"Don't you have it backwards?" Dom was surprised at how calm he sounded now. "As long as I have the film, you can't do anything to me. Right now it's hidden in a safe place, but if anything were to happen to my brother or me-"

"Yes, yes," she said, impatient now. "I know the drill. But the thing is, Father, I don't believe you do do have it. Shocking, I know-what with you being a priest and saying as much right here in church, in the presence of G.o.d. But then some of you guys have been known to diddle little altar boys in the presence of G.o.d. So what's a lie or two compared to that?" have it. Shocking, I know-what with you being a priest and saying as much right here in church, in the presence of G.o.d. But then some of you guys have been known to diddle little altar boys in the presence of G.o.d. So what's a lie or two compared to that?"

Dom gripped his hands so tightly together he could feel the throb of the pulse in his wrists. He had to convince her that he had the d.a.m.n film, had to or he would die.

"Okay, so you don't believe me, but what if you're wrong? Can you really afford to take that chance? Imagine the film played in an endless loop on every TV set throughout the country. This man you work for, kill for-it would destroy him. And then he would destroy you."

She was silent, and he felt the evil in her like a poisonous cloud. The one tenet of his faith he'd always had a hard time believing in was the existence of the devil, until now.

"Do I believe you?" she began to chant. "Do I believe you not? Believe you, believe you not ... Swear to me you have it, and I will believe you. But only if you swear on pain of your immortal soul."

Do it, Dom. Come on, man, you want to live, don't you?

He felt her move and he raised his head. He saw her hand come up and he sucked in a sharp breath, but in the next instant he realized that whatever she held was too small to be a gun.

Dom heard a click and suddenly his father's voice filled the confessional: "You better pray to that G.o.d of yours Katya Orlova isn't long dead, because only she knows where the film really is. You and Ry, you've got to find her and get it back, and you got to do it fast."

She shut off the recorder and made a little tsking noise with her tongue. "You're a mean man, Father, to go and spoil my fun like that. You see, I planted a bug in your daddy's hospital room. A very good one, actually, state-of-the-art, and I got every word of his so-called confession, so obviously I've known all along that you never had the film."

She laughed again, and Dom couldn't understand how such a sweet sound could come from such a depraved heart. "I wanted to see if I could get a priest to swear to a big fat lie and imperil his immortal soul just as he was about to die, but you wouldn't do it, would you? What a disappointment."

She heaved a mock sigh and dropped her hand back in her lap. "Such a disappointment. Why, you've almost gone and ruined my day, Father, and the thing I'm wondering is-do you really believe G.o.d is such a stickler for the rules? I mean, don't you think that once you got to the Pearly Gates, you could've just explained that there were extenuating circ.u.mstances involved? ... No? Well, at least now, after I kill you, if you find yourself in heaven, you'll know that you've earned it." a disappointment. Why, you've almost gone and ruined my day, Father, and the thing I'm wondering is-do you really believe G.o.d is such a stickler for the rules? I mean, don't you think that once you got to the Pearly Gates, you could've just explained that there were extenuating circ.u.mstances involved? ... No? Well, at least now, after I kill you, if you find yourself in heaven, you'll know that you've earned it."

He saw her through the mesh screen, saw her bloodred mouth move as she spoke the familiar words of the Act of Contrition, "Oh, my G.o.d, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee ..."

He saw her hand come up again, and then he saw the gun.

Washington, D.C.

THEY CAME DOWN the hall from the kitchen as a unit, covering for each other, laying down a field of fire. But one of them was still going to have to be the first through that door, and then Ry would kill him. He knew he was going to die, but he d.a.m.n well wasn't going to die alone. the hall from the kitchen as a unit, covering for each other, laying down a field of fire. But one of them was still going to have to be the first through that door, and then Ry would kill him. He knew he was going to die, but he d.a.m.n well wasn't going to die alone.

Time slowed as it always did in the thickest part of a firefight, when one second felt like a lifetime and every detail seemed etched in gla.s.s. He saw the curtains billow from the breeze coming through the busted window, heard the creak of a floorboard in the hall. Broken gla.s.s on the shelf above his head tinkled as it settled. His eyes flickered up and he saw- The grenade.

He'd stuck it on the top shelf of the bookcase, next to a potted fern-a souvenir from his first operation in Afghanistan, Soviet-made and at least twenty years old. Was it still live? Was it still live?

The first guy burst into the room. Ry shot him between the eyes. He reached up and grabbed the grenade off the bookshelf, while shooting the h.e.l.l out of the doorway. He pulled out the ring pin with his teeth, but kept his thumb down on the safety spoon.

A second guy came through the door, the barrel of his Uzi leading the way, spraying an arc of fire. Ry dove toward the window. Bullets whined all around him, and the whole world seemed to disintegrate into pieces of gla.s.s and wood and metal. He let go of the spoon, counted, One thousand, two thousand ... One thousand, two thousand ...

He slung the grenade sideways, saw it hit the floor and roll. He vaulted over the desk, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the answering machine with one hand and pumping bullets back at the doorway with the other.

