Текст книги "The Judas Strain"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

11
Broken Glass

JULY 6, 1:55 P.M.

Istanbul

Shock slowed the scene down to a breathless, silent stretch.

From a second-story window of Hagia Sophia, Gray watched the back of Balthazar Pinosso’s head explode in a spray of blood and bone. His body crumpled at the waist from the impact. His arms went wide to the side. His cell phone, at his ear a moment before, went flying from his fingertips, struck the pavement, and skittered away.

The large man’s body struck next.

Vigor gasped at Gray’s side, breaking the tableau. “Oh, my Lord…no…”

Sound crashed back: the echo of the gunshot, screams from the plaza.

Gray drew back, taking an extra breath to realize the implication. If Balthazar was shot…

“Nasser knew about him,” Vigor said, finishing his own slow thought. Stunned, the monsignor caught himself on the ledge of the window. “Nasser knew Balthazar was here. The monster’s snipers killed him.”

Gray fared no better, dazed with incomprehension and guilt. He had sent the man out to a firing squad.

The screams and shouts grew worse outside, spreading inside. People ran – most fleeing to the nearest shelter, the sanctuary of Hagia Sophia.

Minutes ago, Gray and Vigor had climbed to the church’s second floor, where there was less traffic, keeping hidden. Before heading out, Balthazar had informed the museum curator that Gray and Vigor had already left, denying the need for an ambulance. They had come up here to make sure all went well.

“The police will swarm here,” Gray said. “We’ve got to hide.”

Vigor grabbed Gray’s sleeve. “Your mother and father…”

He shook his head. He had no time to consider that. Nasser had warned against any ruse. But once voiced aloud, Gray could not escape the terror. His breathing grew heavier; he became light-headed. Gray’s parents would also suffer for this mistake.

How had Nasser known about Balthazar?

Vigor continued to stare out the window. The monsignor’s fingers tightened on Gray’s arms. “Dear Lord…what’s she doing now?”

Gray turned his full attention back to the open plaza below the western facade. As people fled the square or crouched in fear, only one figure ran straight through all the confusion. She limped slightly, favoring her left side.

Seichan.

Why was she coming here?

Almost to the church, a chatter of sparks struck at her heels. Someone was shooting at her. Nasser’s men. But her sudden appearance had caught the snipers off guard. With orders to keep Gray and his companions from leaving the church, they hadn’t been expecting someone running towardthe church.

Seichan sped faster, racing death.

1:58 P.M.

Blindsided, Seichan cursed. So Nasser did have a sniper or two positioned out here. She had missed picking them out earlier. Then again, the snipers had plenty of time to hide well. Seichan had not anticipated a traitor among their group. Balthazar had already been at Hagia Sophia all morning, setting up a snug snare.

She dashed through the Imperial Doors and ducked against the inside wall. Were gunmen in here, too?

She searched the cavernous length of the nave. People, frightened by the gunplay, cowered in corners or shifted in maddened tides of confusion and panic. She had to find Gray and Vigor.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

A hand snagged her shirt. Reflexively, she jabbed a pistol into ribs.

Her target didn’t flinch. “Seichan, what happened?”

It was Gray, his face drawn and pale.

“Gray…we have to get out of here. Now. Where’s the monsignor?”

He pointed toward a neighboring stairwell. Vigor kept half hidden at its entrance and watched the crowd.

Seichan herded Gray over to him.

The monsignor stared back at the arched doorway, his eyes wounded with grief. “Nasser shot him. Shot Balthazar.”

“No,” Seichan said, killing any misconception. “I did.”

Vigor backed up a step. Gray swung around.

“He was working with Nasser,” Seichan explained.

Vigor’s voice turned angry. “How can…?”

“I have photos from two years ago. Nasser and Balthazar together. Money changed hands.” She fixed Vigor with a hard stare. “He’s been working with him all along.”

Seichan read the continuing disbelief. She hardened her voice. “Monsignor, who called your attention to the inscription in the Tower of Wind?”

Vigor glanced toward the doors, toward the dead man out of sight.

“Before involving you both,” Seichan pressed, “Nasser and I were playing cat and mouse throughout Italy, searching for the first bits of the angelic puzzle. No one was supposed to discover my invisible mark in the Vatican until I called you, alerted you to search the tower’s closet with an ultraviolet light. Do you think your friend just accidentallystumbled upon it?”

“He said…one of his students…”

“He was lying. Nasser told him. The bastard followed the same trail I did. Used Balthazar to recruit you into solving the riddle.”

Vigor sank to the stairs, covering his face.

