Sign of the Cross

though it was the middle of July. Instead, what he saw was a blur in the corner of the property grounds. Something human. Someone scrambling for cover.

‘Hold up,’ he said, grabbing Jones’s shoulder. ‘Check three o’clock.’

That was all it took. One simple phrase, and he entered war mode. From researcher to soldier in half a second, like Payne had flipped a switch in the back of his head. No debating or questioning. He trusted him enough to know if Payne was worried, then he should be, too.

They were halfway down the stairs, so Jones hustled to the bottom while Payne ran back to the top, figuring two perspectives were better than one. There was a vertical notch in the wood paneling of the left-hand wall. Payne squeezed his body into the crevice, hoping to get a clean view while still being protected. The sun was fading in the western sky, which meant the overhead lights were bound to give their position away on the stairs. Payne searched for a light switch but saw none. ‘What do you see? Anything?’

Jones was blessed with eyes that allowed him to see things that other people couldn’t. That was one of the reasons he was such an effective sniper. While most soldiers were busy adjusting their scopes, Jones was pulling his trigger. ‘Not yet… Wait! We have a man down. Eleven o’clock, near the boulder.’

The notch in the wall obstructed everything to Payne’s left. He dropped to the floor and scurried to the opposite side, where he verified what Jones had spotted. There was a guard lying facedown. The back of his shirt was stained red. ‘Get Boyd and Maria. I’ll get Petr.’

Jones flung the bottom door open while Payne bolted in the opposite direction. Neither of them had any weapons, since they weren’t allowed to bring them into the Archives. Somehow they doubted the enemy would follow the same rules.

At this time of day, most of Ulster’s employees had gone home for the night, making Payne’s job a lot easier. Protecting twenty is a lot harder than protecting one. Payne shouted Ulster’s name several times, hoping to get his attention. But the only person he spotted was Franz, the gentleman who’d told him about the Lipizzaner stallions. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded.

‘We’re under attack. One guard’s dead. We need to get everybody out of here.’

Payne shouted for Ulster again. ‘We need weapons. Do you have any?’

‘Ja, in the basement. There is armory. Many weapons.’

Thank God, Payne thought to himself. ‘Do you have the key?’

‘Ja, I have the keys.’

‘Then you’re coming with me.’

‘What about Petr? We need to find Petr.’

‘We will once we’re armed. We can’t save Petr without guns.’

Franz moved fast for an old guy. Two minutes later they were standing outside the basement armory. Its door was made of German steel and was built to withstand an atom bomb. No way Payne could’ve kicked it in. Thankfully, Franz knew his keys, so they got inside without delay. The concrete room was smaller than he’d expected yet had enough weapons to overthrow a Central American country. Rifles lined the far wall while a variety of handguns hung on wooden pegs. To Payne’s right there was a series of wooden shelves jam-packed with ammo and gear bags, plus several military helmets and a wide variety of… Oh shit. Payne forced his eyes back to the helmets. They weren’t normal helmets. They were Nazi helmets. From World War II.

And that’s when it hit him. He wasn’t standing in a twenty-first-century armory. He was in a museum. A fuckin’ war museum. And everything around Payne was older than he was.

Franz sensed Payne’s concern. He said, ‘I assure you, they will kill just the same. I have seen it with my own eyes.’

That was good enough for Payne. He grabbed one of the gear bags and jammed it with three rifles, five handguns, and all the ammo he could carry. Franz did the same with a second bag and flung it over his shoulder. Payne wasn’t leaving the room unarmed so he loaded three Luger P-08 9 mm pistols and handed one of them to Franz. The look on his face told Payne he knew what to do with it, like he had been here before. The look on Payne’s face said the same.

Franz smiled. ‘Let’s go save some horses.’

An old guy talking smack. You had to love it.

Payne had two objectives as he left the basement: locate the members of his team, then find a way out. Kusendorf is in the middle of nowhere, nestled on top of a mountain, which meant there was no way in hell they were going to get police help. And even if they did, how helpful would it be? The Swiss weren’t exactly known for war. For all Payne knew, they might show up and say, ‘We will watch your fight, then serve cocoa to the winners.’ The pansies. In Payne’s mind they were worse than the French.

Anyway, they reached the ground floor with no resistance, though they had a surprise waiting for them when they opened the basement door: the distinct smell of smoke. The Ulster Archives was a wood-framed chalet that was jam-packed with thousands of books and manuscripts. The last thing anyone wanted to smell in this place was smoke. It was a library’s worst nightmare.

Payne whispered, ‘How good is your fire system?’

‘The best. All the rooms will be sealed behind fireproof doors. The rooms will be filled with carbon dioxide, protecting the safes where the documents are stored.’

As Franz finished speaking, Payne heard a loud rumble in the ceiling above. It sounded like someone pushing a grand piano down the hallway. First on his left, then on his right, then a sudden symphony of sound being repeated all over the building. The noise was so intense he could see the framed pictures rattling on the walls and felt it under his feet. He looked at Franz for reassurance, and he simply nodded. It was the fireproof doors moving into place. Soon it would be followed by the light spray of water from all the sprinklers. ‘Will people be trapped inside?’

Franz shook his head. ‘There is button by every door. People can get out but can’t get back in. Not until system is deactivated.’

Payne glanced down the corridor looking for movement. Water was falling from the ceiling, and all the doors were closing. Rooms that couldn’t offer them sanctuary as they moved down the hallway. For the next fifty feet or so, they were fighting naked. No turning back. No protection of any kind. A blind man could rip them to shreds with a slingshot. He didn’t even want to consider what a well-trained soldier could do. ‘How’s the heart, Franz?’

‘It is fine… How’s your bladder?’

More smack talk. Payne was still lovin’ it.

‘I’ll go first. Do not, I repeat, do not follow me until I reach the end of the hall. If anything happens, lock yourself in the armory. You’ll have better odds against a fire than multiple guns.’

He put his hand on Payne’s shoulder. ‘Be safe.’

Payne dashed down the hallway at half speed, trying to get there as quietly as possible. The gear hung over his right shoulder, occasionally clanging against the back of his legs as he moved. He clenched two Lugers in his hands. He’d never used one in combat, although he’d fired several on the range. He hoped like hell they would hold up in the downpour.

Halfway down the hall, he heard footsteps coming behind him. He dropped to one knee and spun, ready to take out his target. But it was a false alarm — just Franz disobeying orders. Payne waved for him to go back, but he continued to charge forward like a Brahma bull.

‘What are you doing?’ Payne demanded.

He knelt beside Payne. ‘I thought you reached the end of the hall.’

Payne looked him in the eye. He was dead serious. ‘You’re nearsighted, aren’t you?’

‘Ja. Nearsighted, farsighted, middlesighted. I’m an old man, what didja expect?’

Things just got harder. ‘Don’t shoot at anything unless I shoot first. You got that?’

‘Ja, ja.’ He gave Payne a mock salute while mumbling a few vulgar words in German.

Payne started down the hallway again, followed by his geriatric shadow. As they reached the end, they heard footsteps up ahead and the sound of Maria whispering. Ten minutes ago it would’ve been a welcome sound. Now Payne didn’t know what to think in light of the Pentagon information. Was she whispering to Jones or the enemy?