Lyon’s right hand found the gun and he whirled to face the challenge.

“Help us,” Caroline cried out. “Help us. There’s a man here with a gun.”

Lyon aimed the weapon straight at Caroline.

Ashby had to act.

Caroline crept backward, as if she could avoid the threat by retreating, her eyes alight with uncommon fear.

“Shooting her would be stupid,” Ashby tried. “She’s the only one who knows the location.”

“Tell her to stand still and shut up,” Lyon ordered, the gun aimed at Caroline.

Ashby’s gaze locked on his lover. He raised a hand to halt her. “Please, Caroline. Stop.”

She seemed to sense the urgency of the request and froze.

“Treasure or no treasure,” Lyon said. “If she makes one more sound, she’s dead.”

THORVALDSEN WATCHED AS CAROLINE DODD TEMPTED FATE. He’d heard the noise, too, from the portal where he’d entered. About fifteen meters away, past an obstacle course of tombs.

Somebody had come inside.

And announced their presence.

SAM TURNED AT THE NOISE BEHIND HIM, FROM THE DOORWAY. He caught sight of a black form near the outer wall, approaching a set of stairs that led up to another level behind the main altar.

The size and shape of the shadow confirmed its identity.

Meagan.

ASHBY NOTICED THAT THE RUSH OF WIND AND RAIN FROM outside had increased, as if the doors they’d broken through had opened wider.

“There is a storm out there,” he said to Lyon.

“You shut up, too.”

Finally, Lyon was agitated. He wanted to smile, but he knew better.

Lyon’s amber eyes were as alert as a Doberman’s, scouring the cavern of faint light that enclosed them, his gun leading the way as he slowly pivoted.

Ashby saw it at the same time Lyon did.

Movement, thirty meters away, on the stairway right of the altar, leading up to the chancel and the ambulatory.

Somebody was there.

Lyon fired. Twice. A sound, like two balloons popping, thanks to the sound suppressor, echoed through the nave.

Then a chair flew through the air and crashed into Lyon.

Followed by another.

SEVENTY-ONE

MALONE KEPT HIS ATTENTION ON THE WOMAN, WHO ELBOWED her way out of the pew. The man she’d argued with fled the pew, too, and headed after her, both walking away from the altar, toward the main doors. He wore a thin, nylon coat, open in the front, and Malone spotted nothing suspicious.

His gaze again raked the crowd.

He spotted Long Nose, with the backpack, entering a half-full pew toward the front, crossing himself and kneeling to pray.

He spotted Olive Skin, emerging from the shadows, near the altar, still in the opposite transept. The man pushed through the last of the onlookers and stopped at velvet ropes that blocked any further forward access.

Malone did not like what he saw.

His hand slipped beneath his jacket and found the gun.

SAM SAW LYON FIRE TOWARD WHERE MEAGAN HAD HEADED. HE heard bullets ping off stone and hoped to heaven that meant the rounds missed.

A new noise clattered through the church.

Followed by another.

ASHBY WATCHED AS THE TWO FOLDING CHAIRS POUNDED INTO Lyon, who was caught off guard by the assault, his balance affected as he staggered. Caroline had tossed both of them just as Lyon had been distracted by whoever had entered the church.

Then she had escaped into the gloom.

Lyon recovered and realized Caroline was gone.

The gun came level, pointed Ashby’s way.

“As you mentioned,” Lyon said. “She’s the only one who knows the location. You I don’t need.”

A point Caroline had not seemed to consider.

“Get. Her. Back.”

“Caroline,” he called out. “You need to return.” He’d never had a gun aimed at him before. A terrifying sensation, actually.

One he did not like.

“Now. Please.”

THORVALDSEN SAW CAROLINE DODD TOSS THE CHAIRS AT Lyon, then disappear into the darkness of the west transept. She had to be working her way forward, using the tombs, the columns, and the darkness for cover, moving his way. There was no other route, since the far transept was too close to Peter Lyon and much more illuminated.

His eyes were accustomed to the dimness, so he stood his ground, keeping one eye on Lyon and Ashby, the other on the stillness to his left.

Then he saw her.

Inching stealthily his way. Most likely headed for the south portal’s open doors, where the wind and rain continued to announce their presence.

Toward the only way out.

Trouble was, Lyon would know that, too.

MALONE’S FINGERS WRAPPED AROUND THE BERETTA. HE DIDN’T want to, but he’d shoot Olive Skin, right here, if he had to.

His target stood thirty feet away and he waited for the man to make a move. A woman approached Olive Skin and intertwined her arm with his. She gently kissed him on the cheek and there was clear surprise on his face, then recognition as the two started to chat.

They turned and walked back toward the main entrance.

Malone’s grip on the gun relaxed.

False alarm.

His gaze returned to the nave as mass began. He caught sight of Long Nose as he eased his way out of the pew toward the center aisle.

Malone continued to search for problems. He should order the whole place evacuated, but this could well be another nothing.

A woman stood in the pew Long Nose had abandoned, holding a backpack. She motioned to the man, signaling he’d left something. Long Nose waved her off and kept walking. The woman stepped out into the center aisle and hustled after him.

Malone remained in the transept.

Long Nose turned, saw the woman coming for him, backpack in hand. He rushed toward her, wrenched the black nylon bundle from her grip, and tossed it forward. It slid across the marble floor, stopping at the base of two short risers that led up to the altar.

Long Nose turned and ran for the exit.

Thoughts of Mexico City flooded Malone’s brain.

This was it.

Do something.

SEVENTY-TWO

THORVALDSEN WAITED FOR CAROLINE DODD TO CREEP CLOSER. She was skillfully using the wall’s nooks, shielding her advance toward the basilica’s south portal. He crouched and eased himself into position, waiting for her to pass. One hand clutched the gun, the other ready to snag his target. He could not allow her to leave. Over the past year he’d listened to tape after tape of her and Ashby conspiring. Though she may well be ignorant of all that Ashby did, she was no innocent.

He hugged the short side of a marble sarcophagus topped with an elaborate Renaissance carving. Dodd made her way down the tomb’s long side, the monument itself, and one of the massive columns shielding them both from view. He waited until she tried to make a dash for the next monument, then wrapped an arm around her neck, his palm finding her mouth.

Yanking her down, he jammed the gun into her neck and whispered, “Quiet, or I’ll let the man out there know where you are. I need you to nod your head if you understand.”

She did, and he released his grip.

She pushed back.

“Who the hell are you?” she whispered.

He heard the hope in her question that he was perhaps a friend. He decided to use that to his advantage.

“The person who can save your life.”