She decided to raise no alarm, shaking her head that all was fine.
The dim and shadowy church loomed just ahead where the street leveled into a triangular piazza. She spotted a post office, theater, and some cafés, all closed. A clock tower rose opposite the church, its tower lit to the night, the mist making the dial hard to see.
No one was around.
The casement door for the church stood ajar, throwing out a slice of warm light into the palpable darkness.
Her father headed for it.
*
Malone emerged from the doorway.
He’d taken refuge just as the click of heels stopped ahead of him. The recessed portal had provided a perfect hiding place, the wet bracing air and darkness his friends. Kim was not far away, as he’d heard the older man ask something in Korean. There’d been no reply, but he could hear footsteps once again.
Moving away.
*
Kim entered the church and immediately noticed the waft of incense and beeswax. The smell of Christians, he liked to call it. Its lofty interior was partially lit from hanging brass fixtures. Thick pillars supported a roof, the stone a mixture of pink and white. Frescoes decorated the apses and vaults. Rows of wooden pews that spanned out from the high altar waited empty. Satisfied they were alone, he stepped back to the entrance and carefully eased the thick wooden door open, peering out at the piazza. The street from which they’d come remained quiet.
“It seems we may have made it away,” he said.
He closed the door.
*
Malone had watched as Kim and his daughter entered the cathedral. The church was large, but not overly so, fitting for such a compact place as Solaris. On the way up from the train station he’d spotted several streets leading off this main route, none of them marked by names. He assumed the entire town was a labyrinth of lanes leading to more hidden piazzas, like the one before the church. He could not follow Kim inside through the main doors, so he’d detoured down one of the side paths into an alley between two shops that led to the town walls. Darkness here was nearly absolute, and though his eyes were adjusted to the night, he had to walk carefully. He decided to risk some illumination and found his iPhone. Its LCD display provided enough light for him to safely locate the end of the alley where the town walls rose only a few feet away. He turned left and followed the stone down another alley behind the buildings that fronted the street. As he hoped, the path led to the rear of the church and a small wooden annex.
Two doors opened inside.
Both were locked.
A window was protected by an iron grille.
Thankfully, the locks on both doors were modern brass and keyed, common to a zillion other doors. In his wallet he always carried two picks. He found them and worked the tumblers. Only a few seconds were needed to hear their release. The picks made him think of Cassiopeia, who never went anywhere without hers, either.
He opened the door a few inches, its bottom scraping on something hard, and slipped inside a small room, beamed with oak, that led to what were certainly vestment and other storage rooms. A short hallway ended at a curtain that he assumed opened to the nave.
A ladder to his left, attached to the exterior wall, caught his attention.
He decided that might be the best vantage point.
So he pocketed his gun and climbed.
*
Isabella was startled as the car door was opened. She’d grown accustomed to the quiet. She was led from the vehicle, back out into the chilly night. One of the policemen cut the bands binding her wrists and she rubbed away the soreness and stretched her arms. The envoy from the embassy emerged from the train station along with Luke Daniels.
They both approached.
“Howell’s dead,” Luke said.
She hated to hear that. She told them what happened with the Korean and where Malone had headed.
“Why the police change in attitude?” she asked the envoy.
“Mr. Malone asked me to take care of a matter. Once done, I returned and discovered what occurred. I telephoned the embassy and the next thing I knew presidents were involved. These local police are not happy, but they do follow orders.”
She was listening, but also staring up toward the mist-shrouded church. “We need to head up there.”
“I agree,” Luke said.
And they hustled off.
SIXTY-SIX
Hana absorbed the scene of lofty splendor and wondered if fate had again intervened. How ironic that they would find a church. The interior was dim and musty, the towering stone walls natural and powerful. Ornate carvings, statues, and gilded elements brought contrast to an otherwise muted scene.
She stood hollow, cold, and ready. To her right, in one of the apses, small candles were arranged in a bronze rack, their flames flickering in the darkness. She stepped their way, still holding both the clipped documents and her gun. Her father lingered near the center aisle, catching his breath from their sprint up the steep street. He was overweight and out of shape, and with all his grandiose plans she’d often wondered why he cared so little about his health.
“Leaving this town could prove a problem,” he said to her in Korean.
“Especially since you killed Howell.”
He glared her way. “I didn’t kill him. My half brother did.”
“Is that how you justify it in your mind?”
He seemed perplexed by her rebuttal.
“What is this about?” he asked.
“Speak English.”
A command. The first she’d ever issued his way.
“You do not care for your own language?”
“I do not care for your country.”
He seemed intrigued by the statement. “All right,” he said in English. “What is this about?”
“How did my mother end up in the camp?”
She’d never asked that question of him before. Talking about her past was the last thing she wanted to do, and never had he expressed any interest on his own. It was as if she’d just appeared to him as a nine-year-old and what had happened before was insignificant.