Nightbringer (7 page)

A beat, and Michael shook his head. "No," he said curtly. "I was just wondering."

"Ah, of course, yes ... uh, am I dismissed?"

"Yes, thank you."

"At your service." Jaqual bowed and was gone.

Gina shook her head. "What's this about Dominic? You think he might have been hurt or something?"

"I was just wondering where everybody was," Michael muttered and hefted the sword—not a conscious move.

Gina noticed that he must have handled a lot of weapons in his day.
His fingers were tight enough at the guard and the pommel, but his middle fingers held it lightly in the same manner an artist held a brush—poised for that single, deft, delicate move. Then he said, "Well, this was interesting but I think we’re going back to bed." She waved to the children. “Okay, guys! Regroup! We're going back to bed!"

"Mind if I walk you to your room?" Michael asked.

"Certainly not,” Gina answered. “And keep the sword with you. The kids love the romance."

Michael laughed and they strolled slowly toward the staircase as Gina asked casually, "Ever used one of those things? You seem pretty handy with it."

"Nah, I'm not the warrior type."

***

Holding a long, blazing torch, Melanchthon walked fearlessly down the dusty tunnel where he had been working earlier in the day. Flames from the three-foot stick rose to the low ceiling and trailed behind him where the inky black smoke hung like a malignant spirit long after the light.

Finally Melanchthon reached the wall where he been carefully chipping away layers of crushed concrete as old as Rome itself, for only Rome—of all the ancient nations—had possessed the secret of concrete.

Without any indication of weariness elanchthon set the torch in a crudely carved notch and sat upon a small stool. Within moments he was carefully chipping at the wall once more. And if someone had been standing directly beside him they would not have heard his quiet words.

"It is time
… I must find you...."

***

Monsignor DeMarco demonstrated a rich sense of humor about the affair, for the old priest had apparently endured quite a number of similar episodes amid ancient, shadowed basilicas. Gina laughed repeatedly as he regaled them with stories of terrified monks pushing him into a darkened corridor to confront the dreaded, "
It
."

"Authority," the monsignor mused
. "Such a two-edged sword. In truth, I was as terrified as they were—not of a thing, mind you, but there might have been some animal in there. Yet I could hardly admit such." He laughed once more. "In any case, I rather enjoyed myself tonight. I am glad this layover has not been more of the mundane same."

At the corridor of Gina's room, the monsignor bowed, a deferential bend at the waist, his back ramrod straight like
some character out of a historical romance. Gina returned a nod and then the priest winked at the kids and walked steadily and slowly to his room.

Molke was not so cultured and patted her on the shoulder. Then he leaned down to Josh and Rachel. "Are you disappointed we didn't find a monster?"

Rachel: "Nope."

Josh: "Yep."

Molke laughed and turned to the hallway that led in the direction of Michael's room. Gina knew that it was one floor beneath them and contained smaller and older chambers. In contrast to the monsignor, Michael had faded into the corridor with hardly a word.

The faint aura of secrecy that surrounded Michael had activated Gina's instincts. She knew the routine. Detecting lies was her special skill and she reluctantly turned over what she knew.

He spoke little, remained in the background, never disagreed with anyone or even agreed. But being unfriendly didn't make someone a liar. He didn't avoid eye contact— very important. His gestures were minimal and she had not noticed any "micro-expressions"—an almost invisible tic of the face that revealed an emotion quickly concealed.

But he was definitely hiding something,
although only an expert could have known because, as with any lie, his behavior and words too often didn't agree. He was friendly to her on an individual basis but faded into the background in a crowd. He verbalized no interest in anything at all but Gina had watched his eyes. He narrowly caught every gesture, every movement.

There were other things
that didn’t seem to fit. He was in exceptionally good shape – the shape of an Olympic athlete. But that was enough for Gina. She began to wonder more and more who he really was and what he was doing. This wasn't a place for someone like him. Not alone, anyway. He had obviously seen a lot of the world. He didn't need to see any more. So he had another reason for traveling in a group.

