The Stolen Gospels (20 page)

Chapter 23

Men fear women. This is why they’ve set up so many structures to control the activities of the fair sex. The
Bible
is one of those structures.

—Note screen, UWW computer file

Security guards ran toward Dixie Lou, and saluted her with W’s as she passed them.

A down-staircase veered off to the right. On a hunch, she took it. At a landing she found a fallen man with a head wound, blood pooling around him. He appeared to be dead, but in the low light she didn’t try to identify him. Slender and bald, he wore a black coat and trousers. Something familiar about him. One of the knights, a laborer? Yes, she’d seen him doing tile repairs the week before.

She continued a long way down the staircase, and at the bottom encountered one of her security guards lying injured and bleeding on the rock floor of a chamber. It was a heavyset woman whom she recognized as Linda Cutler.

The victim’s eyelids flickered as she fought to stay conscious. For a few seconds she gazed up at Dixie Lou with glassy eyes, then smiled weakly and said, “Thank She-God it’s you, ma’am.” She tried to salute but didn’t have the strength, and passed out.

Glancing around, Dixie Lou saw no one. Feeling Cutler’s neck, she got a strong pulse. The woman moaned, and Dixie Lou saw a wound on her right side. It might not be life-threatening.

Dixie Lou looked around again, satisfying herself that no others were in the chamber. No security cameras to worry about in this section either, no eyes to see what she was about to do, except her own.

Pointing her gun at the back of Cutler’s head, she fired once, causing an echoing percussion.

The body jerked.

Dixie Lou leaned over and rechecked the pulse. This time there was none.

It left the newly elected Chairwoman in a position she liked, for with at least one dead guard she could insist upon the death penalty for the kidnappers. Of course she had the authority to condemn or reprieve anyone involved in the plot anyway, but this gave her more control over the situation, and potentially more councilwomen who would vote with her. The daughter of Fujiko Harui and niece of Bobbi Torrence were involved, and in the past neither of those councilwomen could be counted upon to vote with Dixie Lou. If she could lay a trail showing the daughter and niece were responsible not only for kidnapping but for murder, it would give her two additional council votes. In exchange for their support, Dixie Lou would spare their family members.

It was just politics.

She stepped around the body and crossed the cavern. Down a little incline she located the entrances to three tunnels. Cold, forbidding darkness lurked inside each of them. If she wasn’t careful she could get lost in the moldy passageways of this ancient monastery.

She hurried past the dead security guard, ran back up the stairs.

* * *

From their hiding place in the shadows of an alcove, Lori and Alex watched.

“I told you she was dangerous,” Alex said, his voice agitated.

“But why one of her own guards?”

“Who knows?”

Carefully, Alex and Lori crossed the cavern, to the side of the fallen guard. Alex limped slightly from the twisted ankle, which he had wrapped tightly in a strip of cloth. Leaning over the body, he removed a radio handset and a small flashlight.

Lori heard a noise behind them, on the stairway.

“Halt!” a woman shouted.

Looking up the long flight of stairs, Lori saw two security guards running down the steps. One shined a bright light on them.

Alex and Lori fled across the cavern, with the guards shouting after them. A bullet ricocheted off the wall, whistling by Lori’s ear.

“Alex Jackson! Stop!”

Lori and Alex disappeared into the middle tunnel and ran for their lives.

* * *

On the sheer rock western face of Monte Konos, where centuries ago a medieval monk leaped to his death, a rope ladder dangled, writhing like a living creature in the wind-blown rain. Overhead, a transport helicopter throbbed, as its pilot fought to maintain control. Simultaneous with the kidnapping attempt, the conspirators had disabled the monastery’s air defense system, an effort aided by the storm.

For Greek pilot Philikè Metaxas, the storm was a double-edged sword. He didn’t like the way the wind was picking up, reaching levels so dangerous that he might not be able to stay in the air. He glanced at his watch, then cursed as a gust buffeted the craft, causing the ladder below to whip violently against the cliff face.

Where were Mila Bennett and the others? This was supposed to be a split-second operation to rescue the abused children, but it was nearly ten minutes past the deadline. He couldn’t afford to wait much longer.

