Chris Kuzneski - Sign of the Cross

Franz smiled. ‘Let’s go save some horses.’

An old guy talking smack. You had to love it.

Payne had two objectives as he left the basement: locate the members of his team, then find a way out. Küsendorf is in the middle of nowhere, nestled on top of a mountain, which meant there was no way in hell they were going to get police help. And even if they did, how helpful would it be? The Swiss weren’t exactly known for war. For all Payne knew, they might show up and say, ‘We will watch your fight, then serve cocoa to the winners.’ The pansies. In Payne’s mind they were worse than the French.

Anyway, they reached the ground floor with no resistance, though they had a surprise waiting for them when they opened the basement door: the distinct smell of smoke. The Ulster Archives was a wood-framed chalet that was jam-packed with thousands of books and manuscripts. The last thing anyone wanted to smell in this place was smoke. It was a library’s worst nightmare.

Payne whispered, ‘How good is your fire system?’

‘The best. All the rooms will be sealed behind fireproof doors. The rooms will be filled with carbon dioxide, protecting the safes where the documents are stored.’

As Franz finished speaking, Payne heard a loud rumble in the ceiling above. It sounded like someone pushing a grand piano down the hallway. First on his left, then on his right, then a sudden symphony of sound being repeated all over the building. The noise was so intense he could see the framed pictures rattling on the walls and felt it under his feet. He looked at Franz for reassurance, and he simply nodded. It was the fireproof doors moving into place. Soon it would be followed by the light spray of water from all the sprinklers. ‘Will people be trapped inside?’

Franz shook his head. ‘There is button by every door. People can get out but can’t get back in. Not until system is deactivated.’

Payne glanced down the corridor looking for movement. Water was falling from the ceiling, and all the doors were closing. Rooms that couldn’t offer them sanctuary as they moved down the hallway. For the next fifty feet or so, they were fighting naked. No turning back. No protection of any kind. A blind man could rip them to shreds with a slingshot. He didn’t even want to consider what a well-trained soldier could do. ‘How’s the heart, Franz?’

‘It is fine… How’s your bladder?’

More smack talk. Payne was still lovin’ it.

‘I’ll go first. Do not, I repeat, do not follow me until I reach the end of the hall. If anything happens, lock yourself in the armory. You’ll have better odds against a fire than multiple guns.’

He put his hand on Payne’s shoulder. ‘Be safe.’

Payne dashed down the hallway at half speed, trying to get there as quietly as possible. The gear hung over his right shoulder, occasionally clanging against the back of his legs as he moved. He clenched two Lugers in his hands. He’d never used one in combat, although he’d fired several on the range. He hoped like hell they would hold up in the downpour.

Halfway down the hall, he heard footsteps coming behind him. He dropped to one knee and spun, ready to take out his target. But it was a false alarm — just Franz disobeying orders. Payne waved for him to go back, but he continued to charge forward like a Brahma bull.

‘What are you doing?’ Payne demanded.

He knelt beside Payne. ‘I thought you reached the end of the hall.’

Payne looked him in the eye. He was dead serious. ‘You’re nearsighted, aren’t you?’

‘ Ja . Nearsighted, farsighted, middlesighted. I’m an old man, what didja expect?’

Things just got harder. ‘Don’t shoot at anything unless I shoot first. You got that?’

‘Ja, ja.’ He gave Payne a mock salute while mumbling a few vulgar words in German.

Payne started down the hallway again, followed by his geriatric shadow. As they reached the end, they heard footsteps up ahead and the sound of Maria whispering. Ten minutes ago it would’ve been a welcome sound. Now Payne didn’t know what to think in light of the Pentagon information. Was she whispering to Jones or the enemy? Was she the one who called the soldiers, or had someone else from the Archives tipped them off? In Payne’s mind the next few seconds would tell them everything.

Payne signaled for Franz to get behind him, then positioned himself on the floor along the right-hand wall. It gave Payne a chance to fire without giving his adversary much of a target. He sat like that for thirty seconds, struggling to hear what she said. But the sound of whispering had stopped. Either they had turned and were headed in the opposite direction, or they were doing the same thing that Payne was: sitting and waiting. His guess was the latter. The smoke was getting thicker, so there was no reason to head deeper inside the building. The risks were too severe.

In truth Payne would’ve sat like that all night or until he felt flames, because he knew patience was a soldier’s best friend. However, their standoff ended quickly when he saw the tip of a knife slip out into the hallway near the base of the archway. The blade tilted back and forth like it was being pushed into a grapefruit, and he immediately knew what was happening. Jones was trying to see who was in the hallway by using the reflection of the stainless steel.

Payne growled, ‘Drop that blade, soldier!’

Jones paused before answering. ‘Come and make me.’

Payne grinned, then looked back at Franz. ‘He’s on our side. Don’t shoot.’

Once again, Franz mumbled in German. The same words as before.

The first person in the corridor was Jones, followed by Ulster, Maria, and Boyd, who had a backpack strapped over his shoulders. Payne was relieved that everyone was together, because he didn’t feel like heading upstairs on a rescue mission. Somewhere above them fire-resistant boards were burning. Same with the carpets, the pictures, and all the knickknacks. He hoped like hell that the sprinklers were working on every floor, or the Archives were about to become a pyre.

Payne handed his bag to Boyd and told him to start loading the weapons with ammo. Meanwhile Maria just stood there, watching, not really sure what to do. At the time Payne didn’t know if it was because she didn’t know how to help or didn’t want to, but her lack of action caused Payne to pull Jones aside. ‘Did you confront her yet?’

He shook his head. ‘Been kind of busy.’

‘Should we give her a gun?’

Jones looked over his shoulder and stared at Maria. She gave him a sweet smile. He didn’t smile back. ‘Maybe a rifle. That’ll be tougher for her to use against us.’

‘Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on her. One false move, and I’m taking her out.’

He nodded. ‘Shoot to maim, not kill. She might have helpful intel.’

His answer didn’t surprise Payne. Over the years they’d heard too many horror stories of soldiers getting killed because they were thinking with the wrong gun. That’s why Payne positioned himself as her executioner, not Jones, just to be safe. No sense letting Jones’s hormones cloud his judgment. Changing subjects, Payne asked, ‘What are we facing?’

‘Four-man team out front, wearing camo. No guards in sight. The peak to our rear has us pinned. So does the perimeter fence… You and I could clear it. Not them.’

Payne looked at his crew. A rusty CIA agent, a possible turncoat, an Austrian with an attitude, and a fat guy with a beard. Not to mention weapons built for World War II.

All things considered, he liked their chances.

56

The pushpins were pissing Nick Dial off. They were supposed to be helping his focus — marking the kidnappings, crucifixions, and homelands of the victims — but they were having the opposite effect. One dot here, another there. No rhyme or reason. Just random spots on the map.