Good.

It would hasten his retreat.

Near the truck, the driver and another four uniformed guards noticed his approach and came forward to meet him.

"We must leave immediately," Rende ordered in Italian.

"Somehow I don't see that happening," the driver said in English, pulling back his cap.

The four uniformed guards raised weapons at his group.

General Rende took a step back.

These were real real French police...except for the driver. From his accent, he was obviously an American. French police...except for the driver. From his accent, he was obviously an American.

Rende glanced back to the gateway. More French policemen stood guard. He'd been betrayed by his own ruse.

"If you're looking for your your men," the American said, "they're already secured in the back of the truck." men," the American said, "they're already secured in the back of the truck."

General Rende stared at the driver. Black hair, blue eyes. He didn't recognize him, but he knew the voice from conversations over the phone.

"Painter Crowe," he said.

PAINTER SPOTTED a flash of muzzle fire. From the second-story window of the palace. A lone sniper. Someone they had missed. a flash of muzzle fire. From the second-story window of the palace. A lone sniper. Someone they had missed.

"Back!" he yelled to the patrol around him.

Bullets chewed across the wet pavement, strafing between Painter and the general. The police scattered to the side.

Rende fled back, yanking out his pistol.

Ignoring the automatic fire, Painter dropped to one knee, lifting two weapons, one in each fist. Aiming instinctively, Painter pointed one pistol toward the upper window.

Pop, pop, pop...

The general dropped to the ground.

A cry sounded from the second story. A body tumbled out.

But Painter noted it only from the corner of his eye. His full focus was on General Rende. They both pointed guns at the other, both kneeling, weapons almost touching.

"Back away from the truck!" Rende said. "All of you!"

Painter stared hard at the man, judging him. He read the raw fury in the other's eyes, everything falling apart around him. Rende would shoot, even if it meant forfeiting his life.

The man offered him no choice.

Painter dropped his first pistol, then lowered the second gun away from Rende's face, pointing it at the ground.

The general grinned triumphantly.

Painter squeezed the trigger. An arc of brilliance shot out from the tip of the second pistol. The taser barbs struck the puddle at the general's knee. The jolt of electricity blew Rende off his legs, slamming him onto his back, gun flying.

He screamed.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Painter said, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his regular pistol and covering the general.

The police swarmed around the fallen man.

"Are you all right?" one of the patrolman asked Painter.

"Fine." He stood. "But d.a.m.n...I really miss fieldwork."

7:57 A A.M.

DOWN IN the cavern, the fireworks had only lasted a little over a minute. the cavern, the fireworks had only lasted a little over a minute.

Vigor lay on his back, staring up. The screaming had stopped. He had opened his eyes, sensing at the primitive level of his brain that it was over. He caught the last spin of the sphere of coherent light, then watched it collapse inward on itself like a dying sun.

Above stretched empty s.p.a.ce.

The entire cathedral had flickered and vanished with the star.

Seichan stirred from where she had sheltered beside him. Her eyes were also fixed above. "It's all gone."

"If it was ever there," Vigor said, weak from blood loss.

7:58 A A.M.

GRAY BROKE the embrace with Rachel, the acuity of his senses fading with the light. But he still tasted her on his lips. That was enough. the embrace with Rachel, the acuity of his senses fading with the light. But he still tasted her on his lips. That was enough.

For now.

Some of the shine remained in her eyes as she searched around. The others were stirring from where they had flattened themselves against the ground. Rachel spotted Vigor, struggling to sit up.

"Oh G.o.d..." she said.

She slipped out of Gray's arm to check on her uncle. Monk headed in the same direction, ready to employ his medical training.

Gray kept guard, staring at the heights around him.

No shots rang out. The soldiers were gone...along with the library. It was as if something had cored out the center, leaving only the amphitheater-like rings of ascending tiers.

Where had it all gone?

A moan drew his attention to the floor.

Raoul lay crumpled nearby, curled around his trapped arm, crushed under the fallen pillar. Gray stepped over and kicked his pistol aside. It skittered across the gla.s.s floor, now a cracked and scattered jigsaw.

Kat came over.

"Leave him for now," Gray said. "He's not going anywhere. We'd best collect as many weapons as we can. There's no telling how many others might be up there."

She nodded.

Raoul rolled onto his back, stirred by Gray's voice.

Gray expected some final curse or threat, but Raoul's face was twisted in agony. Tears rolled down his cheeks. But Gray suspected it wasn't the crushed arm that was triggering this misery. Something had changed in Raoul's face. The perpetual hard edge and glint of disdain had vanished, replaced with something softer, more human.

