Wondered, too, if it would be better for everyone if he just keeled over now.
Felt guilt for thinking that way.
Guilt now whichever way this went.
The voice, booming in from outside the church, startled everyone.
‘This is the FBI.’
A male voice, strong, rational, uncompromising.
Michael heard gasps, saw the light of hope in some eyes, new fear in others, and he understood that, felt it himself, because who knew what would happen if some SWAT team stormed the church?
Or what Reaper might decide to do before that.
‘That’s it. All we can carry.’ Amos kicked at a pile of the loose green stuff around his boots. ‘Time to organize you, Nemesis.’
The other woman removed her jacket, pulled off her sweater and the vest beneath, keeping the balaclava in place, then raised her arms while Amos began taping bundles of cash to her bra and her skin, and Liza tried to keep a tally but lost count, thought it was maybe as much as seventy thousand, perhaps even a hundred grand, being concealed on her person.
‘How does that feel?’ Amos asked.
‘Warm.’
Amos turned to Liza. ‘Help her put her clothes back on.’
‘I’d rather not.’
He jerked the shotgun her way. ‘Do it.’
Liza struggled to get the black vest down over the other woman’s cash-fattened body. ‘Not sure this is going to fit.’
‘Make it fit,’ Amos said.
Liza stretched it, succeeded, and Nemesis tucked the bottom of the vest into her waistband, then motioned for the sweater.
‘Don’t you think people might ask questions when you pay your brother’s hospital bills with amazing stacks of cash?’ Liza asked.
‘I’m not a moron,’ Nemesis said.
‘Speed it up,’ Amos said.
Liza dragged the sweater down over the balaclava, helped Nemesis get her arms through the sleeves, then turned to the gunman. ‘What’s your cut for? Sick mom? Dogs’ home?’
‘Mind your fucking business, smart mouth,’ Amos said.
‘None of us knows his story.’ Nemesis picked up her jacket.
‘Help her with it,’ Amos rapped.
‘I’m OK,’ Nemesis said, and grunted as she tried zipping it up.
‘Any connection with Osborn?’ Liza dared to go on probing. ‘You seemed so angry with him.’
Amos stepped forward, fastened the jacket for Nemesis. ‘Can you bend?’
Nemesis tried. ‘Well enough.’ She turned to Liza. ‘Don’t push him.’
‘I’m just interested in motivation,’ Liza said.
Amos turned around and came so close that she could feel his sour breath. ‘How’d you like to get left in one of those tunnels we passed on the way in?’
‘Not one bit,’ Liza said, feeling sick.
‘Then keep it zipped.’
He hoisted the largest bag onto his own back, then helped Nemesis with hers.
‘Do you want me to carry some?’ Liza said.
‘Little Christmas bonus for you?’ Amos said. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I just thought it might help us get back quicker,’ she said. ‘Less time in the tunnel.’
Nemesis turned to Amos. ‘All set?’
‘One request,’ Liza said. ‘I’d like to check on Mr Osborn.’
‘No requests,’ Amos said.
The telephone in Simon Keenan’s office was ringing off the hook.
Michael could hear it, had been tuned in to it ever since the FBI had first appealed for someone to pick up. Special Agent Clement Carson, the man calling through a megaphone, telling Reaper that he wanted to speak to him, wanted to help any way he could.
No sign from Reaper as yet that he was remotely interested in talking to Carson.
Everyone growing edgier as time passed, Michael felt.
‘Wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man,’ Nowak, the organist, had called out a while back.
‘Just answer the damned phone,’ Adam Glover had added.
Reaper had told them to be quiet.
‘Making a noise won’t help you,’ he’d said.
‘If you don’t want to leave the nave’ – Simon Keenan tried now – ‘I could just go down and pick up.’ He stood up from his seat beside Rosie. ‘You could tell me what to say.’
Jeremiah moved across the nave, and pointed his shotgun at the vicar.
‘Or maybe not,’ Keenan said.
Michael just kept silent.
Thinking about Liza, hoping she was OK, not understanding why Reaper had wanted her down there with Amos and Nemesis.
