarvey couldn’t see a thing.
He slipped a little farther around the pillar, giving himself a clear shot over the low balustrade at anyone coming through the doorway.
Someone appeared in the doorway for just an instant, and then immediately fell back out of sight.
McGarvey leaned his shoulder up against the pillar for support, and cupped the elbow of his right arm with his left hand, the Walther’s front sight lined up just ahead of the doorway. He had removed the silencer for the sake of increased accuracy. There was no longer much need for stealth.
Someone moved off to his left. The shuffle of shoe leather against the flooring planks?
McGarvey froze. Schade’s killer? Or had Spranger’s people slammed open the door below as a diversion, directing his attention away from the real attack?
The sound came again, and as McGarvey started to drop down and turn left, someone rushed through the door into the nave and disappeared beneath the loft.
A bullet smacked into the stone pillar an inch from McGarvey’s head, flying chips cutting his cheek and forehead.
He fired two shots into the darkness as he continued falling back around the pillar, answering fire coming immediately, but hitting just above him. Then he was down, flat on the floor behind the pillar.
At least two other people came into the nave downstairs. He could hear them rushing beneath the balcony. They meant to isolate him up here, and when they were lined up and ready they would rush him.
The problem for him was the two flights of stairs from below; one at either end of the loft. No matter which stairwell he covered, he would be exposed to anyone coming up the other one.
Adding to his immediate troubles was Schade’s killer up here pinning him down until the real attack could