They arrived at their room and Gina quickly tucked Josh and Rachel into bed. Then she settled into a chair to read some novel she'd picked up at the airport, but she couldn't stop thinking of Michael.

He's somebody
....

She sighed and knew she wouldn't get anywhere with what little she knew. She could ponder all night, even make a few calls, but she was certain she wouldn't learn anything more even if she stayed up the rest of the night.

No, she didn't have the strength for that. For even though the search had been stunningly uneventful, it had used up what little energy had remained after the long drive from Lausanne. And even though she had revealed no fear, she had still felt uncomfortable sensations she couldn't quite identify.

Yes, the tracks had been disturbing, the endless dark alcoves and halls, the huge imposing doors with black iron bolts strong enough to withstand a charging rhinoceros. And after
a while the monks' collective fear had become somewhat contagious.

Gina
didn't ask herself whether there might be some unnamed cause for their fear—something about the shadowed abbey had made her resistant to knowing its secrets. In fact, all she wanted to do now was leave.

She soon heard the kids snoring and became aware she was staring at the cascading snow. She didn't need anyone to tell her they wouldn't be leaving here tomorrow or even the day after. No, this storm had hit hard and heavy and mean and it didn't look like it was going anywhere anytime soon.

She was aware that the hypnotic flow of flashing white snow seemed to foretell that something was coming—something stronger than the storm, colder than the storm ...
Older
than the storm ...

"
No, baby, there's no such thing as monsters …
"

Snow
y eyes watched her from blackest night and she felt it was the face of something …the face of something …

O
f something …

Monstrous
.

* * *

Chapter Seven

The morning Dispensation Chant was even more beautiful than last evening's Compline Prayers and Gina wondered vaguely if it wasn't because of the snow and such smothering silence.

It had mounded so heavily upon the abbey during the night that only the highest sections of the stained-glass windows were unobstructed. Even the storm seemed more distant, as if the abbey had been buried
within the mountain.

Gina mused over the most sumptuous breakfast she'd experienced in all of Europe, though the kids made short work of it—a shame. But Josh was eager to get moving and Rachel—the twelve-year-old bookworm—wanted to see the archives.

The eternally grim Melanchthon volunteered to show her the abbey's repository of ancient books, located in the former dungeon. Rachel had blinked; "A dungeon?"

"Yes."

"You guys really have a dungeon?"

Grimly
: "Yes."

Gina laughed and leaned back from the table. She was in no hurry to leave this exotic brand of coffee, suspecting she wouldn't find it again on this continent.

Rachel was beside her. "Mom? Can I go? Melanchthon says they have books that go way back!"

"Go ahead." Gina focused on the big monk.

Though he did seem so utterly grim Melanchthon could not conceal his warm and protective heart seen easily in the painstaking, patient way he explained everything to the children. And Gina had long ago learned to trust her instincts. "You'll watch over her?"

"As God watches over His children."

Gina waved at Rachel. "Be good!"

They were gone in moments.

Gina saw the monsignor and Father Stephen engaged in deep discussion. The presence of a monsignor was obviously a great opportunity for the Father Abbot and Gina figured red tape in the Church was probably as bad as in the FBI – or worse.

Maybe Father Stephen figured he could take his requests straight to the top. And from the expression on the monsignor's face, he was well received. She thought the rest of the group remained in bed, but when she asked after Michael, Jaqual said that he had already been up for
a while and had gone outside.

Gina rose and donned her coat. Several monks stepped forward, attempting to warn her of the storm. "It's okay, guys. I just need some fresh air.
I’m not leaving the courtyard."

She could handle the monks pretty easily now. She just treated them like actual brothers. They were certain to protest, but they'd accommodate a request as long as it didn't interfere with their vows or her safety.

Two minutes later Gina found Michael standing on the outer wall. He smiled as she climbed the steps and then she was beside him. She noticed the object of his attention. The road was so sheathed in ice that it was nothing more than a rising curve of the cliff. Squinting, Gina studied the rolling dark clouds—this storm wasn't going anywhere.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think we’re going to be here a while."

"
How long?”

