"Is that wise?"
"Nothing about this is smart."
He followed Werner into the gallery, then through the double archway at its end, and immediately sought cover behind a thick column. A wide nave, made to seem narrow by more columns that extended its length, stretched before him. The columns turned in a semicircle behind the altar, following the curve of the apse. Bare walls on either side were high, the aisles broad. No decoration or ornamentation anywhere, the church more ruin than building. The wind's haunting music sounded through bare window frames partitioned by stone crosses. He spotted the altar, a pillar of pitted granite, but what sat before it drew his attention.
Two people. Gagged.
One on either side, on the floor, their arms tied behind them around a column.
Dorothea and Christl.
FIFTY-SIX
WASHINGTON, DC
7:24 AM
RAMSEY MARCHED BACK TOWARD HIS OFFICE. HE WAS WAITING FOR a report from France and had made clear to the men overseas that he wanted to hear only that Cotton Malone was dead. After that he'd turn his attention to Isabel Oberhauser, but he had not, as yet, decided how best to handle that problem. He'd thought about her during the entire briefing he'd just attended, recalling something he'd once heard. I've been right and I've been paranoid and it's better being paranoid.
He agreed.
Luckily he knew a lot about the old woman.
She married Dietz Oberhauser in the late 1950s. He was the son of a wealthy, aristocratic Bavarian family, she the daughter of a local mayor. Her father had been associated with the Nazis during the war, used by the Americans in the years after. She assumed full control of the Oberhauser fortune in 1972, after Dietz disappeared. Eventually, she had him declared legally dead. This activated his will, which left everything to her, in trust, for the benefit of their daughters. Before Ramsey had dispatched Wilkerson to make contact, he'd studied that will. Interestingly, the decision as to when financial control passed to the daughters had been left entirely to Isabel. Thirty-eight years had elapsed and still she remained in charge. Wilkerson had reported that great animosity existed between the sisters, which might explain a few things, but until today the Oberhauser family discord had meant little to him.
He knew that Isabel had long been interested in Blazek and made no secret of her desire to learn what had happened. She'd retained lawyers who'd tried to access information through official channels, and when that failed, she attempted covertly to learn what she could through bribery. His counterintelligence people had detected the attempts and reported them. That's when he assumed personal responsibility and assigned Wilkerson.
Now his man was dead. How?
He knew Isabel employed an East German named Ulrich Henn. The background report noted that Henn's maternal grandfather had commanded one of Hitler's reception camps and supervised the tossing of 28,000 Ukrainians down a ravine. At his war crimes trial he denied nothing and proudly stated, I was there. Which made it easy for the Allies to hang him.
Henn was raised by a stepfather who assimilated his new family into communist society. Henn served in the East German military, former Stasi, his current benefactor not all that dissimilar from his communist bosses, both making decisions in the calculating manner of an accountant, then executing them with the unquestioning remorse of a despot.
Isabel was indeed a formidable woman.
She possessed money, power, and nerve. But her weakness was her husband. She wanted to know why he died. Her obsession had been of no real concern until Stephanie Nelle accessed the file on NR-1A and sent it across the Atlantic to Cotton Malone.
Now it was a problem.
One that he hoped was being solved, right now, in France.
MALONE WATCHED AS CHRISTL SPOTTED HIM AND STRUGGLED against her restraints. Tape sealed her mouth. She shook her head.
Two men showed themselves from the behind the columns. The one on the left was tall, lanky, and dark-haired, the other stout and fair-headed. He wondered how many more were lurking.
"We came for you," Dark said to him, "and found these two already here."
Malone stayed behind a column, gun ready. They didn't know he was limited to three rounds.
"And why am I so interesting?"
"Beats the hell out of me. I'm just glad you are."
Fair brought a gun barrel close to Dorothea Lindauer's skull.
"We'll start with her," Dark said.
He was thinking, assessing, noting that there'd been no mention of Werner. He faced Lindauer and whispered, "Ever shot a man?"