"I didn't ask to be forgiven," he keened out in anguish.

Gray frowned at this statement. Forgiven by whom Forgiven by whom? He remembered his own exposure to the light a moment ago. Primordial light Primordial light. Something beyond comprehension, beyond the dawn of creation. Something had transformed Raoul.

He recalled the naval research done on superconductors, how the brain communicated via superconductivity, even maintained memory that way, stored as energy or possibly light.

Gray glanced to the shattered floor. Was there more than light stored in the superconducting gla.s.s? He remembered his own sensation during that moment. A sense of something greater.

On the floor, Raoul covered his face with one hand.

Had something rewired the man's soul? Could there be hope for him?

Movement drew Gray's eye. He saw the danger immediately.

He moved to stop her.

Ignoring him, Seichan lifted Raoul's gun. She pointed it at the trapped man.

Raoul turned to face the barrel. His expression remained anguished, but now a flicker of raw fear lit his eyes. Gray recognized that shine of black terror in the man-not for the gun, nor for the pain of death, but for what lay beyond.

"No!" Gray called.

Seichan pulled the trigger. Raoul's head snapped back to the gla.s.s with a crack as loud as the pistol shot.

The others froze in shock.

"Why?" Gray asked, stunned, stepping forward.

Seichan rubbed her wounded shoulder with the b.u.t.t of her pistol. "Payback. Remember we had a deal, Gray." She nodded to Raoul's body. "Besides, like the man said, he wasn't looking for forgiveness."

7:59 A A.M.

PAINTER HEARD the echo of the gunshot through the palace. He motioned the French patrol to pause. Someone was still fighting in here. the echo of the gunshot through the palace. He motioned the French patrol to pause. Someone was still fighting in here.

Was it his team?

"Slowly," he warned, waving them forward. "Be ready."

He continued deeper into the palace. He had come to France on his own. Not even Sean McKnight knew he had undertaken this a.s.signment, but Painter's Europol credentials had gotten him the field support he needed in Ma.r.s.eilles. It had taken the entire length of a transatlantic trip to track General Rende, first to a warehouse outside Avignon, then to the Pope's Palace. Painter remembered his mentor's warning that a director's position was behind a desk, not out in the field.

But that was Sean.

Not Painter.

Sigma was now his organization, and he had his own way of solving problems. He gripped his gun and led the way.

Upon first hearing of a possible leak from Gray, Painter made one decision. To trust his own organization. He had put the new Sigma together from the ground up. If there was a leak, it had to be an unintentional one.

So he had done the next logical thing: followed the trail of intel.

From Gray...to Sigma...to their Carabinieri liaison out in Rome.

General Rende had been kept abreast of every detail of the operation.

It had taken some careful prying to follow the man's tracks, which included suspicious trips to Switzerland and back. Eventually Painter had discovered one thin tie back to the Dragon Court. A distant relative of Rende who had been arrested two years ago for trafficking in stolen antiquities, in Oman of all places. The thief had gained his freedom from pressure by the Imperial Dragon Court.

As he'd investigated deeper, Painter had kept Logan Gregory out of the loop, so the man could continue his role as Sigma liaison. He hadn't wanted to spook Rende, not until he could be sure.

Now that his suspicions had been verified, Painter had another concern.

Was he too late?

8:00 A A.M.

RACHEL AND Monk secured her uncle's temporary belly wrap, using Gray's shirt. Uncle Vigor had lost a fair amount of blood, but the bullet had pa.s.sed clean through. According to Monk, nothing major seemed to have been hit, but he needed immediate medical attention. Monk secured her uncle's temporary belly wrap, using Gray's shirt. Uncle Vigor had lost a fair amount of blood, but the bullet had pa.s.sed clean through. According to Monk, nothing major seemed to have been hit, but he needed immediate medical attention.

Uncle Vigor patted her hand once she was finished, then Monk helped him to his feet and half carried him.

Rachel hovered alongside them. Gray joined her, putting an arm around her waist. She leaned a bit into him, drawing strength from him.

"Vigor will be fine," Gray promised. "He's tough. He's come this far."

She smiled up at him, but she was too tired to put much emotion behind it.

Before they even reached the first tier, a booming voice echoed down to them, using a bullhorn again. "SORTEZ AVEC VOS MAINS SUR LA TeTE!" The command echoed away, to come out with their hands up.

"Deja vu," Monk sighed. "Pardon my French."

Rachel lifted her rifle.

A second command in English followed. "COMMANDER PIERCE, WHAT'S YOUR STATUS?"

Gray turned to the others.

"Impossible," Kat said.