“Maybe a week.”

Hands shoved deeply into her coat, Gina stared into a snow-covered valley that might have been a perfectly smooth ocean of ice. She understood how someone could go blind gazing at this white upon white. It was little better than staring into the sun.

Michael's voice had a faint edge of concern. "You said last night during the search that you're a special agent for the FBI. Do you have the authority to order an airlift out of here?"

"What?" Gina laughed.

She stared at him but he didn't smile
and didn't blink.

He’s serious …

"Yeah, I can do that." But the necessity of having to answer the question made Gina more than suspicious. It made her faintly angry. "Why do you ask?"

"Accidents happen
," Michael shrugged. "I was just wondering if you have authority over here."

"
The only authority I have is whatever the Italian government gives me. But as far as choppers go, I only have to make a call and they’ll respond. It’s called inter-agency cooperation." She paused. "So are you gonna tell me or what?"

"Tell you?"

"You don't ask a question like that without a reason."

Michael hesitated to reply, and Gina tried to read all that could be read. Highly intelligent but hiding
... stoic ... confident ... no, not confident ... It was more like predatory.

Events began to coalesce in her mind: the oppressive atmosphere of this place; Josh's unexplainable, intuitive fear; whatever animal awoke them last night. And yet the unsolved murder of the monk that Mr. Trevanian had told her about on the bus was the most disturbing.

She was well trained to connect seemingly unrelated events to form a theory. But it did not require distinguished criminal training to connect what she had seen and heard. The most disturbing premise suggested that the monks had a justifiable cause for fear—a premise reinforced by the fact that the abbey had only recently been reopened.

Perhaps this abbey had been troubled with acts of violence for years. Isolation, the haunting atmosphere, and demanding conditions could definitely exact a psychological toll on the inhabitants. And perhaps the Church had only recently identified and relocated those monks who represented a danger, both to other monks and tourists. That would certainly explain why the monastery had been only recently opened to the public. But it didn't explain the pervasive atmosphere of fear.

Gina was disturbed by how quietly she, herself, spoke. "What do you think about this place?"

Michael grunted, “
I wouldn’t pick it for a summer home."

"Uh-huh. And what do you think about that monk being murdered up here?"

Michael shrugged. "They're way up here—alone, isolated. There's no law, really. It's like being in the wild. A small thing turns into a big thing and before you know it somebody gets killed. I've seen it before."

"Really? Where?"

"Ah, I've been all over the world. Every place has some kind of backwoods story of a guy going nuts and hacking up his family and then killing himself. I'm not a psychologist but it seems obvious that too much isolation is not a good thing."

The wind that hit the wall seemed to attack, and Gina hunched. Something about the place, the quiet,
and this weather was far more disturbing than peaceful. She couldn't prevent her next words.

"I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this place."

"Me, too," he muttered.

"You, too?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think we should do?"

"If I were you, I'd tell Stephen that I want to leave." His demeanor became stern. "I don't think you'll cause an international incident if you get a chopper up here from Lausanne, Gina. It's less than an hour's flight. And I wouldn't take chances with my kids' lives."

"You think that's what I'm doing?"

"No, but look at the situation. An hour is a long time when you need help right this minute." His aspect was one of a commanding officer's, and, strangely, it seemed natural. "I'm just saying that if one more thing happens, I'd make that call."

Gina stared over the mountains. "It's so beautiful. A monastery in the mountains. Seems like the last place in the world where someone should be afraid." She sighed. "If I make the call, are you coming with us?"

"Well, I certainly don't like the idea of being stranded up here with a bear running amok in the halls."

"I don't think things will get that bad. But I'll think about calling for a chopper." She shivered. "Okey
doke! I've had enough of this! Coming inside?"

"You bet."

They began down the steps when Michael muttered, "If your suspicions aren't enough, maybe you can talk to one of the monks."

"Like who?"

"Melanchthon seems pretty honest."

They crossed the courtyard shoulder to shoulder.

"True," she answered. "If he's got the guts to admit a two-thousand year old centurion is coming here to fight a monster, he's got the guts to admit anything."

