What a sight that would have been.
But they were not the only ones who arose that night.
The Sleeping Knights of the Tatra also roamed on Christmas Eve. They would leave the mountains on their white horses and ride off in search of the kings. Once found a loud knock would come to the hall’s door. Then again. And one more time. Always three. The kings would fall silent as Bolesław opened the door, telling the knights, No. The time has not yet come.
He smiled at the drama.
And irony.
Men there, ready to fight, ready to serve Poland.
But the time had not yet come.
Before the kings resumed their council they would listen to the fading hoofbeats as the knights rode back to their icy caves. Once there, the knights fed their animals then fell asleep, leaning against their saddles in readiness.
For when the time comes.
What a glorious tale.
His phone buzzed.
A text.
From his private secretary.
He’d left instructions with his BOR detail to return to the Sheraton in Kraków and pretend he was back inside the Royal Wawel Suite. He’d called his private secretary and told him that he was going to rest for a few hours and did not want to be disturbed.
Unless vital.
He read the message.
UNITED STATES ISSUED STATEMENT THAT DEPUTY NATIONAL SECURITY ADVISER THOMAS BUNCH IS MISSING SOMEWHERE IN POLAND. HE WAS HERE ON OFFICIAL BUSINESS, UNDER DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY, AND WASHINGTON HAS CALLED ON WARSAW TO ACT IMMEDIATELY AND ASCERTAIN HIS WHEREABOUTS. THE FOREIGN MINISTRY WANTS TO KNOW OUR RESPONSE.
Fox had tossed the first salvo, shining a light. But the statement’s wording allowed room to maneuver.
He typed his reply.
TELL THE AMERICANS WE ARE SYMPATHETIC TO THE SITUATION AND WILL INVESTIGATE. ALSO, HAVE THE FOREIGN MINISTRY INQUIRE AS TO THE EXACT NATURE OF THE “OFFICIAL BUSINESS” THE DEPUTY WAS ENGAGED IN. WE REQUIRE DETAILS TO AID IN OUR INVESTIGATION.
He smiled.
That should slow Fox down.
Enough, so that what was about to happen—
Could play itself out.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Cotton reacted to the sudden bang that reverberated off the salt, throbbing his eardrums.
Which hurt.
The sound surprised him, so out of place given the constant silence. Patrycja screamed and his gaze shot to the outer chamber as a large form materialized from the darkness, seeking cover behind one of the pillars. They were sitting ducks in this confined space, their headlamps beacons upon which to aim. So he reached for the battery pack at his waist and switched off the power. Stephanie followed suit, but Patrycja lagged. He lunged and brought her down to the floor, switching her light off, too.
Darkness now engulfed them.
He heard movement in the outer chamber, feet scuffing across brittle salt. He reached out for the overturned pew to use for cover. Their assailants’ headlamps were also off. But nothing would prevent them from strafing the chapel with gunfire. The pew could offer some cover, but not much.
“Nowhere to go, Malone,” a voice said from the blackness.
Ivan.
Hard to tell exactly where, thanks to the echo and the black ink, both of which disoriented the senses with a lack of reference points.
“Get over here,” he whispered to Stephanie and Patrycja. “And stay low.”
He reached out into the blackness, guiding them behind the pew.
“We meet again, Mr. Malone,” an older voice said.
Reinhardt.
“You know what I want,” Ivan said. “I saw what you found.”
But he wasn’t ready to concede just yet. The darkness worked both ways, though it was a long way from where they crouched to the exit tunnel in the outer room, and their assailants’ lamps, if switched on, would illuminate them like a deer in headlights.
“I could kill all you,” Ivan said. “Then come get it myself. Be reasonable, Malone. I really not want to shoot you.”
Like he believed that one. Ivan would do whatever he had to do in order to get what he wanted. All those dead bodies back in Slovakia were proof of that. He and Stephanie were pros. They knew the risks. But Patrycja was another matter. He owed her safety.
“All right, Ivan. Here it is.”
And he tossed the packet toward where he thought was the chapel entry.
A light went on.
He shielded his pupils and saw a black form beneath a headlamp retrieve the packet. In one hand he spied a pistol. A quick flash of the face showed the form to be Munoz, Reinhardt’s man. Shapes hard to discern moved in the darkness.
The light extinguished.
“We leave now, Malone,” Ivan said. “Stay where you are.”
Obviously there was another way to this point through Level IX, since they’d encountered no one on the trip here. He assumed Ivan and company would utilize that path back out.
So he was surprised when four lights came on, then disappeared into the tunnel through which Patrycja had led them.
“Why that way?” he asked her.
“Much quicker to an elevator. They probably came down from the Regis Shaft, which is about a kilometer away.”
They continued to sit in the dark.
“I’m going after them,” he said. “Stephanie, you and Patrycja head back the way we came.”
“Like hell,” his old boss said.
“I agree,” their guide added.
Stephanie he could understand, but the young Pole was being foolish. “Patrycja, this is about to get real messy.”
“And you don’t have a clue where you’re going without me. I saw the face of one of the men who just left. He’s a miner who works as a guide. They have help. You need it, too.”
She had a point. And he admired her bravery.
“All right, let’s go. One light only. Mine.”
Which would make him the first target.
“They should be far enough down the tunnel that we can head after them. You don’t happen to know another way back to that elevator that doesn’t involve the tunnel they took?”
“Actually, I do.”
* * *
Eli followed Ivan.
Thankfully, the Russian had volunteered to stay in front of him. The big man carried a gun in one hand and the sealed packet in the other. Munoz had handed it over back in the chamber.
He debated whether to kill the fat Slav and take his chances with anybody waiting above. But the Russian foreign service, the SVR, was every bit as ruthless as its predecessor, the KGB. Its staff and resources were endless, and there would literally be no place to hide anywhere on the globe. Not to mention the Americans, French, Iranians, North Koreans, and Chinese who would want to exact revenge for their losses, too. The smart play, the only play, was to allow Ivan his moment and get out of this mine, and away, with his five million euros. The Pantry was still one level below him and he could barter it to the Poles.
Personally, he would have killed Malone and the others back in the chamber. But Ivan had made it clear that was not to happen. He did not want to antagonize the Americans any further by generating another martyr they could rally behind. Better to let Malone and Stephanie Nelle be embarrassed over their failure to secure the information.
They kept walking, following Konrad down the dark tunnel, their lights illuminating the way. The chilly breeze in their face felt good and brought the anticipated comfort of fresh air above.