Page 91 of Skotos
We climbed the cracked steps and passed through the arched entry. The interior of the chapel was cloaked in shadow, just as before. The cloudy day robbed us of most of the ambient light, so all four of us flicked on our flashlights. Four searchlights darted about. Those of our guards sought hiding places or other spots where would-be assailants might lurk. Thomas and I sought . . . well . . . we still weren’t sure what we were looking for. My gut told me the answers we needed were in that ruin, or more likely, below it.
Dusty pews appeared untouched, save for streaks in the murk left by Thomas’s scuffle with the knife-wielding priest. Dull light trickled in through the shattered stained-glass windows and a few holes in the crumbling masonry, casting fractured beams of green, crimson, and grayish gold across the pews.
The place was empty.
There were no nesting birds.
No whispering voices.
No tenuous footsteps.
Only silence.
We moved slowly, scanning each corner. I kept my pistol at the ready as my eyes darted toward the pulpit, the confessionals, then the decaying wooden doors along the side.
“It’s like the place is holding its breath,” Thomas murmured beside me.
“Wonder what it’s waiting for.” I grunted and released the breathI’dbeen holding. “Let’s see if Marini found anything else in the office.”
Thomas nodded and followed me into the small chamber. The moment I stepped inside, my heart leaped into my throat. Thomas hadn’t realized I’d frozen and blundered into me.
“Sorry,” he said. “What is it?”
“Marini’s gone.”
“What?” He gripped my shoulder and stepped around me, his eyes landing on the empty floor that consumed my attention. “Where the hell—?”
“Someone didn’t want us searching him anymore.”
Thomas kneeled to examine the floor where the priest once lay. The priest’s blood was gone, too. “They probably didn’t want anyone else finding him. That would raise too many questions, possibly incite a papal investigation. The last thing a secret sect within the Church would want is daylight shone in their direction.”
“Right,” I said, unsure how to take news of a missing body. As unsettling as it was for our search, it somehow felt even more wrong that a man like Marini would simply be erased from existence. He was a quiet, diligent man who loved his Church and his work, one of the truly good people in theworld. The thought of his final resting place being left in the hands of maniacal killers? That chafed at something deep within.
We spent another ten minutes combing through the office, opening every desk drawer, examining each tome on the bookshelves, hoping beyond hope we might find disturbed dust or some other clue that brought Marini into that space.
When we came up empty, Thomas said, “Let’s find that trapdoor again.”
We left the office and approached the altar and the space behind it where, last time, I’d discovered the open trapdoor. This time, however, a thick chain was looped through the iron ring and secured with a shiny padlock.
“That’s new,” I said. “Someone didn’t want us coming back.”
Thomas kneeled, examined the lock, and looked up to find one of Lucio’s men watching us as he leaned against a nearby wall. “You carry bolt cutters?”
The man grunted and stomped out of the chapel, returning a moment later with a pair of cutters in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. From the way his arm flexed, the bag contained some heavy equipment.
“Tools,” he said simply, lifting the bag before dropping it on the floor with a loud thud, shattering the chapel’s somber peace.
They might say little, but Lucio’s men knew their business and came prepared. I had to admire them for that. Thomas pointed to the chain, and the man’s muscles flexed. When the lock fell away with aclank, I stepped around and pulled the heavy chain through the loop and opened the trapdoor.
“I go,” the guard said, pointing to his own chest. His English was almost as limited as my Italian, but soldiers found a way to make do. He vanished down the stairs and didn’t return for several minutes. When he did, he held out another chain and padlock for us to see, then tossed them on the floor to pile atop the other set.
“Are we good?” Thomas asked.
The man cocked his head and then nodded, the meaning sinking in a heartbeat after Thomas’s words.
“After you,” Thomas said, motioning with his good arm for me to take point.
A few steps into the darkness, I shoved my gun into my coat pocket and pointed my flashlight into the darkness. Everything looked exactly as it had on our first visit: roughly hewn walls, layers of dust, an utter lack of life.
