false moves now. Stanley stood by Winthrop's wheelchair, his gun leveled at Bray. If somehow he could turn, twist, get the weapon from under his raincoat.... He looked down at Winthrop, his attention caught by the old man's eyes. Winthrop was trying to tell him something, just as Talenickov had tried to tell him something. It was in the eyes; the old man kept shifting them to his right. That was it! Stanley was by the wheelchair now, not behind it. In tiny, imperceptible movements, Winthrop was edging his chair around; he was going to go after Stanley's gun! His eyes were telling him that. They were also telling him to keep talking.
Scofield glanced unobtrusively at his watch. There were six minutes left before the sequence of explosions began. He needed three for preparation; that left three minutes to take out Stanley and bring in another. One hundred and eighty seconds. Keep talking!
He turned to the monster at his side. "Do you remember when you killed him?
When you pulled the trigger that night at Villa Matarese?" Guiderone stared at him. "It was not a moment to be forgotten. It was my destiny. So the whore of ViUa Matarese is alive." "Not any longer." "No? That was not in the pages you sent to Winthrop. She was killed then?" "By the legend. Per nostro circolo." The old man nodded. "Words that long ago meant one thing, now something else entirely. They guard the grave still." "They still fear it. That grave's going to kiU them all one of these days." "The warning of Guillaume de Matarese." Guiderone started back to his desk.
Keep talking. Winthrop was pressing the wheels of the chair, each press an inch.
"Warning or prophecy?" asked Bray quickly.
"They're often interchangeable, aren't theyr, "They called you the Shepherd Boy." Guiderone turned. "Yes, I know. It was only partially true. As a child I took my turn herding the flocks, but the occasions diminished. The priests demanded it; they had other plans for me." "The priests?" Winthrop moved again.
"I had astonished them. By the time I was seven years of age I knew and understood the catechism better than they did. By eight years I could read and write in Latin; before I was ten I could debate the most complex issues of theology and dogma. The priests saw me as the first Corsican to be sent to the Vatican, to achieve high office... perhaps the highest. I would bring great honor to their parishes. Those simple priests in the hills of Porto Vecchio perceived my genius before I did. They spoke to the padrone, petitioning him to sponsor my studies.... Guillaume de Matarese did so in ways far beyond their comprehension." Forty seconds. Winthrop was within two feet of the gun. Keep talking!
"Matarese made his arrangements with Appleton then? Joshua Appleton, the Second." "America's industrial expansion was extraordinary. It was the logical place for a gifted young man with a fortune at his disposal." "You were married? You had a son." "I bought a vessel, the most perfectly formed female through which to bear children. The design was always there." "Including the death of young Joshua Appleton?" "An accident of war and destiny. The decision was a result of the captain's own exploits, not part of the original design. It was, instead, an unparalleled opportunity to be seized upon. I think we've said enough." Now! Winthrop lunged out of the chair, his hands gripping Stanley's gun, pulling it to him, every ounce of his strength clawing at the weapon, refusing to let it go.
It fired. Bray pulled out his own gun, aiming it at the chauffeur.
Winthrop's body arched in the air, his throat blown away. Scofield squeezed the trigger once; it was all he needed. Stanley fell.
"Stay away from that desk!" yelled Bray.
"You were searched! It's not possible. Where?
"From a better man than any computer of yours could ever find!" said Scofield, looking briefly in anguish at the dead Winthrop. "Just as he was." "You'll never get out!" Bray sprang forward, grabbing Nicholas Guiderone by the throat, pushing him against the desk. "You're going to do what I tell you to do or I'll blow your eyes out!" He shoved the pistol up into the hollow of Guiderone's right eye.
"Do not kill me!" commanded the overlord of the Matarese. "The value of my life is too extraordinary! My work is not finished; it must be finished before I die!" "You're everything in this world I hate," said Scofield, jamming the