Holly, having no assigned quadrant, swept as much of the area as she could see with her binoculars, looking for any kind of suspicious activity.
The priest spoke for a minute or two in English, then reverted to Latin.
“Position one, this is position five.” Harry.
“Five, this is one.”
“Nobody has seen a damned thing,” Harry said, “not a whit of threatening activity.”
“He wants her, and this is his best chance,” Holly replied.
“I hope to God he makes an attempt,” Harry said. “I want this to be over.”
“Nobody more than I,” Holly replied. She was glad she was not standing, exposed, in the churchyard by the two coffins and the two open graves. Maybe five minutes to go, and they’d be clear; Marina would be back in the limo, headed home.
The priest concluded his ceremony, and one or two people came forward and picked up handfuls of dirt to sprinkle as the coffins descended into their graves. But first, there was another small ceremony.
Marina Santos, dressed in funereal black, stepped forward to the heads of the coffins, bearing two red roses. She kissed one coffin and placed a rose upon it.
Holly watched with sadness through her binoculars.
Then, as Marina kissed the second coffin, both caskets exploded.
The shock wave set the bells in the steeple to ringing. Holly and the FBI sniper, knocked off their seats, writhed on the wooden floor, clutching their ears.
51
Then Holly was on her feet, running down the stairs, her radio pressed to one ear, but with her ears still ringing, she could hear nothing. “He’s in the square,” she said into the radio. “Trini’s in the square. Find him.”
She reached the ground and ran into the churchyard, which looked like a war zone. Headstones for yards around had been toppled and thrown about; a good-sized tree had been knocked down. And there were bodies and parts of bodies everywhere. She saw a smoking torso that was what was left of Marina. Holly let her anger replace her revulsion.
A car screeched to a halt at the curb, and Harry Crisp and a uniformed police captain came running toward her.
“He’s in the square, Harry!” she said. “We’ve got to find him!” She was barely in control of her fury.
“Take it easy, Holly,” Harry said.
“It was a radio-controlled detonation,” the captain said. “He could be anywhere.”
“He was watching,” Holly said. “He waited until she kissed her mother’s coffin, then he blew it. I’m telling you, we can still get him.”
The captain began barking orders into his radio.
Holly looked around: She counted at least eight dead bodies, and there were another dozen or fifteen badly injured people.
Sirens were screaming in all directions now; ambulances arrived, so did police cars, marked and unmarked.
Holly began running; all she wanted was a shot at Trini. She ran down one side of the square, looking into shop windows, some of them blown out, and at second-story windows and into parked cars. A commercial van was parked just ahead of her. She yanked open the driver’s door and stuck her gun out. “Freeze, police!”
A startled uniformed cop stared back at her.
“Sorry,” she said, and slammed the door. She continued down the street, turned a corner, and kept going. She didn’t stop until she had covered the whole square.
Harry was waiting for her. “He’s gone,” he said. “We won’t get him today.”
“Shit, Harry, we blew it,” Holly said, “and I got a lot of people killed.”
“It isn’t your fault, Holly, it’s Trini’s fault.”
“Bust the Pellegrinos, Harry, do it now.”
“That would not be a good move, Holly. There’s more going on than you know about.”
“Oh, I believe that,” Holly said. “I don’t know a goddamned thing!” She was fuming.
“Holly, I think you ought to move out of Grant’s house,” Harry said. “You’ve been there too long, and I’m afraid Trini or one of his people will find you. Is there somewhere else you can go? To Ham’s, maybe?”
Holly shook her head. “No, Ham has a girlfriend living there, and there’s only one bedroom.” Then she remembered something. “There is someplace else, though.”
“Where?”
“I’ll let you know,” Holly said.
Holly drove back to Orchid Beach, the scene in the churchyard playing back in her head, over and over. She kept seeing Marina’s image through the high-powered binoculars, and then Marina didn’t exist anymore.
She drove into the driveway and was met by her own officer.
“Everything all right, Chief?” he asked.
“No,” Holly said. “Nothing’s all right.” She left him standing there and went into the house. Grant was on the phone, but he ended his conversation and hung up.
“I heard,” he said. “It’s been all over the TV. I’m sorry, Holly.”
“Me too,” she said, starting upstairs.
“Do you want a drink?”
“I have to get out of here, Grant.”
He followed her up the stairs and came into the bedroom, where she was stuffing her things into her bag. “You shouldn’t go home, Holly.”
“I’m not going home.”
“Are you going to Ham’s?”
She started back down the stairs. “No.”
He followed her across the living room. “Then where are you going?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to stay alive. I’m not going to tell anybody. Come on, Daisy,” she said to the dog. They both got into her car, and she started the engine. “You can reach me on my cellphone.” She reversed out of the driveway and drove down the street, leaving Grant standing there.
She made sure she wasn’t followed, turning down small streets and watching her mirror, then she got back onto A1A and headed for safety.
Ed Shine was waiting for her in his car at the entrance to Blood Orchid, and when he spotted her car, he waved for her to follow him. They drove around the golf course to a small road near the airport, where Ed turned in. Finally, he stopped before a cottage under some trees and got out.
“Here we are,” he said. “I’m glad you called; I’ve been worried about you since our talk.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Ed,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m glad to help,” he said, leading her into the house. “Here we are-living room, dining room, kitchen, and the bedrooms are back here-two of them, take your pick.”
Holly chose one and dumped her bag on the bed. “It’s lovely, Ed.”
“I had them redone first thing. You can stay as long as you want. You’ll hear airplanes taking off and landing now and then-the airfield is right behind the house-but there isn’t much traffic, just prospective buyers coming and going, so it shouldn’t bother you too much. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, I would,” Holly said, following him into the living room.
He opened a cabinet to reveal a well-stocked bar with sink and ice machine. “Bourbon?”
“That would be lovely; I need it.”
He poured her a drink and himself a scotch, and they sat down.
“Now tell me,” he said, “what’s happened?”
Holly took a sip of her drink and poured out everything, describing the scene in the churchyard as vividly as she dared without beginning to cry.
“Nine dead, twenty-six wounded, five of them in critical condition,” she said.
“Good God!” Ed said, holding her hand.
“And it’s all my fault; it was my big idea to trap Trini Rodriguez, using Marina for bait, since she refused to be protected anyway.”
“Then it would have happened anyway, whether you’d had your idea or not, Holly. Stop blaming yourself; you did everything you could.”
That night, she went to bed trying to think of what else she might have done. She fell into a troubled sleep, having thought of nothing.