snaking a path downward. He grabbed hold and planted his feet on the side wall, an easy matter to work his way down. His eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he glanced toward the bottom.
No bodies.
No shovel.
He stopped.
Where the hell had they gone?
He’d seen no one and no other vehicles outside. But where he and Malone had dug earlier seemed disturbed, the area larger, nearly taking up the entire floor. Somebody had been here digging. Above, he caught the momentary flicker of a shadow in the light. Alarm bells rang in his head. He began to pull himself back up the rope, working his feet on the rough walls, hurrying. He came to the top, his head cresting the edge, his eyes seeing a man with his back to him, slicing the rope with a knife.
Damn.
The hemp snapped.
The fingers of his left hand swung up and dug into the hard earth, barely supporting his weight. He heard footsteps scrapping his way. He pulled himself up and saw Kevin Hahn, his right arm sweeping downward toward him in an arc, the knife coming straight for his hand.
Crap.
Pivoting, he swung out, his right hand finding the edge, which allowed him to yank the other away and continue to support his weight.
The blade pierced the hard ground. The fingers on his right hand ached. Hahn moved to withdraw the blade for another blow. Luke planted both hands and pushed up, one knee finding hard ground, his left hand grabbing hold of Hahn’s ankle and yanking a leg out from under him.
He rolled out of the guva.
Hahn sprang to his feet, brandishing the knife.
Luke rose, too. “Are we seriously going to do this?”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He gave the five-inch blade the respect it deserved, but he’d faced many a knife before. And what self-respecting east Tennessee redneck didn’t like a good fight every now and then. Besides, he had a ton of questions for this bastard.
Hahn jabbed a couple of times, which he allowed, trying to gauge his opponent’s potential. Which wasn’t all that much. Surprising, given this guy’s job. Maybe too many ftira and too long behind a desk.
“You bury those bodies?” he asked.
Hahn’s answer was another swipe with the blade.
Enough. He dropped back a step and allowed Hahn to advance. He feigned left, then shifted in the opposite direction, swinging his right fist up hard, catching Hahn’s jaw. The head whipped back and he followed with a left jab to the stomach. Hahn crumbled forward. He kicked the knife out of his grasp. Hahn tried to right himself, dazed from the two blows. But Luke grabbed two handfuls of shirt and wrenched him upright, swinging Hahn around and angling him out over the guva. Hahn’s arms flailed as he tried to find some semblance of balance but the only thing keeping him from dropping below was Luke’s two-fisted grip on his shirt.
“It’s a long drop,” he said.
He caught the fear in Hahn’s eyes.
“I’m going to ask some questions. You’re going to answer. If not, I let go. We have a deal?”
Hahn nodded.
“Let’s start with the question you ignored. Did you bury those bodies?”
He nodded again.
“You’re not going to make me ask, are you?”
“I was told to do it.”
He shook his head and pushed Hahn farther out at a dangerous angle, which immediately got the guy’s attention.
“Okay. Okay. Okay.”
He pulled him back.
“Pollux Gallo. I did it for him.”
“And the cardinal? What do you know?”
“He’s dead.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Who killed him?”
“Gallo. Brother-to-brother. He’s down there.”
“I want to hear it all. And talk fast. My fingers are getting tired.”
“Pollux and I go way back. He came to me with a plan and made me an offer. I went along with it.”
“You sold out Spagna and the Entity to Gallo?”
Hahn nodded. “I hated Spagna. He deserved what he got.”
This guy was a wealth of information. Stephanie and Malone both needed good intel, but to acquire it would take a little time.
He pulled Hahn back to solid ground.
The guy looked relieved.
But not for long.
Luke shoved him over the edge.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Cotton stepped from the DOJ jet onto the tarmac at Rome’s da Vinci–Fiumicino airport. The time was a little after noon and he was hungry. Some lunch would be great, but a white Vatican helicopter was waiting, its rotors turning. He hurried straight over and climbed inside.
The flight from Malta had been quick. He’d received no reports from either Stephanie or Luke. Obviously something was up, as Stephanie had managed to obtain the