Her continuing absence more troubling by the minute.
SIXTY-SIX
Liza had been aware, since just after they’d reentered the tunnel, that a few feet behind her Nemesis had been softly counting the black holes to right and left along the way.
‘Five,’ she heard her say, passing one – the worst of the foul-smelling black holes. And then, ‘Lord, that’s disgusting.’
‘Why are you counting?’ Liza’s curiosity got the better of her.
‘Shut up,’ Nemesis said.
Then, a little later: ‘Six.’
Liza couldn’t remember her doing that on their first journey, but then again, maybe she’d been too scared to notice.
And then, abruptly, Liza heard the other woman stop.
‘Seven.’
Up ahead, Amos had stopped too, and turned around.
‘Guess this is it,’ Nemesis said.
Liza’s heart rate shot up again, because she was sandwiched between them, and because maybe they were going to leave her down here, take her down one of those holes, and if that happened, she would lose her mind for sure …
‘Guess so,’ Amos said.
Nemesis heaved off her cash-loaded backpack, pushed past Liza and gave it to the big man, who threw it easily across his left shoulder.
‘Hope it goes well for you and your brother,’ he said.
‘Hope you all get out with what you need.’ Nemesis’s voice was husky.
She stepped forward, leaned against him in an awkward kind of hug.
‘You’re leaving?’ Liza stared into the smaller tunnel to her left, not so much as a pinpoint of light visible anywhere. ‘Through that? Where does it lead?’
‘That would be telling,’ Nemesis said. ‘You clear on working the gizmo when you get back up top? Just plug in the cable from the backpack to the camera and—’
‘She’ll work it out,’ Amos said. ‘You worry about yourself.’
‘You too.’
‘Weapon,’ Amos said.
Nemesis handed him her shotgun, which he slid easily into a side pocket of the backpack she’d just given him.
‘I am sorry,’ Nemesis said to Liza. ‘For all of it.’ She pulled off her balaclava again, rubbed the perspiration off her face with it, then gave that to Amos too. ‘I didn’t really get to know Luke, but I think he was a good guy.’
‘Go,’ Amos said.
Nemesis nodded, and then, without another word, she took her flashlight from another pocket and slipped into the tunnel.
For several seconds, the sounds of her breathing and the swish of her clothes and the tread of her feet were audible, and then it all faded to nothing.
Amos shone his own flashlight onto the ground, and, with his own rubber soles, roughly obliterated Nemesis’s boot prints.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
The Snowman was no longer alone. Law enforcement was arriving piecemeal, State Police first, and the word was that Shiloh Road was being made passable. No sign yet of the task force, and Clem Carson was not sorry about that, in no rush to see innocent blood spilled.
The CNU was not far away, but though he’d been ordered to move the Wrangler farther away from St Matthew’s, Carson was still, for now, the agent on the phone, still getting no response. Shiloh Village had been cordoned off, only key Bureau personnel, cops and Fire Rescue being allowed anywhere near.
The walls of snow were, he’d learned, rendering the use of remote or laser listening devices impossible, with no time for covert preparation. News trucks had apparently started showing up too, but were being kept well away, major players still obstructed by the blizzard.
Liza Plain’s earlier warning about explosive devices at the Shiloh Inn and possibly elsewhere in the village had curtailed for now any door-to-door calling, let alone evacuation of those village residents not inside the church.
Clem watched as more experienced men and women, helmeted and plumped up by Kevlar vests and cold weather jackets, joined the situation. All quiet, no sirens, no lights, car doors being quietly shut, minimal conversation, radio silence ordered.
Not long now until he was off the hook as would-be negotiator, and he would be heartily relieved to return to being one of a team – and even more relieved when the Bomb Techs arrived.
Not long now, he told himself, and redialed the church number.
It was time, Reaper decided, to answer the phone.
He told Michael to stay at the pulpit, walked down the chancel steps and out through the undercroft door, descending those narrower steps carefully, using his cane, opening the door below, then walking unhurriedly to Keenan’s office.
