The Judas Strain - James Rollins [112]
Sound crashed back: the echo of the gunshot, screams from the plaza.
Gray drew back, taking an extra breath to realize the implication. If Balthazar was shot…
“Nasser knew about him,” Vigor said, finishing his own slow thought. Stunned, the monsignor caught himself on the ledge of the window. “Nasser knew Balthazar was here. The monster’s snipers killed him.”
Gray fared no better, dazed with incomprehension and guilt. He had sent the man out to a firing squad.
The screams and shouts grew worse outside, spreading inside. People ran—most fleeing to the nearest shelter, the sanctuary of Hagia Sophia.
Minutes ago, Gray and Vigor had climbed to the church’s second floor, where there was less traffic, keeping hidden. Before heading out, Balthazar had informed the museum curator that Gray and Vigor had already left, denying the need for an ambulance. They had come up here to make sure all went well.
“The police will swarm here,” Gray said. “We’ve got to hide.”
Vigor grabbed Gray’s sleeve. “Your mother and father…”
He shook his head. He had no time to consider that. Nasser had warned against any ruse. But once voiced aloud, Gray could not escape the terror. His breathing grew heavier; he became light-headed. Gray’s parents would also suffer for this mistake.
How had Nasser known about Balthazar?
Vigor continued to stare out the window. The monsignor’s fingers tightened on Gray’s arms. “Dear Lord…what’s she doing now?”
Gray turned his full attention back to the open plaza below the western facade. As people fled the square or crouched in fear, only one figure ran straight through all the confusion. She limped slightly, favoring her left side.
Seichan.
Why was she coming here?
Almost to the church, a chatter of sparks struck at her heels. Someone was shooting at her. Nasser’s men. But her sudden appearance had caught the snipers off guard. With orders to keep Gray and his companions from leaving the church, they hadn’t been expecting someone running toward the church.
Seichan sped faster, racing death.
1:58 P.M.
BLINDSIDED, SEICHAN CURSED. So Nasser did have a sniper or two positioned out here. She had missed picking them out earlier. Then again, the snipers had plenty of time to hide well. Seichan had not anticipated a traitor among their group. Balthazar had already been at Hagia Sophia all morning, setting up a snug snare.
She dashed through the Imperial Doors and ducked against the inside wall. Were gunmen in here, too?
She searched the cavernous length of the nave. People, frightened by the gunplay, cowered in corners or shifted in maddened tides of confusion and panic. She had to find Gray and Vigor.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
A hand snagged her shirt. Reflexively, she jabbed a pistol into ribs.
Her target didn’t flinch. “Seichan, what happened?”
It was Gray, his face drawn and pale.
“Gray…we have to get out of here. Now. Where’s the monsignor?”
He pointed toward a neighboring stairwell. Vigor kept half hidden at its entrance and watched the crowd.
Seichan herded Gray over to him.
The monsignor stared back at the arched doorway, his eyes wounded with grief. “Nasser shot him. Shot Balthazar.”
“No,” Seichan said, killing any misconception. “I did.”
Vigor backed up a step. Gray swung around.
“He was working with Nasser,” Seichan explained.
Vigor’s voice turned angry. “How can…?”
“I have photos from two years ago. Nasser and Balthazar together. Money changed hands.” She fixed Vigor with a hard stare. “He’s been working with him all along.”
Seichan read the continuing disbelief. She hardened her voice. “Monsignor, who called your attention to the inscription in the Tower of Wind?”
Vigor glanced toward the doors, toward the dead man out of sight.
“Before involving you both,” Seichan pressed, “Nasser and I were playing cat and mouse throughout Italy, searching for the first bits of the angelic puzzle. No one was supposed to discover my invisible mark in the Vatican until I called you, alerted you to search the tower’s closet with an ultraviolet light. Do you think