He jumped feetfirst through what was left of the bay window, just as the room behind him exploded into fire and smoke and flying shrapnel.

RY HIT THE ground hard. The spike-haired kid came around from behind the pizza van, firing another d.a.m.n Uzi. Ry shot wildly back at him and got lucky. The kid spun around in a crazy pirouette, blood gushing from his throat. ground hard. The spike-haired kid came around from behind the pizza van, firing another d.a.m.n Uzi. Ry shot wildly back at him and got lucky. The kid spun around in a crazy pirouette, blood gushing from his throat.

As Ry scrambled to his feet, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A big guy with a blond flattop and a semiautomatic handgun was darting between two parked cars. Ry fired and kept firing until the hammer of his gun snapped on an empty chamber and the big guy was dead, draped over the hood of a white Prius.

Car alarms shrieked as Ry ran across the street toward the pizza delivery van, cutting the h.e.l.l out of his bare feet on the broken window gla.s.s.

The pizza van still had the key in the ignition. As he drove away, Ry looked back at what was left of the place he'd called home for the last five years.

Dammit. He'd loved that little house.

He drove the pizza truck six blocks to a parking garage, dumped it, and found a car old enough to hot-wire without setting off any more alarms-an '82 Cadillac Seville. Forty minutes later he was off the belt-way and heading for a private runway deep in the hills of West Virginia. He needed to get down to Galveston, needed to find out what in h.e.l.l was going on, but he had to get off the radar first.

He looked at the answering machine lying next to him on the pa.s.senger seat.

Dom, he thought. He prayed his brother was still alive.

Galveston, Texas FATHER D DOM FLUNG himself out of the confessional box. He heard a spitting noise and felt a sting, like the flick of a whip end, across the side of his head. himself out of the confessional box. He heard a spitting noise and felt a sting, like the flick of a whip end, across the side of his head.

He tried to get up, to run, but the confessional's purple velvet curtain was wrapped around his legs. He kicked, twisted, but he couldn't get loose. He could hear the girl laughing and waited for another bullet to hit him, kill him.

He clawed at the curtain with his hands, heard a ripping noise, and he was free. He ran down the nave of the deserted church toward tall wooden doors that shouldn't be closed, but were.

The girl's voice echoed in the vast, vaulted s.p.a.ce. "They're all locked, Father. There's no way out, but up, up, up and away into heaven ... or not as the case may be."

Dom ran between the pews into a side chapel that held racks of burning votive candles and threw himself at the door that led into the sacristy.

"Ixnay on that one, too, Father. When I said they were all locked, I meant them all all. I'm efficient in that way."

He was trapped beside the small altar within the chapel. She came toward him, moving in and out of the shadows cast by the cathedral's tall columns. She held the gun down by her side now. He still couldn't see all of her face, just that smiling red mouth.

"What kind of monster are you?"

"What a mean thing to say. I just happen to like what I do. Most people hate their jobs, and I imagine that contributes to all manner of the sinning that you, as a priest, have to put up with."

Dom watched her come, his mind racing. He could feel blood streaming down his neck from the gash in his head, saw it splatter on the marble floor.

"Whereas I," she said, "am a purist in everything I do. Like f.u.c.king, for instance. And killing."

"Wait," Dom cried. "Okay, okay, you're right. I don't have the film, but that makes me even less of threat, not more. Come on, even if I talked, who would believe me? You don't have to do this." Dom cried. "Okay, okay, you're right. I don't have the film, but that makes me even less of threat, not more. Come on, even if I talked, who would believe me? You don't have to do this."

She shook her head. "Father, Father. You just don't get it, do you? But then wusses like you never do. It doesn't matter that you're a nice person, that you don't deserve to die. No amount of pitiful whimpering and begging ever stops people like me. Another gun sometimes does, but then wusses never have guns."

She was nearly upon him now, walking on her high, spiked heels through his blood on the floor. Dom saw her hand come up. He grabbed the heavy bronze candelabra from the altar and threw it at her head.

She flung up her arms to protect her face. Her shoes slid on the blood, and she grabbed at one of the iron votive racks to break her fall. The flimsy racks buckled beneath her weight, and she pitched forward, right into the rows of burning candles.

Dom ran. He was almost past her when he heard a whoosh and saw a burst of flames out of the corner of his eye.

Her screams, raw and terrible, stopped him. He turned back and saw the straw hat and brown wig burning on the floor beside her. And she wasn't screaming anymore, she was laughing. Her hair was the red of sacramental wine.

She raised the gun and pointed it at the s.p.a.ce between his eyes. "You should have kept on running."

8.

Northern Virginia RY O'M O'MALLEY pulled the Caddy onto the shoulder of the road and killed the engine. He was so deep in the Virginia countryside, all he could hear was the wind blowing through the scrub pines. A light ground mist, like old gray lace, drifted past the windows. pulled the Caddy onto the shoulder of the road and killed the engine. He was so deep in the Virginia countryside, all he could hear was the wind blowing through the scrub pines. A light ground mist, like old gray lace, drifted past the windows.