Michael laughed. "Yeah, that's pretty weird."

***

Chin resting on hands, Rachel was watching Melanchthon dramatically act out some story when Gina walked into the library, which was, indeed, a medieval dungeon replete with chains and bolts in the stone walls.

The old monk was walking up and down the gigantic chamber, imitating a dozen characters but when he saw Gina, he stopped. He stood in silence. His arms fell to his sides.

Rachel turned and saw Gina. She immediately leaped up and grabbed Gina's hands. "Did you know that this place was once a headquarters of those guys?"

"What guys?" Gina smiled.

"The Knights Templar! Those guys were cool! Do you want to know how they rescued the daughter of Behemius from the Sultan of Goth?"

"Maybe later, bab
y." Gina ran a hand over her head. "Right now I have to talk to Melanchthon about something. Why don't you run and see if Josh is in trouble yet?"

"But—"

"Best go find your brother, child." Melanchthon's voice no longer contained amusing drama. "Your mother and I have something to discuss."

Wise beyond her years, Rachel revealed no signs of alarm. She kissed Gina and was gone. Alone before the old monk, Gina knew there was no reason for ceremony or etiquette.

"What's going on, Melanchthon?"

Melanchthon smiled faintly—a sad smile.

"What's everyone's so afraid to talk about?" Gina pressed. "What's the doom that seems to hang over this place? I don't think it's some fantastic legend of an immortal coming here to fight his greatest battle against some mythical creature that never existed in the first place. But something is, for sure, going on." She paused. "Has someone been hurt lately?"

It seemed as if he would not answer.

"Many have died here," he stated grimly. "And many more will die. This has always been a place of death."

Gina walked forward. "Many have died here? You mean naturally? Or were they murdered?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"They were murdered."

"Recently?"

"No."

"How did they die?"

"Like the old monk was killed many years ago." Melanchthon gazed about the room. "He is not the only one to be found torn to pieces, as by a lion. But it is no lion or dog or bear."

"It's a Nephilim, right?" Gina asked tersely. She actually hoped he would say yes, because that would have encouraged her. She didn't believe in Nephilim and never would.

"You do not have to believe in truth," Melanchthon answered. "Truth is truth whether you believe in it or not."

The words angered Gina. She could deal with a threat she could understand. And she could understand almost any threat—human or otherwise. But a mythical beast was outside the parameters of what she
was trained to accept.

She shook her head. "Do you realize how foolish it is for you to believe in ghosts and goblins when you might actually have a legitimate threat? A threat that can be dealt with and stopped if you stop focusing your attention on these fantasies?"

He was silent and did not seem dismayed. He gazed upon her as if everything she said—and thought—was meaningless.

Gina understood. "Brother Melanchthon, I'm a federal agent. Do you know what that means? I have seen all kinds of evil in this world. And it is always caused by a human being.
” She stepped closer. “Listen, I know what it might seem like to you—up here, isolated in this strange place. It can do things to your mind. But if someone was killed here, then they were killed by someone or something else—like a bear." She considered everything she was learning. "When was the last person killed?"

"Nine months past. After Rome decided to reopen the abbey."

"How?"

"Like the others."

With an angry grimace, Gina bowed her head. "Why did the Church open the abbey if someone here is suspected of murder?"

"The monsignor will know."

"He's here on pilgrimage."

Melanchthon grunted
, "Is he?"

A terrified howl erupted somewhere deep within the abbey, haunting every room of the basilica at once and Gina spun, reaching for the SIG, but it wasn't on her waist. She'd left it in the room, not thinking she would need it. She whirled toward the monk.

"Call the Italian police!"

Gina didn't look to see if Melanchthon was obeying or not as she turned and ran through the long corridor to the stairs. She was in good shape and it felt as though she covered the distance in just a few leaps.

She cleared the first two steps to hit the third and within twenty seconds reached the door to her room. Throwing it open she snatched the SIG and an extra clip from her suitcase and was in the hall again, seeing two monks she didn't know standing on the landing.