'Whoever you are,' the man's voice said, 'must you interfere?'
'I could ask you the same question,' the woman said in a languid tone.
'This is not your business.'
'I disagree.'
'You assaulted two of my brothers in Copenhagen.'
'Let's say I ended your attack.'
'There will be retribution.'
'Come and get me.'
'Stop her,' the man yelled.
Black shapes rushed across overhead. Malone's eyes had adjusted and he made out a staircase at the far end of the catwalk.
He handed Stephanie the gun. 'Stay here.'
'Where are you going?'
'To repay a favor.'
He crouched down and hustled forward, weaving through the shelves. He waited, then tackled one of the men as he leaped from the last tread. The size and shape of the man was reminiscent of Red Jacket, but this time Malone was ready. He brought a knee into the man's stomach, then pounded a fist to the back of the neck.
The man went still.
Malone surveyed the darkness and heard running a few aisles over.
'No. Please leave me be.'
Claridon.
DE ROQUEFORT HEADED STRAIGHT FOR THE DOOR THAT LED OUT of the archives. He'd descended from the ramparts and knew the woman would want to make a hasty retreat, but her choices were limited. There was only the exit to the hall and one other, through the curator's office. But his man stationed there had just reported through the radio that all was quiet.
He now knew she was the same person who'd interfered in Copenhagen and probably the same one from last night in Rennes-le-Chateau. And that realization spurred him on. He must learn her identity.
The door leading out of the archives opened, then closed. In the wedge of light that splashed in from the hall he spied two legs lying prone on the floor between the shelves. He darted over and discovered one of his subordinates unconscious, a small dart planted in the neck. This brother had been stationed on the ground floor and had retrieved the notebook, journal, and lithograph.
Which were nowhere to be seen.
Damn her.
'Do as I instructed,' he called out to his remaining men.
He raced for the door.
MALONE HEARD THE MAN'S COMMAND AND DECIDED TO HEAD back to Stephanie. He had no idea what the men had been commanded to do, but he assumed it included them and wasn't good.
He crouched down and eased his way through the shelves, toward the table.
'Stephanie,' he breathed out.
'Here, Cotton.'
He slipped close to her. All he could hear now was the rain. 'There must be another way out of here,' she mouthed through the darkness.
He relieved her of the gun. 'Somebody left through the door. Probably the woman. I saw only one shadow. The others must have gone after Claridon and left through another exit.'
The door leading out opened again.
'That's him leaving,' he said.
They stood and rushed back across the archives. At the exit Malone hesitated, heard and saw nothing, then led the way out.
DE ROQUEFORT SPOTTED THE WOMAN RUNNING DOWN THE LONG gallery. She whirled and, not losing a step, fired a shot his way.
He dove to the floor, and she disappeared around a corner.
He came to his feet and bolted after her. Before she'd fired, he'd caught sight of the journal and the book in her grasp.
She had to be stopped.
MALONE SAW A MAN, DRESSED IN BLACK TROUSERS AND A DARK turtleneck, gun in hand, turn a corner fifty feet away.
'This is going to get interesting,' he said.
They both ran.
DE ROQUEFORT KEPT UP HIS PURSUIT. THE WOMAN WAS CERTAINLY attempting to leave the palace, and she seemed to know the geography. Every turn she took was the right one. She'd deftly obtained what she came for, so he had to assume that her escape would not be left to chance.
Through another portal, he entered a rib-vaulted hall. The woman was already at the far end, turning a corner. He trotted over and saw a wide stone staircase leading down. The Great Staircase of Honor. Once, lined with frescoes, broken by iron gates, and sheathed with Persian runners, the stairway had lent itself to the solemn majesty of pontifical ceremonies. Now the risers and walls were bare. The darkness at the bottom, some thirty yards away, was absolute. He knew below were exit doors into a courtyard. He heard the woman's footsteps as she descended but could not make out her form.
So he just fired.
Ten shots.
MALONE HEARD WHAT SOUNDED LIKE A HAMMER REPEATEDLY striking a nail. One sound-suppressed shot after another.
He slowed his approach to a doorway ten feet ahead.
HINGES SQUEALED AT THE BASE OF THE INK-BLACK STAIRWAY. De Roquefort recognized the sound of a door groaning open. The storm outside grew louder. Apparently his indiscriminate shots had missed. The woman was leaving the palace. He heard footsteps behind him, then spoke into the mike clipped to his shirt.
'Do you have what I wanted?'
'We do,' was the reply through his earphone.
'I'm in the Conclave Gallery. Mr. Malone and Ms. Nelle are behind me. Handle them.'
He rushed down the staircase.
MALONE SAW THE MAN IN THE TURTLENECK LEAVE THE CAVERNOUS hall that stretched out before them. Gun in hand, he ran ahead with Stephanie following.
Three armed men materialized from other portals into the room and blocked their way.
Malone and Stephanie stopped.
'Please toss the gun aside,' one of the men said.
No way he could take them all before either he, Stephanie, or both of them went down. So he allowed the gun to clatter on the floor.
The three men approached.
'What do we do now?' Stephanie asked.
'I'm open to suggestions.'
'There's nothing for you to do,' another of the short-hairs said.
They stood still.
