Eric Lustbader - The Testament

From the first, Bravo had tried to get to Lorenzo Fornarini's dagger, but when he'd struck the concrete wall the knife had shifted, and now he couldn't reach it no matter how hard he tried. In any event, there was no time now because Cornadoro, swinging the push-dagger like a reaper, was about to make good on his threat.

The point of the push-dagger rushed in at Bravo. He tramped heavily on Cornadoro's instep, and as the bigger man reacted, he went straight for the inside of his wrist, digging thumb and forefinger into the nerve and tendon bundle. The push-dagger clattered to the bamboo beneath their feet.

With an animal growl, Cornadoro rabbit-punched Bravo in the kidney, then drove his knee into Bravo's chin. Bravo went to his hands and knees. Cornadoro smashed his fists into Bravo's spine. Bravo collapsed onto the sandblaster.

It was the machine's vibrations that kept him from slipping into unconsciousness. As Cornadoro stooped down to deliver the paralyzing blow, Bravo grabbed the sandblaster and flipping onto his back, aimed the nozzle at his tormentor, pulled the trigger.

Cornadoro bellowed, staggered back, and Bravo got to his feet, pressing his attack. Cornadoro let him commit himself before using powerful arms, elbows first, to knock the sand-blaster away. Now Cornadoro clapped one huge hand around Bravo's neck and pressed on his carotid.

Bravo's arms flailed, he gasped for breath, but the blackness of the abyss was all around him, obliterating his senses one by one.

Both Jenny and Camille saw what was happening eleven floors up on the scaffold. For Jenny, her worst fears were being realized-Bravo was going to die, and she would be too late to save him. Camille, too, felt the unfamiliar stab of fear. Just as Jordan had predicted, Damon had overstepped his authority. What did he think he was doing attacking Bravo? Unless he wanted the location of the cache of secrets for himself, unless he thought he could torture the location out of Bravo. The fool.

And so both women ran, side by side, both locked in their own fears and anxieties. No doubt that was why neither of them saw the man hurtle out of the trees where he had been hiding. He leapt onto Jenny because she was the one with the gun. He tackled her, digging his heels in while twisting his upper torso, using her own momentum to bring her down so hard that the heel of her hand struck the concrete rim of the walkway and the gun skittered away from them both.

Camille stood less than eight meters away. She knew the man-the Albanian, one of Jordan's hand-picked Knights of the Field. The implications of his being here, spying on Damon-and on her-were as immediate as they were dire. Jordan no longer trusted her; he meant to get the Order's cache of secrets for himself. Camille experienced a moment of indecision, unusual for her. She could either help Jenny against the Albanian or try to save Bravo, she couldn't do both. Picking up the Witness, she turned and ran.

Using his last ounce of strength, Bravo slammed his knee into Cornadoro's groin. He had the angle, the angle at which the genitals are at their most vulnerable, when the proper force could produce the maximum damage.

The moment he connected, bone against soft tissue, the big man bellowed and let Bravo go. The primitive part of the brain, the part a human being used to keep himself alive, told him that he'd never survive alone on the scaffold with Damon Cornadoro, so he'd done the other thing. Without hesitation, he vaulted over the scaffold's side.

He fell.

But not far. He grabbed onto Khalif, wrapping both arms, heavy as lead weights, around the Turk's waist. Together, they swung in dangerous arcs, while Khalif groaned at the strain on his arms, shoulders and back. Above them, Cornadoro was on hands and knees, his eyes were watering and his head was wagging back and forth like a wounded bull. Then, ignoring all pain, he scooped up the push-dagger and began to saw at the hanging rope-Bravo and Khalif's lifeline.

"My shoulder is dislocated, I can't get to him," Khalif said. "But you have a chance. When I let go, grab the rope and pull yourself up."

"Are you crazy?" Bravo said. "You're not sacrificing yourself for me."

"Why not? It's my life," Khalif said. "Besides, you'd do the same for me."

Camille ran until she had a clear shot up through the folds of plastic sheeting to the scaffold on the eleventh floor. Kneeling, she raised the Witness, bracing one hand on the other, forming a steady tripod. She got Damon in her sights, took a breath, exhaled. Her forefinger tightened on the trigger.

Bravo, fighting to keep Khalif from dropping off the rope, scrambled up the Turk's body, grabbed the rope and clamped his legs around Khalif's waist, holding the man fast.

"These heroics will do you no good," Khalif said as he tried to free himself from Bravo's embrace. But at that instant two shots sounded from below, a spray of blood struck them, hot and strong, and Cornadoro staggered backward across the scaffold. They glanced down to see Camille in her marksman's position. Then Jenny had joined her and the two women were running toward the pulleys that controlled the scaffold's vertical movement.

"Jesus Christ," Bravo said, as the scaffold began its descent.

"God is good," Khalif breathed.

A moment later, a body fell past them, spraying them in the face and chest with more blood-Damon Cornadoro on his long journey to hell.

The first face Bravo saw when he opened his eyes was Jenny's.

"Where am I?"

"In the back of Damon Cornadoro's truck." Jenny held a cool towel to his forehead.

"What happened?"

"Cornadoro's dead-Camille shot him and he fell from the scaffold."

"I saw that." When he moved he could feel the deep ache in every muscle of his body. "Where were you?"

"I was going hand-to-hand with someone Camille told me works for Jordan, but that makes no sense, does it? It's why she insisted we get out of there before he knew what was happening, why I stole the truck." She grinned. "I hot-wired the ignition."

They were pushed together as Camille took a turn at speed.

"But about this thing with Jordan," Jenny said, "Camille must be devastated. I don't know how she's going to get over it. You'd better have a talk with her as soon as you feel up to it. Anyway, you passed out as we were bringing you down. We just dropped Khalif off at the hospital; he's got a dislocated shoulder for sure, but there also may be a break in his right ulna."

"Camille's driving?"

She gave him a small smile. "Isn't she always?"

"Where to?"

"The Sumela Monastery. Khalif told us that's where you were headed, right?"

He closed his eyes. It was happening just as his father had predicted in his last cipher: he was not going alone to Sumela. All at once, he felt as if the puzzle his father had left him had gotten the better of him. He felt the urge to stop running, to give his brain a rest. Most of all, he wanted to sleep, not get up for a week or two.

He fought the unnatural lassitude, struggling to clear his mind and marshal his thoughts. He felt sure he could trust Camille. If she had been working with Jordan she never would have shot Cornadoro. Besides, now it appeared as if Jordan had sent someone to spy on her and him-the man Jenny grappled with. Which meant Jordan was growing ever more powerful, ever more willing to take risks. The pope lay on his deathbed, only the Quintessence could save him. Meanwhile, Bravo was feeling the tightening of the vise the Knights and the Vatican had prepared for him. He was nearing the end of his journey, and now he held no illusions. Jordan would do anything, risk anything to get his hands on the cache of secrets and the Quintessence. The twisted vines of the Voire Dei had almost worked themselves into a recognizable pattern. Almost.