Slowly, reverently, the Holy Father places the candle in the holder in the right hand of the Virgin Mary and then turns for the lighter.
Inexplicably, the acolyte drops it.
The clatter of brass sends a shockwave through the church. Security men tense. Hands dip into jackets.
But nothing has happened. Nothing but a dropped prop on the ecclesiastical stage.
The boy picks up the ceremonial instrument. A kindly priest moves towards him and beneath his robes, finds a lighter.
There’s a click and a hiss of an incongruous Zippo. Once more the flame intended for the ceremony is lit.
The Holy Father appears unperturbed. He waits patiently for the priest to retreat, and calmly takes the lighter from the red-faced young man.
All eyes are on the candle in the statue’s hand.
All except Owain’s.
He is scanning the church. He glances behind him and looks back to the altar.
The Pope ensures the candle is burning brightly. He hands the brass lighter back to the acolyte and blesses the shrine. There’s a reserved but definite smile on his face as he turns and addresses the congregation.
Owain doesn’t hear what he says. His mind is on the candle. It’s the only thing he didn’t personally check. He’s sure it will have been examined by the Swiss Guard, but he didn’t check it.
He reminds himself of Gareth’s message. The attack was planned in New York and it’s been thwarted. The crisis is over.
Yet doubt remains.
He looks again at the candle and at others in the church. It’s thicker than some, longer than others, smaller than most. The flame is the same as those around it. There really isn’t anything unusual about the column of wax, except that it has just been blessed by a man Catholics believe is the holiest person on the planet.
The door at the back of the church creaks. Someone is trying to leave without disturbing the Mass. It’s an odd time to go. There are only a few minutes left of the service.
The exit is controlled by the Swiss Guard. They wouldn’t let anyone leave. Not now. Most likely one of them has stepped outside.
Why?
Owain fears he knows the answer.
The candle could contain a core of C4, a pliable and stable explosive that isn’t detonated by flame. Whoever is leaving may be about to trigger it remotely using a shockwave detonator. It’s the kind of play a military man, someone like a Swiss Guard, would make.
He hesitates. Tells himself to stay still, or he’ll just make a fool of himself.
But he can’t.
He breaks from the pew of dignitaries and rushes the altar. There’s an outbreak of gasps.
Two robed priests try to block him. He knocks them away. He has to get himself in front of the candle. At best, he’ll look an idiot. At worst, he’ll block the blast.
He extends a hand and shoves the Holy Father clean off the altar.
Outside, on the giant screens, and on televisions across the world, millions watch in horror.
The bomb goes off.
Stone, glass and flesh fill the morning sky.
PART FIVE
181
The SSOA Gulfstream flies sub-supersonic but takes only seven hours to get from London to the landing lights in San Francisco.
Mitzi has been in a state of shock all the way. Her brain refuses to accept that both her daughters have been shot and are still fighting for their lives.
Bronty and Dalton have flown with her. Her FBI colleague is mumbling about a woman diver he met who thinks underwater caves off Lundy’s shores might contain Arthurian tombs. Mitzi couldn’t give a damn.
Nothing matters any more.
Nothing, except being with Jade and Amber.
Despite her physical and mental pain, she knows she still has to talk confidentially to Dalton. There are things he must be told.
As soon as Bronty goes to the washroom, she slips into the seat alongside the consul. ‘I want you to know that as far as I’m concerned, the Goldman case is closed. I appreciate you flying back here with me, I really do. And I know it’s not just because you have your codex back.’
‘It’s not.’
‘I know.’ She gives him a reassuring smile. ‘We’re done. Everything I heard and saw while I was in your country is forgotten.’
‘Thank you.’ He looks relieved.
‘The truth is, I’m done as well. I’m planning on handing in my shield and gun.’
‘That would be a loss.’
‘I don’t think so. If my girls live, then maybe I get a second chance at being a good mom.’
‘Mrs Fallon, I’m sure you’re a very good—’
‘Please — don’t patronize me.’ She gives him a scalding look. ‘And don’t call me Mrs Fallon. Go back to Britain and carry on doing whatever it is that you do. You and your secret knights have taken vows to be a power for good. So, you have my admiration, my support and my silence.’
He pushes his luck. ‘I know Sir Owain harboured thoughts that you might join us.’
She shakes her head. ‘Not me. I’m sorry.’
Bronty returns to his seat and Mitzi and Dalton fall silent. An in-flight announcement tells passengers to buckle up for landing.
The plane wheels drop. Mitzi feels the pressure build in her head. She shuts her eyes but there’s no relief. Just two faces.
Jade.
Amber.
If they die she doesn’t know how she’ll live with herself. The doctors said Amber took a bullet in the hip and another in the back. Mitzi didn’t even dare ask about paralysis. Everything from that moment onward seemed distant and blurred, as though it were happening in a fog.
The plane lands and taxis to a stop. She’s vaguely aware of hands helping her down steps. The noise in the terminal splits her head. The cool, middle-of-the-night air makes her shiver as they wait for the limo to pick them up.
Mitzi smells new leather as she slumps in the back seat. Cars, lights and buildings flash by her side-window. She looks out into a world that she no longer feels part of.
Bronty sits alongside her in the back of the Jaguar. Dalton is in the front, talking about her on his phone, as though she’s not there. And he’s right. She isn’t. She picks up that her ex-husband has been informed of the girls’ injuries and is travelling over from LA.
She pities him. Not for a long time has she had a kind thought for Alfie Fallon but right now, she feels for him. Fears for him. As low as he is, this period of his life is going to drag him even lower.
‘We’re here.’ The voice is Bronty’s.
Car doors open.
She feels Dalton’s hand on her right arm. Feels the touch of the fingers that surely killed a man at a Dupont Circle diner and set her off on a journey that ended with her daughters almost dead.
Mitzi pulls away from him and steps out into the darkness. A polite babble of voices breaks out. She looks at the sprawling front of the San Joaquin Hospital and wonders where Amber is.
Someone calls to her. Donovan is here. Others, too. Vicky the researcher, hand in hand with a tall man she doesn’t know.
And Ruth.
That bum of a husband, Jack is right alongside her. They’ve all turned out. Her sister tries to catch her eye, but Mitzi looks away. Not now. She’s not ready for reconciliation and all the questions that go with it.
Not yet.
She takes a beat and decides to say something before someone else tries to. ‘I don’t want to be rude. I’m really grateful everyone turned out so late. But could you all just leave me the fuck alone? Just while I visit my daughter and try to behave like a mom — and not like a cop.’