He sat down at the vicar’s desk, took a breath and picked up the phone.
‘This is Reaper,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ The voice sounded as startled as a bunny in headlights. ‘Thank you for picking up, sir. My name’s Clem Carson, and—’
‘I thought I should do you this courtesy since you’ve been very patient, Agent Carson,’ Reaper said, ‘but you should know that there’ll be no further communication from this end.’
He heard sounds on the line, figured it was the agent trying to get someone else’s attention, maybe rapping on a car window, and went on regardless.
‘In case you didn’t fully comprehend the situation from Ms Plain’s excellent reportage, all entrances and exits to St Matthew’s have been wired with explosive devices. Likewise the Shiloh Inn. Likewise Shiloh Oaks on South Oak Street. Likewise some other residential properties on Main Street and beyond. I caution you, therefore, to be careful. I regret the loss of life that came about earlier, and though it was entirely accidental, I do, of course, accept all responsibility for it.’
Reaper felt his chest tighten and his throat constricting, but continued.
‘So long as no one tries anything foolhardy, everyone inside the church will be released unharmed when Whirlwind’s mission is complete.’
‘That’s very good to hear,’ the agent came in quickly.
‘Please don’t interrupt,’ Reaper told him. ‘For your further information, John Tilden, the man who earlier confessed, among other crimes, to the forty-year-old murder of Alice Millicent, is presently seated in the center of the front south-east pew of the nave, and I trust you will see to it that he is placed under arrest and charged.’
‘Sir – Mr Tilden – can you tell me—?’
‘Tilden is not a name I use,’ Reaper rapped. ‘And please do not interrupt again.’
His cough erupted then, infuriatingly, and for several moments he could hear nothing over the sounds of his own spasms.
‘Sir, are you OK?’ he did hear when it finally let up.
‘When our mission is complete,’ Reaper went on hoarsely, ‘we’ll contact you.’
‘Are you sick, sir? Do you need a doctor?’
Reaper put down the phone.
Sat for several more moments in Simon Keenan’s chair.
Regarded his hand, its tremor.
‘Get thee gone,’ he said, to the tremor and to the threatening sensation in his head, and to the Messenger, long since banished.
And then he inhaled as deeply as his damaged lungs would allow, took a pain pill from an inside pocket of his jacket, swallowed it dry, then stood up and made his way out of the vicar’s office, back to the steps that led up to the nave.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Where is he?’
Freya Osborn jumped to her feet the instant she saw Amos emerge alone from the undercroft shortly after six a.m.
‘What have you done to my husband?’
‘Your husband’s fine,’ Amos told her, looked at Reaper, back at the pulpit again, and gave him a nod. ‘All under control,’ he said, and then his sharp ears caught sounds from outside.
Reaper smiled. ‘The FBI arrived a while back. All still well. I’ll see you shortly.’
‘Where’s my granddaughter?’ Stephen was up now too.
‘Ms Plain is in the vicar’s office,’ Reaper said as Amos turned and disappeared back through the door. ‘Settle down, people. This will all be over soon. Be patient just a while longer, and then you’ll be free to leave.’
‘Fuck patience,’ Mitch Roper, the young man with the ear stud, said.
Adam Glover stood up. ‘We’d like to go back to the parlor, to be with our daughter.’
‘Not yet,’ Reaper told them.
‘Rot in hell,’ Adam Glover said, and sat down.
‘Amen!’ Annie Stanley shouted.
‘I daresay,’ Reaper said. ‘But for now, I’d ask you all to be quiet and wait.’
‘I won’t be quiet until you bring my husband back to me.’ Freya Osborn was still standing. ‘If he’s safe and sound, just let me see him.’
‘All in good time,’ Reaper said. ‘Now, please sit down.’
‘I’ve told you he needs his medication.’
‘The sooner you sit down,’ Reaper told her, ‘the sooner he’ll get it.’
‘How?’ Freya wasn’t budging. ‘If he’s in the vicar’s office with Liza Plain, then surely—’
‘Mrs Osborn, for the last time, sit down.’