The strongest wind yet slammed into the helicopter, and Metaxas barely kept control of the craft. He ordered his crew to winch up the ladder. Mission aborted.

Then a rocket hit the craft, and a ball of fire slid down the cliff face.

* * *

In a basement room of the Refectory Building, Liz Torrence, Siana Harui, and Yonney Zakheim were cornered. They threw their weapons down, and emerged with their hands raised high.

Security guards collected the weapons and snapped handcuffs on the failed kidnappers.

* * *

On her way back to the quarters of the she-apostles, Dixie Lou overheard a security guard shouting over a radio handset, and a voice on the other end saying all of the fugitives had been captured with the exception of Alex Jackson and Lori Vale, who’d been seen at the body of a murdered guard.

Dixie Lou felt empty in the pit of her stomach. Had they seen anything?

* * *

Lori’s flashlight beam played off the rock walls of a wide passageway, throwing eerie reflections. The sides of the corridor were cut irregularly, leaving protruding rock shapes that looked at times like human heads and bodies, and from some angles like ferocious gargoyles. She had to keep shining the light directly at them to reassure herself. It smelled moldy in here, and she saw grimy green and black streaks of moisture on the walls, and gutters of shallow water on each side.

“I’ve never been this far,” Alex said, from her left. Limping, he carried the automatic rifle, which glinted dully in the shadows. In the darkness he had dropped and broken the radio handset before they’d been able to use it to eavesdrop on the conversations of the guards who were bound to be pursuing them.

The fleeing pair were somewhere in the maze of passageways at the heart of Monte Konos, where rail cars and lifts didn’t go. Hoping to find an exit at the base of the mountain, they had been attempting to descend for an hour, but at times couldn’t tell up from down, since some of the inclines were so slight. Lori felt disoriented.

Hearing a noise, she flipped off the flashlight and froze in her tracks. Alex disengaged the safety of the automatic rifle, making a soft click beside her. Lori’s ears probed the cold, damp darkness.

She identified footsteps, the percussion of boots on hard rock. More than one person, she thought. Guards? She struggled to determine direction but an echo effect made it difficult. She concentrated harder. Whoever was approaching seemed to be behind them, so maybe she and Alex should run ahead. But she wasn’t sure, and that could hurtle them right into the wrong hands.

“Which way are they coming from?” she whispered.

His response was only a little louder. “I can’t tell!”

Lori shivered in the dank cold, hugged her arms against her chest for warmth. A hardpack of Greek cigarettes bulged in a pocket of her jeans. Though she’d gone cold turkey the day before, vowing to quit smoking, she hadn’t thrown the cigarettes away. Now she felt her hands shaking, and not from the low temperature. A cigarette—even a bad one—might calm her nerves, but she didn’t dare light one now. She also couldn’t use the small flashlight in her hand. . . .

Paramount in Alex’s mind, he wanted to protect Lori, since she didn’t belong in this mess. No lights came from either direction of the tunnel. Were the guards wearing night vision goggles? He’d heard the UWW had them, for use in certain contingencies. Was this one of those occasions? Could they see him now? His sore ankle throbbed.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, but still he could not confirm direction.

He pulled Lori back against a rock wall, seeking an alcove or indentation behind which they might conceal themselves. With one of his athletic shoes he felt the contours of a gutter on the floor and considered lying in it, with his gun ready.

Alex detected a little trickle of water, which seeped through the fabric of his shoe. Probing more with his foot he slipped, and as he fell his rifle clattered noisily onto the rocky floor.

“Are you OK?” Lori whispered.

Frantically Alex felt around and finally located the weapon, by a wide hole in the gutter. The opening was wide, and he could barely reach across it. But how deep was it? Sticking his rifle inside, he couldn’t find the bottom. A musty, rotten odor filled his nostrils.

“I found a hole, a big one,” he whispered to her. “I think it’s a storm drain, but the cover is off, if it ever had one.”

In Lori’s ears, footsteps seemed to be coming from all directions. They echoed off the ancient rock walls. Louder, closer. Then she saw a play of lights coming from her right, the direction she and Alex had been heading. She had been correct not to run that way. Behind the illumination of flashlights she made out three human shapes.

