Instead, she remembered what she had read, about Vance's suggestion that the founder of the Templars was a Cathar. Vance had just told her that he'd found the letter in the Languedoc—where he had suggested, much to the affront of the French historian whose article she'd read, that Hughes de Payens's family came from. She wanted to know more about that, but before she could speak up, she heard a jarring noise from above, like a brick scraping against a stone floor.
Abruptly, Vance jumped to his feet. 'Stay here,' he ordered.
Her eyes darted up to the ceiling, looking for its source. 'What is it?'
'Just stay here,' he insisted as he moved urgently. He went behind the table and pulled out the Taser he had used on her, then decided against it and discarded it. He then rummaged through a pouch and pulled out another gun, this one a more traditional handgun, and awkwardly chambered a round as he hurried to the steps.
He climbed them briskly and, when his legs were out of view, she heard the metallic thud as he closed and locked the door behind him.
Chapter 35
De Angelis cursed to himself the instant his foot nudged the charred piece of timber off its sitting and disturbed the settlement of debris around him. Moving stealthily through the burned-out church wasn't easy; scorched rafters and chunks of broken stone from the collapsed roof littered the dark, damp space around him.
He'd been initially surprised to find that this wreck was where Plunkett had trailed Tess and her silver-haired abductor. Skulking through the silent, ghostly remains of the Church of the Ascension, he now realized it was a perfect spot for someone who wanted to work undisturbed; someone whose dedication went beyond simple matters of personal comfort. One more confirmation, not that he needed it, that the man he was after knew exactiy what it was he had taken from the Met that night.
De Angelis had entered the church from a side entrance; less than forty minutes earlier, Plunkett had observed a blindfolded Tess Chaykin being helped out of the back of the gray Volvo and led through the same entrance by her abductor. She had seemed barely conscious and needed the man's assistance to take the few steps into the doorway, her arm looped over his shoulder.
The small church was on West 114th Street, tucked in between two rows of brownstones with a narrow alleyway running alongside its east facade, which was where the Volvo and the sedan were now parked. The church had suffered a major fire in the recent past, and its reconstruction was evidently not in the cards yet. A large panel out front displayed the progress of the fund-raising efforts for the rebuilding in the form of a six-foot-high thermometer, which was graduated in the hundreds of thousands of dollars needed to bring the church back to its former glory. The thermometer currently stood at only one-third full.
The monsignor had made his way through a narrow passage and into the nave. Rows of columns divided it into two side aisles and a center section, which was strewn with mounds of half-burned pews. All around him, the stucco had been burned off the walls, exposing the brick masonry, which was blackened and occasionally holed. Below the ceiling, the few remaining plaster arches that spanned from the exterior walls to the columns were unrecognizable, charred and deformed by the flames. Only a hollow ring remained where the stained-glass window had proudly stood over the church's entrance, its wide opening now boarded up.
He had crept along the edge of the nave, past the melted brass gates of the altar, and had climbed carefully up the steps and onto the sanctuary. The scorched remains of a large canopied pulpit loomed to his right. All around him, the church was silent with only the occasional noise from the street wafting in through one of the many cavities in its exposed shell. He had surmised that whoever had taken the girl must be using the back rooms. With Plunkett outside keeping watch, he now slipped quietly past the remnants of the altar and into the passage behind the sanctuary, slowly twirling a silencer onto the nozzle of his Sig Sauer handgun.
And that was when his foot nudged the debris.
The noise echoed around him in the darkened hallway. He froze, listening carefully, alert to any disturbance he may have triggered. Squinting, he could barely make out a door at the far end of the passage, when suddenly, from beyond the door, he heard a muffled thud, then faint footsteps coming closer. Swiftly, De Angelis stepped aside, hugging the wall, raising his handgun. Footsteps approached the hall, the door handle rattled, but instead of the door opening outward, toward him, it opened inward and all that he saw was a dark space. He was the one in the light.
Too late and too dangerous to retreat, which was not, anyway, in his nature, he hurled himself forward into the darkness.
+ + +
Gripping his gun with tight fingers, Vance stared through the doorway at the man who had trespassed into his sanctuary. He didn't recognize him. He glimpsed what he thought was a clerical collar. It made him hesitate.
Then the man was leaping forward and Vance tried hastily to use his gun, but before he could pull its trigger the stranger was on him, knocking him to the floor, the handgun slipping from his hand.
The passageway was narrow and low and Vance used the wall to thrust himself upward but the man was much stronger and down he went again. This time, he brought his knee up sharply, heard a satisfactory grunt of pain. Another gun, his attacker's, clattered noisily across the floor. But once again his attacker recovered quickly, swinging a fist hard against his head.
The blow hurt Vance but didn't daze him. More important, it jarred him into a fury. Twice in one day, first by Tess Chaykin, now by this stranger, his endeavor was being jeopardized. He used his knee again, then his fist, then a barrage of punches. His blows were unschooled, but they were fired by his anger. Nothing and no one had the right to come between him and his goal.
The intruder blocked his blows expertly and backed off, but as he did so he stumbled over some planks of wood. Vance, seeing his opportunity, kicked out, connecting savagely with the man's knee. Snatching up his gun, he leveled it and squeezed the trigger. The stranger was fast, though, throwing himself sideways as the bullets flew out. By the strained cry that followed, Vance thought one of them may have struck its intended target, but he couldn't be sure. The man was still moving, staggering backward into the sanctuary.
Vance hesitated for just a moment.
Should he follow, find out who the man was, and finish him off? Then he heard some noise coming from the far corner of the church. The man wasn't alone.
He decided it was best to escape. Turning, he hurried back to the trapdoor that shielded his cellar.
Chapter 36
Tess heard a loud gunshot, which was followed by what sounded like an angry cry.
Someone was hurt. Then footsteps were rushing back toward the trapdoor. She wasn't sure if it was Vance or someone else, but she wasn't about to just stand there and wait to find out.
She dived across the chamber, grabbed her bag off the table, and pulled out her cell phone. In the faint glimmer of the candles, the LED screen lit up like a flashlight, only to inform her there was no signal in the cellar. It didn't really matter; she didn't know the FBI's number by heart and, while dialing 911 was an option, she knew it would take too long to explain what was happening. Besides, she didn't have a clue where she was.
Help, Pm in a, cellar somewhere in the city.
I think.
Perfect.
Still dazed, and with her heart thumping loudly in her ears, she darted nervous glances around the chamber, then remembered the shuttered opening she'd spotted by the table. On impulse, she cleared some of the clutter off its surface, scrambled up onto the table, and pulled wearily at the planks of wood covering the cavity, trying to loosen them. They wouldn't give. She pounded at
them helplessly, but they held tight. Then she heard a sound as the cellar door opened. Turning, she saw legs beginning to descend. She recognized the shoes. It was Vance.
Her eyes quickly scanned the room and settled on the Taser Vance had discarded. It was lying there on the corner of the table nearest to her behind a stack of books. She grabbed it and leveled it at him, her hands shaking as his face emerged from the darkness, his eyes staring calmly into hers.