Right on cue, Jeremiah was on his way across.
‘I want to see my husband,’ Freya insisted.
The masked gunman was right in front of her, shotgun leveled at her chest, and Claire Glover began to cry, and all over the nave anger and fear erupted again.
‘Hey.’ Michael, patrolling halfway up the aisle, turned quickly and moved back to the front. ‘No need for that, Jeremiah.’
The elderly woman had still not given in, but Jeremiah shook his head, moved away, and some of the cries subsided, only sounds of exhausted weeping continuing.
‘I understand you’re afraid for your husband, Mrs Osborn,’ Michael said to her. ‘But this won’t help him, and as you’ve heard, there shouldn’t be long to go now.’
‘Has something happened to Bill?’ Freya’s blue eyes locked on Michael’s face.
‘Amos said he’s fine.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘I have no reason not to,’ Michael said. ‘But if you sit down, Mrs Osborn, I’ll do my best to get your husband back to you as quickly as possible.’
‘I’ll be holding you to that,’ Freya said.
At last she sat down, and Jeremiah went back to patrolling.
Reaper beckoned to Michael, who came to the foot of the chancel steps.
‘That was well handled,’ the older man told him quietly. ‘I have business to take care of now. Can you look after things up here till we’re done?’
‘Won’t the others mind?’ Michael said.
‘All in their interests, as you know.’
Reaper stepped away from the pulpit again, and moved to the steps.
‘Is Liza really OK?’ Michael asked.
‘Definitely.’
‘I need her to stay that way.’ Michael’s tone was soft, urgent.
‘We all have needs,’ Reaper said.
In the brief time that she had been left alone, Liza had considered her options and realized that, for the moment at least, she had none.
As soon as they’d climbed the ladder and come through the trapdoor back into the undercroft, Amos had closed the hatch, replaced the rug, and then he’d set down the cash-loaded backpacks, fetched her camera and the gizmo from the office, locked the archive door behind them and pocketed the ke
y. After which, he’d ordered her into the store room and locked her in.
‘Won’t be long.’
No way she could break out, get to the office phone with nothing to use as a tool.
And anyway, minutes later, he’d been back.
He’d let her out, retrieved the backpacks, leaving the camera and equipment, and had gone with her into the office, where he’d begun unloading the packs and, with his shotgun leaning against his right thigh, had started building tidy stacks of cash on Keenan’s desk and the floor behind it.
He’d raised no objection when Liza had taken off her parka, and minutes later, when she’d asked to use the bathroom again, the gunman had agreed, waiting impatiently at the half-open door until she was done, and then he’d used the vicar’s kettle to make himself a mug of coffee, offering her the same, which she’d refused.
‘Everyone up there could use some hot drinks,’ she’d said.
‘They weren’t in that tunnel,’ Amos had pointed out, slugging down some coffee and returning to his task, and Liza had sat down on the vicar’s couch and rested her aching back and legs.
The phone on the desk began to ring, her heart racing faster with it.
Amos looked at her, knew she was itching to answer.
‘You pick that up,’ he said, ‘and I’ll shoot your grandpa.’
Reaper came down soon after Amos had finished.
The phone was still ringing, jangling in Liza’s head.
‘Marks for persistence.’ He sat in Keenan’s chair, vacated by Amos. ‘The FBI are outside, Ms Plain, you’ll be pleased to know.’
Her broadcast heard then, or maybe just someone somewhere realizing something was badly wrong, but either way, it was the greatest news. Then fear struck again, harder than ever, wiping out the relief, because what if they stormed St Matthew’s? What if she hadn’t been heard and they didn’t know about the explosives?
Reaper was watching her. ‘They know about the doors.’
Liza looked back at him, uncertain whether to believe him or not.
‘We’re all set here,’ Amos told him.
‘William Osborn was badly injured at his house,’ she said. ‘He needs help.’
Reaper ignored her, regarded the piles of cash. ‘Let’s have Jeremiah down then.’
‘I’d say Joel first,’ Amos said. ‘Jeremiah’s better at keeping control.’
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