Seichan turned to Gray. He stood a step away, eyes glazed, reconfiguring all the morning’s events in light of the revelation. He must have sensed Seichan’s attention.

“Then Nasser knew we were trying to betray him,” Gray said. “He knew we had the first key. He knows everything.”

“Not necessarily.” Seichan pulled Vigor up by the shoulder and shoved Gray toward the church. “It was why I had to take him out. I don’t think he had the time to call Nasser after he left you. I took him out before he got the chance and made things worse.”

“Worse?” Gray stopped, refusing to move, his eyes furious. “You could have captured him. We could have used him against Nasser. There were a thousand options!”

“All of them too risky!” Seichan stepped closer, walking into the fire. “Get this through your thick skull, Gray. Nasser’s plan, our plans…they’re all screwed. It’s clean slate time here. And we have to act now.”

His face darkened as anger boiled up. Even his eyes turned stormy. “When the bastard finds out what you did…what we did…you just got my parents killed!”

She cut him off with a resounding slap to the face, knocking him back a step. Stunned, he lunged at her. She didn’t resist. He collared her. His other hand a fist.

She kept her voice calm against his storm. “With that bastard dead, we have a small window of confusion here. We must take advantage of it.”

“But my folks—”

She kept her voice even. “Gray, they’re already dead.”

The fist tangled in her shirt trembled. His face constricted tight, red and agonized. His eyes searched her, needing someone to blame.

“And if they’re not dead,” she continued, “if he’s keeping them alive as extra insurance, then we have only one hope here.”

Gray’s hand dropped from her throat but remained clenched.

“We’ll need a big bargaining chip,” she continued. “Equal to the weight of your parents’ lives.”

In his eyes, she could see the rage beginning to subside, the tide going out, the words finally sinking in. “And the second key alone won’t do it.”

She shook her head. “We need to go silent. Have Vigor pull his cell phone battery so that it’s not tracked.”

“But how will Nasser reach us?”

“It’s time we took that control from him.”

“But when he tries to call us…?”

“Nasser will be furious. He may hurt one or both of your folks, maybe even kill one. But until he finds us, he’ll keep one alive. He’s not a fool. And that is our only hope.”

Vigor’s phone began to ring. Everyone froze a breath. Then Vigor slipped it out of his pocket. He glanced to the caller ID, swallowed, and passed it to Gray.

He took it. “Nasser,” he confirmed.

“Speak of the devil,” Seichan hissed. “One of the snipers must have called him. Needing to get further instructions. It’s probably the only reason they haven’t stormed the place already. Killing Balthazar caught them off guard. This is the only window we have.”

Gray stared down at the phone.

Seichan waited.

How strong was this man?

2:04 P.M.

Gray’s fingers refused to move, clamped around the phone.

It vibrated and rang again.

He could almost feel the fury emanating out of it, an anger ready to be unleashed against his mother and father. He wanted desperately to answer it: to scream, to beg, to curse, to bargain.

But he had no leverage.

Not yet.

“Nasser must still be in midflight,” Gray finally mumbled to the phone.

“Due to touch down in five hours,” Seichan agreed.

Gray let a coldness wash through him, but his fingers tightened harder. “Up in the air, he’ll hesitate to make any major decisions. He’ll wait until his feet are on the ground before making a final assessment.”

“And if he hasn’t heard from you by then…”

Gray couldn’t say the words. He only nodded his confirmation. Nasser would kill his parents. He won’t wait any longer than that. He’ll punish Gray and move on to a new strategy.

Five hours.

“We’ll need more than the second key we found here,” he said. “More than even the third key.”

Seichan nodded.

Gray stared up at Seichan. “We’ll need to have solved the obelisk’s riddle. We’ll need Marco’s map.”

Seichan simply stared, waiting.

Gray knew what he had to do. He flipped the phone over. With fingers numb and uncooperative, he fumbled with the battery in back.

Vigor stepped up and covered his palm over Gray’s fingers. “Are you sure, Gray?”

He lifted his eyes. “No…I’m not. I’m not sure of a damn thing.” He slipped his hands free of the monsignor’s and peeled the battery off the phone, cutting the last ring in half. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t act.”

Gray turned to Seichan. “What now?”

“You’ve just thrown down the gauntlet. Nasser will be calling his henchmen. We’ve got maybe a minute or two.” She pointed into the depths of the church. “This way. Kowalski’s got a car. He’ll meet us out at the east exit.”

She led them down the nave. People milled, unsure, voices echoed. Sirens closed down upon their location. Seichan fished something out of her pocket.

“Nasser must have snipers at that exit, too,” Gray said, striding up to her.

