THORVALDSEN SAW THE CHAIR ARCH ACROSS THE NAVE TOWARD Lyon. Who else was here? Meagan was past the altar, in the upper ambulatory. Dodd was a meter away, terrified, and Ashby was near the west transept.
Lyon caught sight of the chair, whirled, and managed to maneuver out of the way just before the chair struck the floor. He then aimed his gun and fired a round toward the choir and the episcopal throne.
SAM FLED HIS HIDING PLACE JUST AS LYON AVOIDED THE CHAIR He darted left, between the columns and tombs, staying low, heading toward where Ashby sat.
Another shot rang out.
The bullet pinged off the stone a few inches from his right shoulder, which meant he’d been spotted.
Another pop.
The round ricocheted off more stone and he felt something sting his left shoulder. Intense pain shot through his arm and he lost his balance, careering to the floor. He rolled and assessed the damage. His left shirtsleeve was torn.
A blood rose blossomed. Sharp pain stabbed up from behind his eyes. He checked the wound and realized that he hadn’t been hit, only grazed-enough, though, to hurt like hell.
He clamped his right hand over the bleeding and rose to his feet.
THORVALDSEN TRIED TO SEE WHAT LYON WAS SHOOTING AT. Someone had thrown another chair. Then he spotted a black form rushing past, on the other side of the monument that served as his hiding place.
Dodd saw it, too, panicked, and scampered off, putting a procession of tombs between her and the nave.
Thorvaldsen caught a fleeting glimpse of the face of the form as it hustled past.
Sam.
He heard two more shots, then the thud of flesh and bone meeting stone.
No. Please, God. Not again.
He aimed at Peter Lyon and fired.
ASHBY DOVE FOR COVER. THE NAVE HAD ERUPTED INTO A melange of gunfire from all directions. He saw Lyon flatten himself on the floor and also use the chairs for cover.
Where was Caroline?
Why hadn’t she returned?
THORVALDSEN COULD NOT ALLOW ANYTHING TO HAPPEN TO Sam. Bad enough Meagan was involved. Caroline Dodd had disappeared, surely toward the open portal where wind and rain continued to howl. It would only take a moment for Lyon to recover and react, so he scampered away, toward where Sam had headed.
MALONE SHIELDED HIS HEAD WITH HIS ARMS AS THE EXPLOSION thundered through the nave, rattling the walls and windows. But his toss into the crypt had been true and the explosion’s brunt force stayed below, only a smoke and dust cloud bubbling up from the stairway.
He glanced around.
Everyone seemed okay.
Then panic assumed control and people swarmed for the exit. The priest and the two altar boys left, disappearing into the choir.
He stood before the main altar and watched the chaos, mindful that the bomber had probably made his escape. As the crowd thinned, standing at the rear of the center aisle was Stephanie, holding her gun to the ribs of Long Nose.
Three Paris policemen appeared through the main doors. One saw the automatic in Stephanie’s grasp and immediately found his weapon.
The other two followed suit.
Another non-uniformed officer appeared and called for the officers to stand down. They lowered their weapons, then rushed forward to handcuff Long Nose.
Stephanie marched down the center aisle.
“Nice catch,” he told her.
“Even better throw.”
“What do we do now?” he asked. “We’ve surely heard the last from Lyon.”
“I agree.”
He reached into his pocket and found his cell phone. “Maybe it’s time I try to reason with Henrik. Sam should be with him.”
He’d switched the unit to silent on the taxi ride to the church. Now he spied a missed call from about twenty minutes ago.
Thorvaldsen.
Placed after they’d talked.
He saw a voice-mail indicator and listened to the message.
“This is Meagan Morrison. I was with Sam today at the Eiffel Tower when you came. Henrik gave me his phone, so I’m calling at the same number where you called him. I hope this is Cotton Malone. That crazy old man has gone inside Saint-Denis after Ashby. There’s another man and a woman in there. Sam told me the man is Peter Lyon. Sam went in there, too. They need help. I thought I could let Sam do this alone. But… I can’t. He’s going to get himself hurt. I’m going in. I thought you should know.”
“We have to get there,” he said.
“It’s only eight miles, but the traffic is heavy. I’ve told the Paris police. They’re dispatching men right now. A chopper is on the way for us. It should be outside. The street’s been cleared so it can land.”
She’d thought of everything.
“I can’t send the police in there with sirens blasting,” she said. “I want Lyon. This may be our only shot. They’re headed there quietly.”
He knew that was the smart play.
But not for the people inside.
“We should beat them there,” she said.
“Let’s make sure we do.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
SAM CLUTCHED HIS ARM AND KEPT MOVING TOWARD THE END of the church that, he assumed, faced the plaza outside. He’d succeeded in drawing Peter Lyon’s attention away from Meagan, but he’d also managed to get injured. He only hoped that they could all occupy Lyon long enough for help to arrive.
Thorvaldsen had apparently come to his rescue, firing on Lyon and allowing him the opportunity for an escape.
But where was the Dane now?
He found the last column in the row that supported the vault. Open space loomed beyond. He pressed his spine close and risked a peek into the nave.
Lyon was running toward a staircase, left of the altar, that led up to where Meagan was hiding.
“No,” Sam screamed.
ASHBY COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS HEARING. LYON WAS finally moving away, toward the other end of the church, far enough that he could make an escape for the doors. He’d been patiently waiting, watching as the demon avoided whoever was shooting at him from the south transept. He didn’t know who that was, but he was
