Fotis dropped the gun to his side again, speaking more quietly as he marched past Matthew.
“No, you have brought them. Maybe unawares, but they followed you.”
Recovering himself somewhat, Matthew followed the old man out of the room on shaky legs. Fotis turned once to put a finger to his lips, then started along the corridor, not the way they had come but in the opposite direction, turning once onto a shorter corridor. At the top of a steep, narrow staircase he gestured for Matthew to stay put, then started down. In moments, he had vanished around a turn and Matthew stood there, mute and helpless, staring at the place where he had gone. What should he do now? Who was down there? Should he go check on Ioannes? Indecision held him to the spot, and perhaps a minute later he heard a faint noise below. Then Fotis reappeared. The Snake struggled a bit on the ascent, but he gripped Matthew’s shoulder with a strong hand and placed his lips right at the younger man’s ear.
“I hear him but don’t see him. There’s another at the front door now. We’ll hold the second floor against them. Can you use this?”
Fotis held out a large pistol, grip-first. Matthew nodded hesitantly. His godfather slid the carriage back and forth as quietly as possible, chambering the first round, then placed the gun in Matthew’s hand.
“Squeeze the trigger hard. Stay right here and shoot anyone who comes up those stairs.”
He pressed Matthew against the wall, then slipped the Walther from his sweater and headed toward the front of the house. Fear of whatever was about to happen battled with the anger that events had overrun his intentions, but Matthew did not take his eyes from the stairs. He did not wish to distract himself with thinking, but thoughts came unbidden. If it was del Carros or his companion down there, he would need to act without hesitation, as Fotis had instructed. But what if it was someone else? The FBI, or Benny, or even Ioannes? If he waited to identify the person, would he get the chance to react? Could he look some stranger in the eye and pull the trigger?
Or was it all some game that Fotis was playing with him, yet again? He backed up ten feet to the turn in the corridor to make sure the old bastard wasn’t going down the front stairs with the icon. A faint noise from below made him quickly retrace his steps. Then all thought vanished as gunfire erupted from the front of the house.
25
Jan had not liked the plan one bit, but their options were few. They had drugged Spyridis, but he said little and clearly didn’t know where to find Dragoumis. The boy was their best chance. Seizing him would have been the surest course, but Muller gauged the young man’s tone and guessed that he did not precisely know his godfather’s whereabouts. Yet he might find him if given free rein. Jan’s trying to grab the boy and priest together could go terribly wrong, even leave Spear dead, and in any case three hostages would be a very clumsy business for two men. One was bad enough. The best plan was for Van Meer to trail the boy.
The Dutchman was annoyed, the closest he got to being angry. He’d been watching Spear’s apartment on and off for days, and was amazed the boy had been stupid enough to return. Let me take him, he urged Muller, he’s right here. Yet he had gone along in the end, and the trail had proved every bit as challenging as predicted. Muller drove the rental car while Jan followed on foot, and they had to scramble when they realized Spear was borrowing a friend’s car and about to disappear. Jan took the wheel and managed to maintain the tail all the way out of the city, up the Bronx River Parkway, and along the winding back roads of northern Westchester. Jan was good, and the boy was not experienced, but over so great a distance there was a chance he had noticed the pursuit. This meant they might be walking into an ambush.
Muller looked at Spyridis in the backseat, still unconscious from his last injection. He would get another one when the car stopped, and in all probability would not wake up again in this world. The Greek’s wrists were bound with a cord Jan carried for the purpose, and a blanket was thrown over his lap to hide them. Muller returned his eyes to the road, and realized he’d lost sight of Spear’s vehicle.
“Where is he?”
“He just pulled in there, the gate in the brick wall.”
“Then why are we driving past?”
Jan glanced over at him in mild disgust.
“We should go in behind him, you think? Invite ourselves in for drinks?”
They continued past the gate for a hundred yards but saw only trees and wall, then lost sight of the property. Jan turned around and doubled back, passing the gate again until he reached a wooded dell a few hundred yards on the far side, and parked among the weeds. He waved his cell phone, switched to walkie-talkie function, at Muller, then opened his door.
“Give me time to get in. Then you come in the front, as we planned.”
“Yes, yes.”
“About ten minutes should be sufficient. Remember that I may not be able to speak once I’m inside.”
“We’ve been over everything. Just go.”
“Don’t be impatient. We’re too close now.”
No answer was required, and then Jan was gone, melting into the thicket of young oak and maple like a ghost. Muller took a deep breath and slid over to the driver’s seat. He let five minutes elapse on his watch before he put the car in drive, looked for traffic on the empty road, pulled out slowly. Jan was correct-damn him, anyway-there was no need for haste, no need to panic. They were closing the noose. Now was not the time for stupid mistakes.
As he shaped the turn and started up the incline, the brick wall came into view once more, old and moss-covered, and within a hundred feet the stone pillars appeared, bracketing the drive. He pulled over onto the grassy shoulder of the road, slipped out his cell phone, and settled in to wait for Jan’s call, glancing once more at Spyridis. Had he moved, or was it simply the motion of the car? He checked the road, the trees, the wall itself. Then he noticed the tiny camera on the west pillar, pointing straight at him.
Damn it all, he should have seen it before; there must be cameras everywhere. On instinct, he put the car in gear again and pulled into the long gravel driveway. Why give Dragoumis any more time to think? With luck, only the old Greek would oppose them. The cell phone on the seat released a burst of static, indicating that Jan was inside but could not speak. Muller felt his heart beating dangerously and sucked hard at the stale air in the car. He parked at the most oblique angle possible from the windows of the house, then got out and rushed to the front door.
There was no one in Spear’s car, so both he and the priest must be inside. Muller ignored the inevitable camera by the door and tested the large brass knob. It was unlocked. Either Jan had worked swiftly or it was a much too obvious trap. He slipped the pistol from inside his coat and pushed the door open with his free hand. Nothing happened immediately. He could see a handsome blue-and-red oriental carpet at the base of a staircase, and wide arches opening to sunlit rooms on either side of a hall. Muller stepped in quickly and made for the stairs. The first bang startled him, but by the second he was on the ground, rolling to his right, instinct overcoming age. There was at least one distinctive thump of a round striking wood. He bumped into the heavy leg of something and pulled himself to his knees, knocking his head against the bottom of a large dinner table. Through blurred vision he could see that he was in the dining room-out of the line of fire, he guessed.
He checked himself for damage but did not seem to be hit. The shots had come from the top of the stairs. Dragoumis-if that’s who it was-had waited for him to get well inside before