Seichan held out her palm. “Concussive grenade. A flash-bang. We’ll detonate it in the center. As everyone goes rushing out the exits…out we’ll go, too.”

Gray frowned.

Vigor voiced his concern as they circled past a crowd of schoolchildren, all wide-eyed and fearful, clutched in a group. “If the snipers see any of us, they’ll open fire. On the crowd.”

“No other way.” Seichan sped faster. “We’ll have to take the chance. Nasser’s men may already be coming—”

A gunshot cracked loudly in the church.

Gray felt something whine past his ear. A bit of wall mosaic blasted in a shower of gold.

The crowd panicked, fleeing in all directions.

Vigor was knocked to a knee. Gray dragged him up as a second shot sparked against a marble column. The blast echoed.

Staying low, the trio fled to the side and down the length of the nave. As they reached the center, Seichan prepared to pull the pin on the grenade.

Gray grabbed her hand, restraining her. “No.”

“It’s the only way. There could be more shooters ahead of us. We’ll need to trample with them to reach the exit.”

And if we’re spotted amid the crowd,he thought, how many innocent people will be killed?

He pointed. “There’s another way.”

Still holding his hand clamped to hers, he led them all to the south side, toward the wall of scaffolding he had scaled earlier.

“Up!” he said.

However, there remained one obstacle.

The scaffolding guard had not fled his post. He remained crouched behind a wooden barrier, his rifle up, ready to shoot.

Gray snatched the grenade out of Seichan’s fingers, pulled the pin, and tossed the bomb behind the barrier. “Close your eyes!” he yelled at Vigor, pulling the monsignor down. “Cover your ears.”

Seichan crouched, her head wrapped in her arms.

The explosion felt like a kick to the gut. A sonic boom trapped in stone. A flash seared through Gray’s lids, even with his head turned away.

Then it was over.

Gray yanked Vigor up. Screams echoed, sounding muffled through the residual ring in his ears. He rushed toward the massive scaffolding. The crowds parted, fleeing toward the east and west exits.

But they weren’t going with them.

At the scaffolding, the guard was down, dazed on his back, moaning.

He’d have a bad headache, but he’d live.

Gray took his rifle and waved Seichan and Vigor up the scaffolding staircase. They’d have to move fast. The stampede would slow the shooters, but only for so long.

He clambered up after Seichan and Vigor.

“Where are we going?” Seichan called down. “We’ll be sitting ducks up here!”

“Go!” Gray said. “Get your asses up there!”

They fled around and around, leaping steps.

They reached the halfway point when a spray of automatic fire rang off the bracings, wildly shot, but effective enough to chase them off the outer stairs and into the heart of the scaffolding. They pounded along the planked flooring of this level.

Gray pushed ahead of the others. “This way!”

Running in a half crouch, Gray raced toward the nearest wall.

They were at the level where the dome rested atop the church. A row of arched windows, the same windows that both Gray and Marco had marveled over, ringed the dome’s bottom.

Gray lifted his rifle and strafed the window that lay at the end of the level. Glass shattered out. He did not slow. He reached the window, used the butt of his rifle to clear more glass.

“Out!” he yelled to Seichan and Vigor.

They flew past him as more gunshots pursued them, ringing off the steel bars and chewing through wood.

Gray followed them out, perched on an encircling ledge.

The afternoon sun blazed.

Istanbul spread below them in all its jumbled beauty, its chaotic mix of ancient and modern. The Sea of Marmara glowed a sapphire blue. Farther out, the suspended length of the Bosporus Bridge was visible, spanning the strait that led up to the Black Sea.

But it wasn’t that bit of engineering that held Gray’s attention.

He pointed to the church’s southern facade, to where the exterior scaffolding clutched that side of Hagia Sophia, under repairs.

“Down there!”

Obeying, Vigor led the way around the dome, sidling along the narrow ledge. Once even with the scaffolding, Gray leaped off the ledge and onto the sloped lower roof. He slid on his backside down to the scaffolding, holding his rifle high.

He banged into the bracings and turned around. Seichan was already coming, keeping on her feet, half running, half skiing, heedless of the risk. Vigor was more cautious, on his backside, scooting in spurts and starts.

Seichan came to a steady stop, arms out to grab a strut.

She had her cell phone out, yelling into it.

Gray caught Vigor and helped the monsignor under the railing and over to the scaffolding stairs. They fled down. Luckily there was no guard on this side. The commotion must have drawn him off.

Reaching the ground, Seichan led the way across a small greenbelt to a side street. A yellow taxicab skidded in a wishbone around the far corner, spun its tires, and sped straight at them. Seichan backed away, with a wide-eyed look of confusion.

