Why not?
Just in case there were others invited to the party.
He stood inside a small foyer. A doorway to the right opened into what appeared to be a souvenir shop. A stone stairway directly in front of him led up at a steep angle. Since all was quiet in the shop, Laura had to have gone up. He brought the gun out before him and climbed the narrow risers. Not a sound betrayed his presence. The stairway was nearly pitch-dark, only scant residual light leaking in from the shop windows below. He seemed vulnerable, as those deer should have felt when they were flushed back to the draw.
He came to the top.
A short hall led past two more open doorways.
He approached the first, pressed his right shoulder to the wall, and stole a quick glance inside. The minuscule room was filled with chairs, stacked one onto another, and collapsed folding tables propped to one wall, its single window faintly lit from the street below. At the next doorway the room was of similar size, but empty except for a small table set before another window, with a rifle lying on it. He noticed a nightscope and the caliber. Heavy duty. Meant for power and range. He stepped over and gazed out the window. The vantage point offered a perfect view of St. John’s Square and the side entrance into the cathedral. In the dim light he saw a sound suppressor attached to barrel’s end. Somebody was ready to do some serious hunting.
He heard the distinctive click of a gun hammer snapping into place.
“Nice and slow,” Laura said. “Turn around. But first, let your gun hit the floor.”
“You really want to go there?’
“I really do.”
Okay. He released his grip and allowed the weapon to drop.
Then he turned.
“Kick the gun this way,” she said. “Real slow.”
He did as she requested.
“What gave me away?” she asked.
“Just a feeling.”
“Not the dumb country boy you want people to think you are.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Let me guess. You’ve been working for Spagna from the beginning.”
“Guilty as charged. When you showed up, he put me on you.”
“I kind of got that impression when your boss appeared at the safe house and I wasn’t part of the conversation. The cops on us, and Spagna taking you, that was all a dog-and-pony show?”
“Sort of. He needed to make contact, but not in a way that matched us together. He also needed you to stay in the dark. But you came to my rescue, as he predicted. So he decided to bring you on the team.”
“That was the first moment I had my doubts. Those two local cops took you down way too easy. But when Spagna died, that cinched it for me. Everything was way too nicely wrapped with a pretty bow. Too many coincidences usually add up to a plan. The guys who tried to kill me. Entity people?”
She stepped into the room, gun still aimed, standing six feet away, just out of strike range. “That’s the rub, Luke. They weren’t Spagna’s.”
He was intrigued.
“There’s so much more happening here,” she said. “Things you know nothing about.”
“Enlighten me.”
She chuckled. “This is a solo job now.”
He motioned to the rifle. “You planning on killing somebody? Is that what Spagna meant when he said to do what he told you?”
“That’s exactly what he meant.”
“I’m hurt. He only told me to find the cardinal.”
“The archbishop always looked after the church and, right now, the church is being threatened.”
“By Cardinal Gallo?”
“By what’s happening inside that cathedral. I can’t allow them to find the Nostra Trinità. It needs to stay gone.”
“How can you be so sure they’ll find it?”
“Spagna was aware of everything that happened in Italy with Malone and Pollux Gallo. He knew they were coming this way, to the cathedral, so he arranged for this perch. He, of course, had no way of knowing when the opportunity would present itself. But that’s where I came in. I could see Malone was making progress. He’s a smart fellow, or at least that’s what Spagna said about him. It won’t be long before Malone and the Gallos come out those doors.”
“Is Malone on your hit list?”
“The Nostra Trinità must stay gone.”
Not an answer, but close enough. “Who killed Spagna?”
“The same people who wanted you dead. The same ones who want Malone dead.”
He waited.
“The Secreti.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said. “Is Malone on your hit list?”
Movement behind her caught his attention.
A man stepped into the doorway.
Short, stocky, of indeterminate age.
“No, Mr. Daniels,” a deep voice said. “We have no grievance with America.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Cotton accepted the hammer and chisel that the curator had located. While they’d waited he’d examined every inch of the clock’s exterior and determined there were no other seams, except at the corners, no visible way in, no hidden switches or levers. Whatever had been secreted away must have been sealed inside from the top. With the hammer, he gently tapped the exterior, the metal resonating off the stone with a dull uniform sound.
“It doesn’t appear to be hollow,” he said.
The others watched him with clear curiosity, the curator with a concerned look on his face. There seemed little choice except to delicately bust the mortared seam between the top and the rest of the clock.
“How old is this thing?” he asked.
“Four hundred years,” the curator noted. “It dates to a grand master in the early 17th century.”
But before he used any force, he opened the circular glass door on the front. The clock face was mounted by three screws that held it in place and surely allowed access to the workings beyond.
“We need to be sure,” he said.
The curator handed him a flat-head screwdriver, which he used to loosen all three. Behind the face was nothing but the gears and springs that would have powered the hands. He could see no access into the main part of the clock.
“Do it,” Pollux Gallo said, seemingly reading his diminishing hesitation.
He pressed the chisel’s metal tip to the mortar and started tapping. He took his time, careful that the lid would not be damaged and could be easily replaced. The mortar was hard and it took several blows at the same spot to produce results. Whether they were through-and-through fissures remained to be seen.
“Mr. Malone,” Cardinal Gallo said.
He stopped chiseling.
“I think I’ve noticed something. May I hold the hammer a moment.”
He was open to any better idea, so he handed over the tool. The cardinal studied the clock, then swung hard, slamming the metal end directly into the ceramic lid.
The curator gasped.
The lid shattered into several pieces, but those nearest the mortar joint remained in place.
He had to admit. That’ll work, too.
“We don’t have time for niceties,” the cardinal said. “I have to be back in Rome in seven hours.”
Pollux Gallo had remained silent, but nothing in his countenance or demeanor suggested he disagreed with the desecration.