—here. I’m still here.
Kat sensed time had stuttered. She could not know for sure, but everything felt different. Before she had been falling down a well after struggling to reach a bright star far above. Now there was no light, only a darkness that was palpable, a thick sludge holding her trapped. She felt as if she were at the edge of suffocation—not just about to lose all breath, but about to lose everything.
It was hard to think, to hold a thought.
She vaguely remembered—
HARRIET!
The name of her younger child jarred through her, vibrating the dark sludge holding her. She mentally tried to shake herself loose but failed.
—TROUBLE!
Then memories flashed like the pop of old camera bulbs. The images were chaotic, fragmented, disjointed.
. . . the taste of banana baby food at midnight when no one was looking.
. . . smelling a dirty diaper, followed by the relief of perfumed baby powder.
. . . holding tiny fingers, as a baby rested on her chest.
. . . drawing a comb through a stubborn tangle.
. . . hearing giggles from the next room.
Again, another thunderous burst:
—IN TROUBLE!
With this, a strong memory exploded in the darkness.
. . . two small forms being carried to a back door, a bright kitchen, darkness beyond, then the girls—my girls!—vanish into the night.
She remembered. It all came flooding back, both the terror and the pain. She pictured the dagger and a masked face. Anger returned, too, pushing the darkness back. But she still could not break free.
KAT! HELP . . . CLUE . . .
It was like listening to a poorly tuned station, but as the memories of that night grew firmer, she understood the intent, heard the song being played on this stuttering radio. She remembered being asked to concentrate on images before.
A dagger, a hat.
They still needed more information.
To save my girls.
Kat stopped fighting and let the darkness fall back over her. She sobbed in the darkness, but she saw no further use in the struggle. If there was only one message she could convey, it would be simple.
I don’t know anything that will help.
32
December 26, 6:32 P.M. CET
Pyrenees Mountains, Spain
“Go, go, go . . .”
Through his headset, Gray listened as Agent Zabala radioed his command to the two helicopters of the strike team. The pair of NH90 tactical helos lifted off from the staging grounds in the foothills of the Pyrenees. In the rear hold, Gray eyed the seven soldiers of FAMET, the Spanish Army Airmobile Force. They looked like a battle-hardened crew, but for this mission, they would serve as a protection detail.
The other helicopter carried another fifteen soldiers who would lead the main assault.
Zabala had wanted to bring twice this number, while Gray had pressed for a single aircraft, one carrying a smaller strike team. After butting heads, they compromised on two.
Even this concession by the CNI agent was achieved less from Gray’s efforts than from Father Bailey’s negotiations. Gray stared across the hold at the priest, nearly knee to knee with the man. Bailey was still in black, his white Roman collar bright above a khaki flak jacket. It seemed in a country still deeply religious, deeply Catholic, the church still held sway. The Vatican intelligence agent also had deep pockets of local resources.
And maybe not just Bailey.
Sister Beatrice sat next to the priest. Gray had questioned her inclusion, but Bailey simply said, She may be useful . . . and she can certainly take care of herself. Even now, the nun sat stone-faced. When she caught Gray studying her, she stared back, rolling rosary beads between her fingertips, not out of nervousness, more contemplatively. Gray finally had to break that cold stare and look away. He suddenly doubted he could have dissuaded her from coming.
The helicopter climbed swiftly and swung toward the mountains. The craft bobbled as the winds picked up over the peaks. A winter storm front was moving in, dropping the skies to the mountaintops. The weather should mask their approach. Plus, the sun had set half an hour ago. Outside the chopper’s windows, the twilight gloaming swiftly faded into darkness.
A gust jostled the craft as it climbed into the low clouds.
Seated next to him, Kowalski groaned, gripping hard to the bullpup rifle across his lap, one of his knees bouncing up and down.
“Relax,” Gray said. “Before you end up shooting someone in here.”
“I already crashed once today. And once is one time too many.”
“But I’m not flying this bird.”
Kowalski considered his words, and his knee stopped its bounce. “That’s true.”
Plus, the flight would be no more than fifteen minutes.
As if sensing the press of time, Father Bailey bent forward, holding out a tablet in his hand. “I’ve been studying the satellite imagery of the compound. Specifically the ground-penetrating radar survey.”
Gray leaned closer, picturing the long list of names inscribed inside the abandoned copy of the Malleus Maleficarum in San Sebastián. All had the surname of Guerra; the last was written in the crisp cursive of a librarian: Eliza Guerra. Upon learning this, it had not been hard to discover an ancient family estate in the neighboring Pyrenees. If the Crucible stronghold in San Sebastián had emptied out and retreated somewhere, that old castle in the mountains seemed a likely target.
“Look at these dark pockets in the neighboring valleys,” Bailey said. “I believe they’re caves. The Pyrenees are pocked with such caverns, carved by mountain springs draining out of the highlands.”
“Okay?”
“You have to know the history of this region of Basque. It’s always been considered a bastion for witches. It’s said that they held their dark sabbaths in such hidden places. Though, more likely it was simply sites where people sought relief from the strict rules of the church, where they could let their hair down.”
“And party,” Kowalski said.
“They were also gathering places for people who opposed the Inquisition, who believed in a more enlightened future. You have to understand that the Basque people of this region have always been fiercely independent. Many chafed under the authority of the church, like many of those factions still do today, only fighting now against the Spanish government, demanding independence.” Bailey nodded his head toward the front of the aircraft. “It’s why Agent Zabala still runs a task force in this region, to keep Basque insurrectionists in check.”
“And the caves?” Gray asked.
“Yes.” Bailey nodded and zoomed into an overview of the Guerra estate. “Look. You can see a large shadow just at the northern edge of the main structure.”
“A big cavern.” Gray pictured the ransacked Holy Office beneath the mansion in San Sebastián, occupying an old abandoned water cistern. “You’re thinking this is where another of the Crucible’s strongholds might be hidden, under the estate.”
“The Guerra family has lived and prospered in this region for centuries. They gained a lot of their wealth and power during the middle of the Inquisition. Maybe it’s one of the reasons the family remained steadfastly loyal, joining the Inquisition’s most die-hard and conservative sect, the Crucibulum.” He tapped the large shadow on the screen. “I think they chose this site to build their home, to set down their roots, because of this cavern.”
“Why?”
“To put their boot heel on the neck of one of the most infamous witch caverns in this region.” He shifted his finger farther to the north, to another shadow. “This is Cuevas de las Brujas. The Cave of Witches. It is sometimes called the Cathedral of the Devil, with legends of a large black he-goat who lived in the fields at its mouth, drinking from a river said to flow out of this cavern from hell itself.”
Bailey moved his finger between the two shadows. “I wager these systems are connected, physically and historically.”
Gray slowly nodded. “If the Crucible wanted a place to build its holiest of Holy Offices, they’d want it juxtaposed against the most villainous of witch sanctuaries.”
“Like a beacon against the darkness.”
Gray considered this as Zabala came back on the radio. “Target in five.”
Turning, Gray gazed out the window. With their craft buried in storm clouds, the world was pitch black. The plan was to fly in dark, on instruments alone. The lead helicopter would drop straight out of the clouds toward a courtyard in the center of the estate. Its crew of fifteen would zip down on lines and spread out to secure the surrounding buildings. Once safe, their helicopter would sweep lower and land in the courtyard.
The goal and target were one and the same.
Secure the Xénese device.