“Something funny, you Jesus-loving freak?”
Nathan took a deep breath and forced himself to smile, though it was a weak gesture. “You,” he said.
The first punch slammed into his left cheek and sent him to the floor. Since he was still bound, Nathan fell to his side and something popped in his right shoulder. In a haze, he was lifted up, punched again in the same place. He did not fall this time, tried to open his eyes to see from where the next blow would come. Before he could clear his vision, something hit him on the other side of his face. He went down again. A hard kick centered in the stomach. Air raced from his lungs. He curled his legs for protection, too intent on finding a way to take a breath to feel more pain. Something moved over him, then the pain came, sharply tearing up his back. He’d either been kicked again or shot. He screamed and spat blood from his mouth. He’d bitten down onto his tongue.
He had to move, get to his feet. He could hear Elizabeth screaming for Quinn to stop. He forced his eyes open and in his limited vision saw Paulson holding her back. Josh still held the gun toward her head, arm wavering uncertainly.
He also saw Quinn returning from his altar with a jagged piece of wood.
“Are you done laughing yet?” The man’s eyes were wide with hysteria. Nathan tried to stand, to defend himself, but his muscles were too constricted. His shoulder throbbed dully where it had popped from its socket. He was helpless to stop anything that would come next.
Quinn raised the improvised wooden stake above him.
Forgive me for failing you, Lord. Accept me into Your arms, protect my friends and family.
“Peter, wait.” Paulson’s voice, a thin warbling in Nathan’s ears. “We still need him. What if the real one’s back at the cemetery?”
Nathan kept his eyes riveted to the wooden point dropping down to his chest. It stopped just shy of penetrating his skin, poking hard between his open jacket, pressing into his shirt. It was taking so long to get through. Quinn was growling and his hands shook. A line of spit dropped from the corner of his mouth onto Nathan’s cheek. He pressed the point harder against his chest, but not hard enough to kill. It was painfully obvious that he wanted to, but his maddened expression was changing. His eyes turned back toward the altar. Paulson’s suggestion had taken root, fighting with the blood lust.
Paulson continued, “Just long enough to go back there and see for ourselves. Just long enough for that. If there’s not something else in the grave, we kill them all and leave them underground with their dead buddy. No mess, no evidence. But... not... here!”
Quinn’s eyes were darting back and forth. Considering. He leaned forward until his forehead touched Nathan’s, the stake pressing so hard into his chest that Nathan moaned in pain. “OK.” He sighed. His breath smelled like mint gum and onions. “OK. One more trip, Dinneck, back to the graveyard. I guarantee you that you will suffer greatly before you die. But it’ll happen somewhere more fitting. And you’ll be the last to go, so you can watch your girlfriend die.”
Then he was gone, standing up and straightening his clothes as much as possible. He tossed the stake to the floor. Nathan remained where he was, unable and unwilling to move.
“Take Dinneck’s father and the girl to this boy’s church. Any sign of people, just continue on and meet us at the cemetery. I’ll go out front and have a word with Arthur first, make sure he cooperates. While I’m doing that, put the girl in the trunk then swing around front and pick Dinneck up. Don’t linger there.” He then leaned forward and whispered more instructions into Paulson’s ear. Nathan vaguely wondered if he was using the Voice on him. He doubted it. Paulson didn’t need much prodding. Whatever Quinn was saying must have been good, because Paulson looked excited. He nodded enthusiastically. Quinn stepped back and said loudly, “But put it in the back seat. We don’t want the girl choking to death on fumes before all the fun starts.”
Paulson nodded. “Why can’t we just leave Art here? We’ve got enough to handle as it is, and—”
Quinn shoved him toward Elizabeth. “Just do what I say and stop questioning me. You were right about needing the preacher, for now,” he added with a contemptuous gaze at Nathan, “but whether or not we find what we’re looking for, there will be a sacrifice to Molech tonight. And for that, we need his father. Now move.”
He turned back to Nathan. His composure had returned, though he was moving with more urgency, checking his watch often. “Get up, Dinneck. After I chat with your daddy we’re going to pay one last visit to the cemetery. See what trick your little caretaker friend tried to put over on us, eh?”
Nathan looked across the room, to the wreckage of the Ark. Part of him wondered the very same thing.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Nathan wished he could have seen his father, though he was certain Art Dinneck was so much under Quinn’s influence that it probably would have made no difference. It was possible the reason Quinn didn’t simply put Elizabeth back under was that he could only control so many people at one time. Especially in his current, near-panic state of mind. Quinn’s confidence had been shattered in the back room. Even now, as he led him and Josh across the dark grass of Greenwood Street Cemetery, he walked quickly, impatiently.
Time was running out, for all of them. Quinn included.
Nathan heard a subdued pop; then the pain in his right arm faded. His shoulder had slipped back into its socket. The shoulder had been a constant source of hurt since he’d landed on the floor, though he hadn’t realized how much until it was gone. The left side of his face, however, felt like he’d been loaded up with Novocain at the dentist’s office. Swollen and misshapen. It probably looked as bad as it felt.
He limped behind Quinn, not from any injury to his legs but rather from the ache in his back where he’d been kicked. Whatever damage had been done to his kidneys wasn’t high on his list of worries, since most likely he’d be dead soon.
He didn’t want to go back into the crypt. Though it would be a relief to have the ropes binding his hands behind him loosened, Nathan was pretty sure that once inside, he would never come out.
But John Solomon’s grave was not as they had left it.
The concrete slab was moved aside. Enough for someone to crawl in. Even as Quinn lost whatever composure he’d mustered over the past ten minutes, the implication of the scene made Nathan’s mind reel.
There had been someone else. Someone waiting in the wings for Nathan and his fellow stooges to be taken away, or killed, before moving in to remove the true treasure.
Shouting curses, Quinn tossed the slab aside as easily as he’d smashed the Ark in the back of the store. He flipped the lantern’s switch, bathing the area around the grave in light.
Josh stared at the angelic statues, waiting for his next order. Nathan and Quinn noticed the grass at the same time. Something had been dragged across it, glistening dark and wet in a wide, staggered path away from the open grave.
“Shoot Dinneck if he says one word!” Quinn forgot about the ladder and jumped into the grave with the lantern. Nathan found himself in darkness again, staring at the brightly lighted square in front of him. Quinn’s shadow bounced wildly against the visible section of wall. Whoever had come in here had dragged something away, toward the woods. But what could have caused the wet.... Tarretti. Oh Dear God, Nathan thought. He’s still alive.
He searched the trees beyond the bordering wall, trying to determine which way Vincent could have gone. How could it be? He’d been shot point blank in the chest. Lazarus rising from his tomb. Nathan shuddered, and felt the end of Josh’s pistol press into his ribs. He did not move, after that.