Too late to run.

“Into the hole!” Lori husked.

“I couldn’t find the bottom.”

“We’ll get inside and hang onto the edge,” she said.

With her heart pounding fiercely, Lori slipped her small flashlight into a back pocket of her jeans. Even though she couldn’t see, she bravely lowered herself into the hole, grasping the edge with both hands. The surfaces were moist and slippery, but with both shoes she found purchase on a protruding stone.

She heard Alex sliding in beside her, and hoped he could hold onto the rifle without dropping it down the hole. It worried her that they hadn’t found the bottom. They didn’t dare use the light now. She felt cold wetness on her fingers, water from the gutter. It ran down the sides of the hole, soaking her blouse and jeans all the way to her skin.

Overhead, light touched the top of the orifice, and her fingertips, over her head. She held her breath, saw Alex’s eyes glint beside her, in a flicker of light.

The footsteps seemed to slow.
Have we been seen?

They picked up pace again, making punctuating noises on the ancient rock floor that once had been traveled by religious hermits. The intrusive, approaching footsteps seemed to be right beside them now.

Lori’s nose twitched . . . a powerful, unstoppable sneeze coming on. She wrinkled her nostrils in the dense air, sniffed as quietly as she could. Water splashed across her hands and against her face. A rush of water could be heard, getting louder very quickly, and she tried to firm up her handholds and footing.

“Must be raining like hell up there,” a woman said.

The water grew louder, a mounting roar.

Cursing under her breath, Lori wanted to be anywhere but here, in the monastery’s storm-drain system. Unable to suppress her sneeze, it cut loose just as a torrent of frigid water inundated her and Alex. Lori’s feet and fingers slipped. She tumbled into the hole, letting out an involuntary cry.

She thought she heard shouting but couldn’t be certain, because the sound and substance of the water consumed her, sweeping her downward. Alex seemed to be below her, because seconds before, she had bumped into him.

Her lower back slammed painfully into a rock at the side of the hole, and she groped and kicked, trying to find some way to arrest her descent. This only succeeded in skinning her knuckles and knees.

Struggling to breathe, Lori sucked in a lung full of air and water, making her cough. The water was carrying her down feet-first, flowing with her, bouncing her painfully against the rough rock sides of the storm drain. Trying to protect herself, she put her hands over her face.

* * *

In the darkest hour of the night, a robed figure hurried down a passageway beneath the Refectory Building. The smell of rotting garbage from the cafeteria filled Dixie Lou’s nostrils. Her powerful flashlight illuminated the way. She could have gone a different way, but this was a shortcut.

At a heavy metal door she pressed her hand against a security plate and the door opened. She slipped through and the door thunked loudly behind her. No matter. She wasn’t trying to be quiet. No odor of garbage here.

She was in a wider corridor, one of the main pedestrian arterials of the hivelike monastery. Spotting her, two slender female guards came to rigid attention and saluted. Dixie Lou passed between them, into the stud harem.

A faint red glow illuminated a large room containing more than forty beds, some with curtain dividers between them. Casting yellow light ahead of her with a flashlight, she walked down the main aisle. Some of the forms on the beds stirred. Giovanni was on the right, at the end.

Reaching him, she stood and looked down at him as he lay on his back, snoring gently. She directed a beam of light at his eyes, leaned down and husked in his ear, “I should kill you right now.”

His eyelids twitched, and opened. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down roughly.

“Do you want to die in your sleep?”

He rubbed his forehead, as if that would produce clear thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

“As if you didn’t know. The innocent little boy. You know perfectly well what’s wrong: The
gospels
. Give me everything you have.
Immediately
.” She studied the adjacent beds, satisfied herself that the occupants were asleep.

“You got it, the last time we—”

With a backhand across his face, she snapped, “The council told me you’ve been carrying around excerpts of the gospels.”

“A few sheets, that’s all I had. You showed them to me, remember?”

“And then you
took
them.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Keep your voice down. You’re going to forget all that, if you want to live.”