gate opened into an ample, three-naved wide space. The ceiling was low-vaulted, a small rectangular altar niche to his right. Three medieval stone sarcophagi topped with immense slabs of carved granite lined the center. The only break in the darkness came from a tiny yellow light near the altar that illuminated a few square feet. The rest of the space remained in shadows, the air stale and fetid and noticeably chilly.
He heard the oak door opening above.
His eyes, alert and watchful, shot to the top of the low vault not two feet from the crown of his head.
Footsteps bounded across the marble floor.
He crept across the crypt into a far nave. His mind filled with anticipation, which he tried to suppress with a wave of self-control. He’d fired a lot of rounds in the chapter house, so he checked the gun’s magazine.
Empty.
Great.
He needed something to defend himself with, so he searched the darkness. In a small apse about twenty feet away he spotted an iron candelabrum. He hustled over. The ornament stood about five feet tall, a solitary wax candle, about four inches thick, rising from the center. He grabbed the stem and noticed its weight. Solid. He brought both the candelabrum and candle with him as he assumed a position behind another of the pillars.
Someone started down the steps to the crypt.
He peered around the edge, past the tombs, through the blackness. The tiny altar light offered little assistance. His emotions alternated between fear and excitement, his body alive with a strange kind of energy, an unexplained power that had always clarified his thoughts. In the archway, at the base of the stairs, stood the outline of one of the robed brothers.
The silhouette crept in, gun leading the way.
He tightened his grip on the iron stem and cocked his arms back. He knew he had to draw the guy closer, so he ground the sole of his right shoe into the grit on the floor. A quick glance around the pillar confirmed that the man was now moving toward him. Shadows bobbed, swelled, then lessened on the ceiling. His muscles tensed. He silently counted to five, clenched his teeth, then lunged, swinging the candelabrum. He caught the guy square in the chest, sending the shadow back onto one of the Romanesque tombs. He tossed the iron aside and swung his fist hard to the face. The gun left the man’s grip and rattled across the mosaics.
His pursuer shot up and pounced.
But he was ready.
A second facial punch and another to the midsection sent the man teetering. He then tripped the guy’s feet out from under him, which allowed the head to pop the flagstones hard.
The man’s body went still.
He searched the floor for the gun, finding it and curving his fingers around the butt just as another set of footsteps bounded down and into the crypt.
Two shots came in his direction.
Dust snowed down from the vault as bullets found stone. He sought cover behind the pillar, peered around the edge, and fired once. The bullet ricocheted off the far wall, a signal that he was armed and ready.
It seemed to get attention.
“There’s no way out.”
Gallo’s voice, lashing across the chamber with an icy menace, from a position behind the farthest tomb.
Between him and the only exit was an armed man bent on killing him. But Gallo was pinned, too. No way for him to get back to the stairs without being shot, either. He needed to draw Gallo out, cause a mistake.
He glanced around and spotted the thick candle on the floor.
He reached down and took hold of it, then focused across the dim nave, determining that there was enough darkness for the candle to be mistaken for something else. So he arced the wax cylinder across the open space between the pillars, flipping it end over end, hoping the diversion would draw fire.
And it did.
As the candle passed midway, Gallo stepped out and fired.
Cotton leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger twice, both rounds finding Gallo’s chest.
The man staggered back but did not fall. Gallo swung his weapon around, leveling the aim, and started firing. Cotton dove behind the pillar as bullets pinged off stone in all directions. He stayed close to the gritty floor, as there was a real danger of being hit by a ricochet.
The firing stopped.
He gave it a few more seconds, then came to his feet.
A quick glance toward the other side of the crypt and he saw no Gallo.
He heard the door above