The beat-up taxi sideswiped at the last moment and braked to a squealing stop.

The driver leaned toward the open passenger windows. “What the hell are you all waiting for? Get your asses in here!”

Kowalski.

Gray climbed in front. Seichan and Vigor in back. Doors slammed.

Kowalski took off, smoking the tires and tearing away.

Seichan fought the acceleration enough to lean forward. “This isn’t the car I left you with!”

“That piece of Japanese crap! This is a Peugeot 405 Mi16. Early nineties. Sweet for speed.”

Proving it, Kowalski revved the engine’s rpms, downshifted for the next corner, twisted the wheel, throwing them all to the left, then planted back on the power and shot out of the turn like a rocket.

Seichan hauled back up, red-faced. “Where—?”

Sirens erupted behind them, streaking around the same corner.

“You stole it,” Gray said.

Leaning forward, nose by the wheel, Kowalski shrugged. “You say carjacking, I say borrowing.”

Gray twisted around. The blazing police car was fading back, outgunned by their engine.

Kowalski sped around the next corner, throwing them all in the other direction, dictating the features of the car. “It’s got a perfect weight-to-horsepower ratio, power steering stiffens at higher speeds…oh! And it’s got a sunroof.” He lifted his hand off the gearshift to point up. “Nice, huh?”

Gray leaned back.

Kowalski lost the police in another two turns. They found themselves a minute later, puttering with the busy traffic headed out of Istanbul’s old district, lost in a sea of taxis.

Gray finally calmed enough to turn back to Seichan. “Five hours,” he said. “We need to get over to Hormuz.”

“The island of Hormuz,” Vigor elaborated. “At the mouth of the Persian Gulf.”

Seichan held a hand against her side. The exertion must be taking its toll on her. She looked pale, but she nodded.

“I know the place. Lots of smugglers and gunrunners use the island, crossing from Oman to Iran. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“How long?”

“Three hours. By private jet and seaplane. I know a man.”

Gray checked his watch. That would leave them only two hours to find the last key and use it and the others to unlock the obelisk’s riddle. His heart began beating harder again. The excitement had stemmed his fear for his parents. But now…

He held out his hand to Seichan. “I need your cell phone.”

“To call Sigma command?”

“I have to update them on what’s happened.”

Gray read her expression. She knew he was sidestepping the real reason. Still, she gave him her phone.

He sat back. In another few moments, he had Director Crowe on the line. He did update Painter on all the recent events, from the discovery of the second key through their escape.

“So it was the Vatican that had been infiltrated by a Guild mole,” Painter said, his words dropping in and out a bit. “But, Gray, I don’t think there’s much I can do for you at the island. It’s Iranian territory. Especially in such a short span. Not without alerting intelligence agencies throughout the Middle East.”

“I don’t want you to intervene,” Gray said. “Just…please…my parents…”

“I know, Gray…I get it. We’ll find them.”

Despite the promise, Gray heard the hesitation in the director’s voice, the unspoken words.

If your parents are still alive.

8:02 A.M.

Arlington, Virginia

They were being moved again.

Harriet balanced a glass of water against her husband’s lips. Dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, he was tied to a chair. “Jack, you need to drink. Swallow.”

He fought.

“Get that pill down,” the woman barked, “or I’ll shove it up his ass.”

Harriet’s hands shook. “Please, Jack. Drink.”

Annishen was losing patience. The woman, dressed in black leather, had taken a call a few minutes ago and had called in the other guards, even those on the street. Harriet had been dragged out of the old walk-in freezer where she had been locked up all night. It was a frightening place. A single bare bulb shone upon a double row of meat hooks, hung along tracks in the ceiling. Fresh bloodstains had streaked the floor, only haphazardly washed toward the freezer’s center drain.

Then the call.

Harriet had been hauled out to attend her husband. Jack had been kept apart from her. They wouldn’t let her stay with him. She had spent the entire night fearing for his life. He had been barely conscious after being struck by the Taser in the hotel room. She was horrified to find him bound and gagged in the chair, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

He had thrashed against his ropes when he first saw her again. But he didn’t really recognize her, not fully. He remained in a disassociative state, brought on by all the stress, the near electrocution, waking bound and gagged.

“Forget it,” Annishen finally said, grabbing Harriet’s shoulder. “The pills you gave him earlier didn’t do anything.”

“He was already agitated,” she said, begging. “It takes time…and consistency of dosage. He needs this pill.”

Annishen waved to her. “One more try.”