"No."
"Can you?"
He hesitated. "If I had to. For Dorothea."
"Can you shoot?"
"I've hunted all my life."
He decided to add to his growing resume of stupid things and handed Werner the automatic.
"What do you want me to do?" Werner asked.
"Shoot one of them."
"Which one?"
"I don't care. Just shoot, before they shoot me."
Werner's head bobbed in understanding.
Malone sucked a few deep breaths, steeled himself, and stepped away from the column, his hands exposed. "Okay, here I am."
Neither of the assailants moved. Apparently, he'd caught them by surprise. Which had been the whole idea. Fair withdrew his gun from Dorothea Lindauer and completely emerged from behind his column. He was young, alert, and on guard, automatic rifle leveled.
A shot popped and Fair's chest exploded from a direct hit.
Werner Lindauer apparently could shoot.
Malone dove right, seeking cover behind another column, knowing Dark would take only a nanosecond to recover. A swift blast of automatic fire and bullets pinged off the stone a few inches from his head. He glanced across the nave at Werner, who was safe behind a column.
Dark hissed a string of obscenities, then screamed, "I'm going to kill them both. Right now."
"I don't give a damn," he called out.
"Really? You sure?"
He needed to force a mistake. He motioned at Werner that he intended to advance forward, down the transept, using the columns for cover.
Now for the true test. He motioned for Werner to toss him the gun.
The man lobbed the weapon his way. He caught it and signaled to stay put.
Malone swung left and darted across the open space to the next column.
More bullets streaked his way.
He caught a glimpse of Dorothea and Christl, still tied to their column. Only two rounds remained in the gun, so he grabbed a softball-sized rock and hurled the stone toward Dark, then crossed to the next column. The projectile crashed into something and thudded away.
Five more columns remained between him and Dorothea Lindauer, who was tied on his side of the nave.
"Take a look," Dark said.
He risked a glance.
Christl lay on the rough pavement. Ropes dangled from her wrists but they'd been cut, freeing her. Dark kept his body hidden, but Malone spotted the end of the rifle pointed down.
"You don't care?" Dark called out. "You want to watch her die?"
A burst of bullets ricocheted off the pavement just behind where Christl lay. Fear sent her scrambling forward across the lichen-infested flooring.
"Stop," Dark yelled at her.
She did.
"Next volley and her legs are gone."
He paused, attuning his senses, wondering about Werner Lindauer. Where was he?
"I guess there's no way we can discuss this?" he asked.
"Toss your weapon away and get your ass out here."
Still no mention of Werner. The gunman surely knew there was someone else here. "Like I said. I don't give a damn. Kill her."
He pivoted right as he spoke the challenge, his angle better now that he was closer to the altar. In the unearthly greenish light that filtered in from the fading afternoon, he saw Dark drift a couple of feet back from his column, seeking a better shot at Christl.
Malone fired but the bullet missed.
One round left.
Dark retook cover.
Malone darted to the next column. He spotted a shadow approaching Dark from the row of columns that spread to the back of the nave. Dark's attention was on Malone, so the shadow was free to scoot ahead. Its shape and size confirmed its identity. Werner Lindauer was gutsy.
"Okay, you've got a gun," Dark said. "I shoot her, you shoot me. But I can take the other sister without giving you a crack at me."
Malone heard a grunt, then a thud as flesh and bones pounded something that had not given way. Malone peered around the column and saw Werner Lindauer on top of Dark, a fist raised. The two struggling men rolled out into the nave and Dark shoved Werner away, both hands still gripping the weapon.
Christl had sprung to her feet.
Dark started to stand.
Malone aimed.
The crack of a rifle reverberated across the cavernous walls.
Blood poured from Dark's neck. The gun dropped from his grip as he realized he'd been shot and reached for his throat, struggling to breathe. Malone heard another crack-a second shot-and Dark's body stiffened then fell, landing hard, spine first.