"Nick."
"You're okay now. It's all right."
"It took you long enough." She closed her eyes.
He picked her up and carried her across the room, sat her down in a fancy carved chair. That was when he noticed the Nazi flags. He looked around the room, at the swastikas, the torches, the words on the wall. He looked at Selena, pale in the light of the torches. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to hurt someone badly.
One of the robed men started toward the figure groaning on the floor.
"Don't move," Lamont said.
"That's my father, he's hurt."
"Tough shit. Don't move."
"You wouldn't dare shoot us."
Lamont looked at the speaker. Admiral Lang, Chief of Naval Intelligence.
"Do you know who we are? Do you understand what is going to happen to you if you harm us? I am your superior officer. I order you to drop those weapons, now."
Ronnie and Lamont looked at each other and began laughing. Lang looked confused.
Selena opened her eyes. "Take care of this, Nick. I'm fine." Her eyes were clear.
He walked over to Lamont. They stood with their backs to the open door.
"Nick, what are we going to do with these shitbirds?"
"Damned if I know."
"You will do nothing. Drop your weapons. You and the schwarze."
The voice came from behind them, from the passage beyond the door. Whoever was there couldn't see Ronnie, standing to the left of the doorway.
People who point guns expect the target to freeze. There's only a fraction of a second to react. Training took over. Nick and Lamont rolled in opposite directions away from the door and the line of fire. Nick came up kneeling with his pistol in his hand.
Ronnie opened up toward the hall, bouncing rounds off the walls of the passage at the unseen speaker. Shots came through the open door.
Selena dived for the floor. Lang pulled a pistol from under his robe and shot Ronnie. The bullet knocked him off his feet and back against the wall. He fell to the floor. Carter shot Lang twice, the .45 bucking in his hand. The circle of robed men scattered and more pistols came out. The room echoed with gunfire.
Ronnie's armor had stopped the round. He raised his weapon from where he lay and began firing. Lamont fired. Carter fired at anything moving in a white robe. Bits of stone flew and the air filled with rounds whining and ricocheting off the walls. The slide locked back on Nick's pistol.
Sudden silence. The flames from the torches flickered and danced, casting strange shadows on the walls.
The room stank of gunfire and blood. Empty shell casings littered the marble floor. Ronnie climbed to his feet, holding his side where the round had punched his armor. Lamont took a quick look around the door frame, ducked back, and looked again. He moved into the doorway, his MP-5 held up by his cheek.
"Clear," he said.
The floor of the room was carpeted with white-robed bodies. The stone walls were chipped and pockmarked. Nick ejected the empty magazine from his .45. He fed in a new one, racked the slide and walked over to where Greenwood lay on the floor. He felt sudden goose bumps all over. There was something nearby. Something to be feared. He looked around but saw nothing.
Greenwood lay in a spreading pool of blood. He looked up, his face contorted in rage. Nick thought about killing him, but Greenwood was already dead. He just didn't know it yet.
"It is not over," Greenwood said. He coughed and blood bubbled from his lips as he spoke. "We are everywhere. You will never defeat us." Suddenly he was watching something over Nick's shoulder. All the color drained from his face.
"No," he said. "Oh, no."
Something colder than ice brushed Nick. Something dark. Something foul. Greenwood shuddered.
"NO!" he screamed.
He died. Suddenly the room was warm. Whatever it was Nick had felt was gone. He took a deep breath.
He reached down and picked up the Vienna Lance, damp with Selena's blood. It twisted in his hand and cut his palm. He swore and hurled it against the wall. The brittle iron broke with a sharp, snapping sound and the Lance fell in pieces to the ground.
Ronnie and Lamont walked among the bodies. Smothers lay on his side, clutching his abdomen and moaning. Senator Blackfriar had a sucking chest wound and lay on his back laboring for breath, staring at the ceiling. Greenwood's son crawled across the floor in a trail of blood, clutching his stomach. A strange, mewling whine came from him. The rest were dead.
Lamont had a deep gash across his cheek. He touched it, blotted it with his sleeve.
"Let's go." Carter holstered his pistol.
Selena stood up. "What about that?" She gestured at the bodies.
"Leave it. We'll let Rice handle it. We've got to get out of here."
Then he remembered Rice's comment about Dysart never coming to trial. What would happen if this got out? He looked at Ronnie and Lamont.
"This can't go public," he said.
They nodded.
"Take Selena upstairs and go get the car. I'll finish up here."
"You sure?" Lamont said.
"You go ahead. I'll be right behind."
Lamont and Ronnie helped Selena to her feet. They went up the stairs.
Nick moved around the walls and snuffed all the torches except one. The hiss of escaping gas grew loud. He found an adjustment, turned the remaining torch down to a tiny flame and left it burning.
He went into the hall. A man in black uniform lay on the stones, his weapon beside him. His lifeless eyes were open, cold and blue. On his collar he wore a silver oak leaf insignia.
Nick closed the door to the Nazi chamber and the soft whisper of gas. He hurried up the stairs, past the basement and up to the first floor. He ran into the library and took the laptop from Greenwood's desk. He ran to the front of the house and out the door, past the silent cars and the Italian fountain. As he reached the street Lamont pulled up in the car.
In the back seat, Nick held Selena close. She shivered, waves that rippled across her.
They were blocks away when the explosion lit up the night.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
On the way in, Nick called Stephanie and briefed her. She was waiting for them in front of Nick's building. He gave her Greenwood's computer. Maybe it had the proof the President needed. Rice had to get things under control, fast. Before anyone figured out what had really happened.
It wasn't the first time Nick had showed up at his building looking like anything but a normal tenant. The security guard eyed Selena in her bloody robe and Nick in his black gear. He shook his head without saying a word as they made for the elevator.
The apartment was furnished European style. Simple wood and glass and clean Scandinavian accents. Nick sat Selena down on a wide couch of brown leather and cleaned the wound on her arm. It was a brutal gash, deep and red. He put antibiotic ointment on it and bandaged the cut. It would do for now. He got up and poured her a whiskey. She was pale, still wrapped in the robe with the black sun embroidered on the breast.
"Here, this will help." He poured one for himself. It was two in the morning. The night was quiet, cold and dark. No traffic on the street ten stories below. No garbage trucks. No Nazis.
She drank, coughed, drank more.
Nick sat down next to her. She clutched the glass in both hands. She had the thousand yard stare. Watching something a long way off.
He watched her and thought about Megan. He'd wanted to keep Megan safe and had thought he could. That illusion had vanished in flame at the end of the airport runway. After Megan, he'd never wanted to feel pain like that again. Hadn't wanted to risk letting anyone in. Looking at Selena, he knew what he had done.
"It's okay," Nick said. "It's over. You're safe."
"What was that in the room?" she said.