Harriet leaned against her husband’s cheek, holding his head with one hand, the glass in the other. He jerked back, but she held tight. “Jack, I love you. Please drink. For me.”

She dribbled water over his mouth. His lips finally parted, an animal reflex. He must be thirsty. He finally drank, gulping the offered water. It even seemed to calm him. He sagged in his bonds.

Harriet sighed in relief.

“Did he take it?” Annishen asked.

“It should calm him in about an hour.”

“We don’t have an hour.”

“I understand…but…”

Harriet knew someone must be looking for them. The longer they stayed in one place, the greater the chance they might be tracked. The more moves, the trail would grow colder.

“Get him up!” Annishen said.

The woman grabbed Harriet by the scruff of her shirt collar and hauled her to her feet. She was strong. She shoved Harriet toward the back exit. Her goons untied Jack. Her husband was slung between the two gorilla-size men, Armenian, heavy eyebrows. One held a pistol in a jacket pocket, against her husband’s back.

Annishen gripped Harriet’s elbow.

Jack howled as they began to move him, struggling. “Noooo.”

“Maybe we zap him again,” the guard said in a thick accent.

“Please don’t,” Harriet pleaded. “I can keep him calm.”

The guard ignored her.

Annishen seemed to be weighing this choice.

“It’s daylight,” Harriet said. “If you carried him out unconscious…”

“There are taverns,” one guard said. “On the street. I pour vodka on his shirt. No one think twice.”

Annishen soured at the idea. Harriet imagined it was mostly because it wasn’t her own. She pushed Harriet toward Jack.

“Keep him quiet or I’ll Tase him into a drooling baby.”

Harriet rushed to her husband’s side. She took the place of one of the guards, an arm around Jack’s waist. She rubbed his chest with her other hand.

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay. We have to go.”

He looked suspiciously at her, but the angry set to his eyes and lips softened. “I want…to go home.”

“That’s where we’re going…c’mon now, no fussing.”

He allowed them to lead him to the back exit and out to a narrow alley, barely large enough for the overflowing trash bin. The sunlight stung her eyes.

They were marched out to the street.

They had been in a boarded-up butcher’s shop, one of a row of closed businesses on the block. Harriet searched around for landmarks. They were somewhere in Arlington. Harriet knew they had crossed the Potomac after being kidnapped.

But where?

A black Dodge van was parked half a block away.

Morning traffic was already picking up. A few homeless men and women were gathered in an alcove of a Laundromat. A shopping cart stood by them, piled high with stuffed plastic bags.

Annishen ignored the homeless and led her group to the van. She unlocked it with her remote and the rear side door slid open on its own.

Jack walked in a leaden daze, barely noting his surroundings.

Harriet waited until they were even with the men gathered around the shopping cart. Her right hand still rested on Jack’s belly.

I’m sorry.

She pinched his skin through his shirt and twisted.

Jack jerked straight, snapping out of his passivity.

“Noooo!”

He fought the guard.

“I don’t know you people!” he hollered. “Get away from me!”

Harriet tugged at him. “Jack…Jack…Jack. Calm down.”

He swatted at her, striking her hard on the shoulder.

“Hey!” one of the homeless men called out. He was skeletally thin with a ragged beard. He clutched a bottle, snugged in a paper sack. “What are you doing to that guy?”

Some faces inside the Laundromat lifted to stare out the steamy, streaked windows.

Annishen stepped back toward Harriet. She wore a thin smile, staring straight at Harriet. One hand rested in the pocket of her light hooded sweater, the threat plain.

Harriet rubbed Jack’s belly and faced the bearded stranger. “He’s my husband. He has Alzheimer’s. We’re…we’re taking him to the hospital.”

Her words soothed the wary cast to the man’s face. He nodded. “Sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Harriet led Jack into the van. They were soon settled in, and the doors closed. Annishen sat in the front passenger seat. As they pulled away, she turned to Harriet.

“Those pills had better kick in,” she said. “Or next time, we’ll leave him hanging from one of those butcher’s hooks.”

Harriet nodded.

Annishen turned back around.

One of the men reached from the backseat and pulled a black hood over her head. She heard a moan of protest from Jack as the same was done to him. She reached a hand over and gripped her husband’s hand. His fingers gripped hers back, if only in a reflex of love.

I’m sorry, Jack…

Harriet’s other hand slipped into the pocket of her sweater. Her fingertips nudged the pile of pills – the pills she had only pretendedto give her husband. Before and now. She needed to keep Jack agitated, confused enough to act out.

To be seen…to be remembered.

She closed her eyes, despairing.

Forgive me, Lord.