Cemetery Dance

that the other groups could organize and then descend en masse. If they didn't get Nora out before the main force made its move…

Ahead, Pendergast stopped, placed the duffel on the ground, opened it, and drew out two sets of coarse brown robes. D'Agosta, already sweating in the body armor he'd donned, felt glad it was a cold day. Pendergast passed him one of the robes, and he immediately pulled it over his head and tucked the hood up around his face. The FBI agent followed suit, examined himself in a pocket mirror, then held it up so D'Agosta could do the same. Not bad, if he kept the hood on and his head down. He watched as the agent pulled other supplies from the duffel — a small flashlight with extra batteries, a knife, a cold chisel and hammer, a set of lockpicks — and stowed them in a hip bag, which he then tucked beneath his robes. D'Agosta patted his own waist, satisfying himself that his Glock 19 and its extra magazines were within easy access.

Pendergast stowed the now — empty backpack under a fallen log, scraped some leaves over it, then nodded for D'Agosta to follow him up the embankment that lay directly ahead. They crawled up the steep slope, peered over the top. The Ville's chain — link fence stood about twenty yards off, this stretch of it rusted and decrepit, several gaping holes clearly visible. Fifty yards beyond lay the misshapen cluster of buildings, shadowy in the dying light of evening, the vast form of the old church dominating all.

D'Agosta remembered the first time he had been in these woods, clobbered on the head for his pains. He removed the Glock and kept it in his hand as he rose. That wouldn't happen again.

Following Pendergast, he darted to the chain — link fence, slipped through one of the gaps, and jogged at a crouch to the base of the outer walls of the Ville. They moved around the curve until they reached a small, rotting door set into the wall, locked with a padlock. A sharp blow of Pendergast's chisel wrenched it off, padlock, hinges, and all. The agent pushed it open to reveal a narrow, trash — strewn alley, almost completely enclosed by overhanging roofs, running along one side of the massive church. He ducked inside and D'Agosta followed, shutting the door behind them. Pendergast pressed his ear against the back wall of the church, and D'Agosta followed suit. Inside, he could hear a singsong voice rising and falling, a priestly tone full of quaverings and denunciations and exhortations, but too muffled and faint to discern any words — assuming it was English to begin with. Periodically a multivoiced response would come in unison, like the drone of a mindless chorus, and then the crazed chant would begin again.

Mingled with it came the faint, high — pitched whinnying of a frightened colt.

D'Agosta tried to push that horror out of his mind and focus on what they were doing. He moved down the alley at Pendergast's heels, ducking from doorway to darkened doorway, keeping his head bent and his face hidden. No one seemed about; most likely everyone was in the church for the vile ceremony. The alley made a sharp dogleg into a crazy complex of ancient, rickety buildings, then passed by a larger building attached to the church that looked like it might be the old parsonage or rectory.

The first door they came to in the parsonage was locked, but Pendergast had it open in less than five seconds. Stepping quickly inside, they found themselves in a room that was dark, the air stifling. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, D'Agosta saw that it was a dining room, with an old oak table, chairs, and many candles in candelabra with massive accumulations of drippings. The only light came from the CRT terminal of an old DOS — era computer, hugely out of place among the ancient furniture. Doorways to the east, south, and west led to even more shadowy rooms.

The sound of the priest's ranting was louder here, filtering in from an indeterminate direction.

All at once the problem that they faced — finding Nora in this vast asylum of buildings — seemed insurmountable. He immediately shook off the thought. One step at a time.

'The kitchens in these old houses always had a way down to the basement storerooms,' Pendergast whispered. He chose a doorway seemingly at random — the one to the east — and walked through it. D'Agosta followed suit. They were in a pantry, stacked with burlap sacks that appeared to be full of grain. There, at the end, was an ancient, primitive dumbwaiter. Stepping past Pendergast, D'Agosta walked over, slid open the door, switched on the light, and peered down—waydown.

Suddenly, he heard a voice from behind them, loud and sharp. 'You two. What are you doing here?'

Chapter 62

Deputy Chief Harry Chislett slid out of the rear seat of the unmarked Crown Vic and walked briskly across the sidewalk to where his personal aide, Inspector Minerva, was surveying the crowd through a pair of binoculars.Crowd, Chislett reflected, was something of an overstatement: there were two hundred, two fifty at most, scattered across the baseball diamond at the park's entrance, waving placards and chanting. They looked like the same tree — hugging types that had assembled the last time. As he watched, a ragged cheer went up, dying out almost as soon as it started.

'Do you see that bearded fellow?' he asked. 'The movie director, the one who whipped them up last time?'

Minerva scanned the field with his binoculars. 'Nope.'

'The control points and forward field positions?'

'We've got teams in place at each location.'

'Capital.' Chislett listened as another halfhearted cheer went up. The protesters sounded a lot more apathetic than they had the last time. And without that speaker to whip them up, this affair would no doubt fizzle in short order. Even if it didn't, he was prepared.

'Sir.' He turned and, to his surprise, saw a woman with captain's bars on her collar standing beside him. She was petite and dark — haired, and she returned his gaze with a cool self — confidence that he immediately found both irritating and a little intimidating. She wasn't part of his staff, but he recognized her nevertheless: Laura Hayward. Youngest female captain on the force. And Lieutenant D'Agosta's girlfriend — or, if gossip was correct, ex — girlfriend. Neither attribute endeared her to him.

'Yes, Captain?' he said in a clipped voice.

'I was at your briefing earlier. I tried to get in to see you afterward, but you left before I could reach you.'

'And?'

'With all due respect, sir, given the field plan you described, I'm not sure you have sufficient manpower to control this crowd.'

'Manpower? Crowd? Observe them for yourself, Captain.' Chislett swept his hand over the baseball diamond. 'Don't you detect a paucity of protesters? They'll turn tail and run from the first cop who says boo to them.'

Listening, Inspector Minerva grinned.

'I don't believe this is all of them. There may be others coming.'

'And just where would they come from?'

'There are any number of rallying places in this neighborhood where a sizable assembly could gather,' Hayward replied. 'And, in fact, I've noticed quite a lot of people gathering in various spots up here — especially for a weekday evening in the fall.'

'That is precisely why we have our men in forward positions. It gives us the flexibility we need to act quickly.' He tried to keep the note of irritation out of his voice.

'I saw your diagram, sir. Those forward positions consist of only half a dozen officers each. If your line is breached, the protesters have a straight shot at the Ville itself. And if Nora Kelly is being held hostage inside — as seems possible — her captors may panic. Her life will be in jeopardy.'

This was just the line of crap that D'Agosta had been spewing. Maybe he'd even been the one to put her up to it.

'Your concern is noted,' Chislett replied, no longer bothering to hide the sarcasm in his tone, 'although I note for the record that a judge earlier today stated there was absolutely no evidence that Nora Kelly was there and refused to grant a search warrant of the Ville. Now, would you kindly tell me just what you're doing here, Captain? The last time I checked, Inwood Hill Park wasn't part of your jurisdiction.'