from the busy station, side by side.
"Which one?" Stephanie muttered.
SAM SKIRTED THE BASILICA'S NORTH SIDE, FOLLOWING HENRIK and Meagan through the rain. They'd already rounded the corner a hundred feet ahead. This far side of the basilica was rounded, full of curves, different from the straight edges on the plaza side.
He carefully advanced, not wanting to alert Thorvaldsen to his presence.
He followed the church's half circle and swung around to the building's south side.
Immediately he spotted Thorvaldsen and Meagan, huddled beneath a covered section that jutted from the basilica and connected with an adjacent structure. He heard something clang from farther down, past where Thorvaldsen stood.
Then more clangs.
ASHBY CRASHED THE HEAVY METAL PIPE ONTO THE LATCH. ON the fourth blow, the handle gave way.
Another swipe and the black iron lever tumbled down the stone steps.
Lyon eased the door open. "That was easy."
Ashby tossed the pipe away.
Lyon held his gun, incentive enough not to try anything stupid, and motioned with it toward Caroline.
"Time to find out if her suspicions prove correct."
MALONE MADE A DECISION. "YOU DIDN'T THINK LYON WOULD make it simple, did you? You take the church on the right, I'll go left."
The car stopped and they both leaped out into the rain.
ASHBY WAS GLAD TO BE INSIDE. THE BASILICA'S INTERIOR WAS both warm and dry. Only a handful of overhead light fixtures burned, but they were enough for him to appreciate the lofty nave's majesty. Soaring fluted columns, perhaps thirty meters high, graceful arches, and pointed vaulting conveyed an awe-inspiring sense. Stained-glass windows, too many to even count, dark to the dismal day, projected none of the sensuous power their luminous tones surely could convey. But the impression of seemingly weightless walls was heightened by the lack of any visible feature holding something so tall upright. He knew, of course, that the supports were outside in the form of flying buttresses. He was forcing himself to concentrate on details as a way to relieve his mind of stress. He needed to think. To be ready to act when the moment was right.
"Miss Dodd," Lyon said. "What now?"
"I can't think with that gun out," Caroline blurted. "There's no way. I don't like guns. I don't like you. I don't like being here."
Lyon's brutish eyes narrowed. "If it helps, then here." He stuffed the weapon beneath his coat and displayed two empty, gloved hands. "That better?"
Caroline fought to regain her composure. "You're just going to kill us anyway. Why should I tell you anything?"
All congeniality faded from Lyon's face. "Once we find whatever there is to find, I might have a change of heart. Besides, Lord Ashby there is watching my every move, waiting for me to err. Then we'll have a chance to see if he's really a man."
Ashby clung to his last tatters of courage. "Perhaps I might have such an opportunity."
Lyon's lips parted in an amused grin. "I do hope so. Now, Miss Dodd, where to?"
THORVALDSEN LISTENED FROM THE HALF-OPEN DOOR THAT Ashby had battered. He and Meagan had crept forward after Ashby, Caroline Dodd, and the man in the green coat had slipped inside. He was reasonably sure that the third participant was the second man who'd leaped from the tour boat with Ashby.
"What do we do?" Meagan breathed into his ear.
He had to end this partnership. He motioned for them to retreat.
They fled the portal, back into the rain, retreating to their previous position beneath a covered walk. He noticed restrooms and an admission office and assumed this was where people bought tickets to visit the basilica.
He grabbed Meagan by the arm. "I want you out of here. Now."
"You're not so tough, old man, I can handle myself."
"You don't need to be involved."
"You going to kill the woman and the other man, too?"
"If need be."
She shook her head. "You've lost it."
"That's right. I have. So leave."
Rain continued to torrent down, spilling off the roofs, dashing the pavement just beyond their enclosure. Everything seemed to be happening in a hypnotic slow motion. A lifetime of rationality was about to be erased by immeasurable grief. How many substitutes for happiness he'd tried since Cai died. Work? Politics? Philanthropy? Lost souls? Like Cotton. And Sam. But none of those had satisfied the hysteria that seemed to constantly rage within him. This was his task. No others were to be involved.
"I don't want to get myself killed," Meagan finally said to him.
Scorn tinged her words.
"Then leave." He tossed her his cell phone. "I don't need it."
He turned away.
"Old man," she