He saw a voice-mail indicator and listened to the message.
“This is Meagan Morrison. I was with Sam today at the Eiffel Tower when you came. Henrik gave me his phone, so I’m calling at the same number where you called him. I hope this is Cotton Malone. That crazy old man has gone inside Saint-Denis after Ashby. There’s another man and a woman in there. Sam told me the man is Peter Lyon. Sam went in there, too. They need help. I thought I could let Sam do this alone. But … I can’t. He’s going to get himself hurt. I’m going in. I thought you should know.”
“We have to get there,” he said.
“It’s only eight miles, but the traffic is heavy. I’ve told the Paris police. They’re dispatching men right now. A chopper is on the way for us. It should be outside. The street’s been cleared so it can land.”
She’d thought of everything.
“I can’t send the police in there with sirens blasting,” she said. “I want Lyon. This may be our only shot. They’re headed there quietly.”
He knew that was the smart play.
But not for the people inside.
“We should beat them there,” she said.
“Let’s make sure we do.”
Malone 5 - The Paris Vendetta
SEVENTY-FOUR
SAM CLUTCHED HIS ARM AND KEPT MOVING TOWARD THE END of the church that, he assumed, faced the plaza outside. He’d succeeded in drawing Peter Lyon’s attention away from Meagan, but he’d also managed to get injured. He only hoped that they could all occupy Lyon long enough for help to arrive.
Thorvaldsen had apparently come to his rescue, firing on Lyon and allowing him the opportunity for an escape.
But where was the Dane now?
He found the last column in the row that supported the vault. Open space loomed beyond. He pressed his spine close and risked a peek into the nave.
Lyon was running toward a staircase, left of the altar, that led up to where Meagan was hiding.
“No,” Sam screamed.
ASHBY COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS HEARING. LYON WAS finally moving away, toward the other end of the church, far enough that he could make an escape for the doors. He’d been patiently waiting, watching as the demon avoided whoever was shooting at him from the south transept. He didn’t know who that was, but he was damn glad they were here.
Now someone from his immediate right had shouted out.
As if to say to Lyon, Not there. Here.
THORVALDSEN FIRED ANOTHER ROUND, DISTURBED THAT SAM was drawing attention to himself.
Lyon sought refuge behind one of the tombs near the main altar.
He could not allow Lyon to advance toward the ambulatory, to where Meagan was hiding. So he hustled forward, back through the south transept, away from Ashby and Sam, toward Lyon.
ASHBY FLED THE CHAIR AND SOUGHT PROTECTION IN THE shadows. Lyon was thirty meters away, enemies thickening around him. Caroline had never appeared, and he assumed she was gone. He should follow her lead. The treasure was no longer important, at least not at the moment.
Escaping was his only concern.
So he crouched low and crept forward, down the south transept, heading for the open doors.
MALONE BUCKLED THE HARNESS JUST AS THE HELICOPTER lifted from the street. Daylight was sinking away, and only faint slants of light managed to pierce the rain clouds.
Stephanie sat beside him.
Both of them were deeply concerned.
A bitter, angry father bent on revenge and a young rookie agent were not the duo that should be facing a man like Peter Lyon. One wasn’t thinking, the other had not learned how to think yet. With all that had happened, Malone hadn’t had a second to consider the rift between him and Thorvaldsen. He’d done what he thought was right, but that decision had hurt a friend. Never had he and Thorvaldsen exchanged any cross words. Some irritation, occasional frustration, but never genuine anger.
He needed to speak with Henrik and work it out.
He glanced over at Stephanie and knew she was silently berating herself for sending Sam. At the time, that had been the right move.
Now it might prove fatal.
SAM WAS PLEASED THAT LYON HAD HESITATED AND NOT, AS yet, pressed his advantage and made a dash for the staircase that led up to the ambulatory. His left arm hurt like hell, his right hand still clamped on the bleeding wound.
Think.
He made another decision.
“Henrik,” he called out. “That man with the gun is a wanted terrorist. Keep him pinned down until help arrives.”
THORVALDSEN WAS GLAD TO HEAR THAT SAM WAS OKAY.
“His name is Peter Lyon,” Meagan called out.
“So nice,” Lyon said, “that everyone knows me.”
“You can’t kill us all,” Sam said.
“But I can kill one or two of you.”
Thorvaldsen knew that assessment was correct, particularly considering that he seemed to be the only one, besides Lyon, who was armed.
Movement grabbed his attention. Not from Lyon. But off to his right, near the doors leading out. A solitary form, moving straight for the exit. He first thought it was Caroline Dodd, but then he realized that the figure was male.
Ashby.
He’d apparently taken advantage of the confusion and carefully crept from the other end of the nave. Thorvaldsen turned away from Lyon and scampered toward the doors. Being closer than Ashby, he arrived first. He hugged Fran?ois’s monument again for cover and waited for the Brit to approach through the darkness.
The marble floor was soaked from blowing rain.
Without a coat, he was cold.
He heard Ashby, on the monument’s opposite side, stop his advance.
Probably making sure that he could make the final ten meters without anyone noticing.
Thorvaldsen peered around the edge.
Ashby started forward.
Thorvaldsen swung around the tomb’s short side and jammed his gun in Ashby’s face.
“You won’t be leaving.”
Ashby, clearly startled, lost his balance on the wet floor and rolled to face the threat.
Malone 5 - The Paris Vendetta
SEVENTY-FIVE
ASHBY WAS PUZZLED. “THORVALDSEN?”
“Stand up,” the Dane ordered.