Eric Lustbader - The Testament

"Godspeed," Father Damaskinos said.

Rule brandished the gun. "God has nothing to do with it."

They crept partly out from behind the partition of the stalls. From this vantage point they could see the enemy crawling like maggots-Paolo Zorzi and four Guardians. But they knew there were others-there had to be-in other parts of the church not visible to them.

"They won't hurt you, or at least they'll try not to," Rule said grimly. "As for me, I'll be dead in the blink of an eye if I let them get a clear shot at me."

"Then we have to make sure they don't get a clear shot at you," Bravo said.

Rule laughed briefly and silently. He ruffled Bravo's hair, as he'd done when they were both much younger.

"This is what I admire most about you, Bravo. Your absolute loyalty is a refreshing change for me."

"You're saying loyalty has no place in the Voire Dei."

"I would never tell you that," Rule said seriously. "Never."

"Never, "Camille had told him. "You must not interfere." Damon Cornadoro was a sentinel in the shrinking shadows that still lurked around the church of the Greeks, semiderelict and of no value to him or to anyone he knew. He was not cut out to be an observer; his skills were best served in the furtherance of action. And, as he observed the Guardians moving in as they ringed the rear and sides of the church, he decided to ignore Camille's express order.

He knew the endgame had begun, and he would be damned if it would take place without him. He went into action, if he thought about it at all, because it pleased him; the lure of bloodshed was irresistible. But there was another reason locked away beyond his understanding. His willful disobedience stemmed from the look that had come into Camille's eyes when she took the call from Anthony Rule. He had felt their connection, even displaced by wireless electronics. He could see the slight tremor in her hand that held the cell phone, the sexual flush that came to her cheeks. Worst of all was the sighting of Rule himself in her eyes. She had been staring at him-Cornadoro-but it was Rule she was seeing.

And so he moved, rage and spite informing every movement, every decision. He made no sound in the dimness of the church, coming upon each Guardian unsuspected and undetected. He took them down with an economy of movement but with a terrible excess of pain. He never saw their faces, never cared to see them; his eyes were filled with someone else. He possessed the fixed gaze of a killing machine and was unstoppable.

Until, that is, he felt the familiar touch on his arm and, swinging around, found himself staring into her eyes.

"The staircase is the key," Rule said. "For us, it's the only way in or out."

Bravo nodded. The spiral staircase up to the women's stalls was narrow. A creak from one of its wooden treads hidden behind a curving wall brought them up short.

Rule's eyes opened wide as he pointed a forefinger downward in the instant before he wrapped himself into a ball and tumbled down the staircase. Bravo, understanding the plan, followed him, the SIG Sauer at the ready. He heard the surprised grunt as Rule made contact with another body, and he leapt around the wall, saw the Guardian staggering back and slammed the butt of the gun into the man's temple. The Guardian collapsed, half on Rule, who immediately threw him off and sprang up.

"Nice going," he whispered.

"I saw four, plus Zorzi," Bravo said.

"Now three, plus. But it's Zorzi I have to worry about." They paused behind a wall to catch their breath and to reassess tactics. "I've always believed that the best strategy is the last one the enemy thinks of. Zorzi's got superiority in numbers and, he thinks, the edge of surprise. He can't help but believe that he's got us on the defensive. Therefore, we go on the offensive. We stalk him-and only him-as he's been stalking us. What do you say?"

What was Bravo to say? Rule was older, with far more field experience and an unblemished record of getting out of even the hairiest tactical situations. Besides, what he was proposing made sense: Bravo never liked the feeling of being back on his heels.

"Let's do it," he said.

Rule nodded. "We go everywhere together. We're a team, get it? No suddenly taking off on your own, no individual heroics-that'll screw everything six ways from Sunday."

They moved out from behind the wall, bent over and scuttling like scarabs until they were behind a massive column. In that time, Bravo saw that what few people had been in the church had been evacuated. The field had been cleared for battle.

Bravo saw another Guardian appear from behind a column twenty-five feet away. He was looking straight ahead, not in their direction. Rule grabbed his shoulder as he was about to move.

"An excellent way of cutting down the odds further, that's what you're thinking, isn't it?" Rule whispered in his ear. "But that's just what Zorzi wants us to think. The man's a decoy, a means to flush us out." He gestured in the opposite direction. "Remember, we're after Zorzi. He's the key. Once we have him, the battle's won."

As Rule dictated, they moved in tandem, quickly and cautiously. The sun was high enough now for light to pour in through the windows, creating patches of bright color on the floor and walls. The windows themselves were invisible save as a white glare. As a result, the shadows in the interior were as deep and dark as if it were midnight.

"We look for two together," Rule said, as they traversed the circumference of the interior. "In these situations Zorzi always has a Guardian watching his back."

"Clever thinking."

"No, it isn't," Rule said. "It's predictable and therefore a security risk." He pointed ahead of them. "But it does give us an edge."

Bravo saw the two figures, and a thrill of hatred went through him. Who knew how much intelligence Zorzi had passed on to the Knights, how many deaths were on his hands, including the murder of Dexter Shaw? Bravo felt his teeth slide together, grinding in rage.

He was in such a keyed-up state that when Rule said, "You take the Guardian, I'll take Zorzi," he almost said, "No, I want Zorzi for myself." But then he came back to his disciplined self. Now that they were so close to beating the odds stacked against them, he desperately didn't want to screw things up six ways from Sunday.

They circled around until they were on the left side of Zorzi and his Guardian bodyguard. They could see Zorzi talking urgently into his cell phone, no doubt repositioning his men as they quartered the church's interior. The bodyguard was watching his back. Doubtless they had found the Guardian that Bravo had knocked cold, and their nerves, already taut, had begun to vibrate.

There was less than ten feet between the enemies, and with Zorzi intent on his troop movements there would never be a better chance. Bravo and Rule leapt at the two men. Bravo slammed his fist into the Guardian's rib cage, then brought the butt of the SIG Sauer into play. The Guardian swiveled, forcing Bravo to turn with him. The Guardian drove a knee into Bravo's solar plexus and grabbed his hair, jerking his head up and swinging him around.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Bravo saw out of the corner of his eye two Guardians rushing toward him. One leveled a gun at him, and improbably, it seemed as if the other Guardian knocked the gun out of his hand and brought him down. His eyes, teary from the blow to his stomach, might have failed him for a moment, or then again, he might have been subject to a wishful mirage like those manufactured at times by the lagoon.

Then he was fully engaged with the struggle with his own Guardian, who had him on his knees. Bravo reached up, pulling the Guardian down, using his own momentum against him as he drove a blow directed at Bravo's head. The man, surprised, toppled head over heels and Bravo grabbed his ears, slammed his head against the floor. Panting, he rose to see Rule with his forearm across Zorzi's throat. He had him, the battle was won. It seemed Zorzi had in some sense given up, for he had seen Bravo. His mouth began to work, words tumbling out, rushed and barely comprehensible. Despite his caution, Bravo started to move closer, so that he could hear what the traitor had to say at the moment of his defeat.