He glanced down at the fuel gauge. The tank, barely a quarter full when he'd stolen the car, now hovered on empty. He could add gas to the growing list of things he desperately needed to keep himself alive. When he'd jumped out of his front window, he had all of sixty-three bucks in his wallet and a couple of credit cards, which were now worthless because to use them would be like putting a giant, blinking, neon green arrow above his head.

Dad's gone, and now they're going to come after us, because of what he did.

Well, they had come all right, Dom. But who in h.e.l.l were they they?

Ry flicked on the roof light and looked at the answering machine sitting on the pa.s.senger seat beside him. At least it had a backup battery, so he didn't need an outlet to hear the rest of his brother's message. Yet his finger hesitated over the replay b.u.t.ton.

Dad's gone....

Ry felt the pain of his father's death, hot and deep, and hearing Dom say the words out loud again was only going to make the hurt worse. But it had to be done.

He pressed the b.u.t.ton, and his brother's frantic voice once again filled the night, "Ry? It's about Dad. He's dead, and-"

A broken sob, shaky breathing. Then the clatter of Dom's dropping the phone, bar noises, and the operator breaking in, followed by that weird bit about a woman with red hair.

More harsh breathing, then, "Dad's had a heart attack, Ry. Dad's gone, and now they're going to come after us, because of what he did. The big kill. I know I'm not making any sense, but I can't ... not over the phone. You need to get down here fast, Ry, and I'll explain everything-I mean, I'll tell you what Dad told me, which isn't enough, not nearly enough. But for now just know there may be people out there who are going to try to kill us. Some red-haired woman, maybe.... Oh, G.o.d, I know how crazy that sounds. But if you'd heard him, if you'd looked into his eyes-he was scared for us, Ry. Really scared ..."

Dom's voice trailed off, then Ry heard his brother draw in a deep breath and go on, "G.o.d knows when you'll hear this, and by then there's a chance they'll already have gotten to me. So as soon as I hang up, I'm going to write down everything Dad said and put it with Lafitte's treasure. For now, just know that a woman named Katya Orlova made a film of what he did. She was a professional, from Hollywood, and Dad said she got it all, their faces and everything. But then she disappeared on him and took the film with her. So we need to find this Katya Orlova, Ry, because if any of this is real, then Dad was right-that film's the only thing that will keep us alive."

Another pause, then Dom, his voice thick and breaking again: "One other thing, Ry, you know, just in case ... I lo-"

But then the machine beeped, cutting him off. It didn't matter.

"I love you, too, Dom."

RY PRESSED HIS fingers into his eyes, as if he could push all feeling back down inside him, tamp it down deep. A terrible fear was in him that Dom was dead by now, too. They'd probably hit the rectory down in Galveston at the same time they'd come after him in D.C., and there'd been five guys, at least, in on the raid at his house, each with enough firepower to wipe out a small village. Against guys like that, his brother wouldn't have stood a chance. fingers into his eyes, as if he could push all feeling back down inside him, tamp it down deep. A terrible fear was in him that Dom was dead by now, too. They'd probably hit the rectory down in Galveston at the same time they'd come after him in D.C., and there'd been five guys, at least, in on the raid at his house, each with enough firepower to wipe out a small village. Against guys like that, his brother wouldn't have stood a chance.

And Dad? A killer? Mike O'Malley had so rarely talked about the first forty years of his life, before he'd met and married their mother, that it was a family joke. The man without a past. Only that didn't seem so funny anymore.

As a father, he'd been tough on his sons, but never mean. Yet even as a young boy, Ry had sensed some secret, some interior life, was buried deep inside the old man that he kept walled off with a cold and pitiless ruthlessness. Like a volcano that looked dormant on the surface, but underneath boiled raging fires of havoc and destruction.

"Just who were were you really, Dad?" Ry asked aloud, and in the old Caddy's quiet emptiness, the words sounded broken. you really, Dad?" Ry asked aloud, and in the old Caddy's quiet emptiness, the words sounded broken.

He swallowed hard, clenched his eyes shut a moment longer, then forced them open. He had to get a grip so he could think. The first thing he needed to do was get down to Galveston and save his brother.

And please, G.o.d, let me not be too late.

THREE HUNDRED MILES and six hours later, Ry once again pulled off to the side of the road, this time about twenty yards shy of a tall, padlocked chain-link gate. The gate had razor wire strung along the top. A man stood in front of it, his feet splayed wide, a twelve-gauge shotgun cradled in his arms. and six hours later, Ry once again pulled off to the side of the road, this time about twenty yards shy of a tall, padlocked chain-link gate. The gate had razor wire strung along the top. A man stood in front of it, his feet splayed wide, a twelve-gauge shotgun cradled in his arms.

Ry opened the car door and got out slowly, his empty hands spread in front of him. "Nice to see you, too, Clee," he said.

"Well, I'll be a son of a b.i.t.c.h. Lookit what the cat done drug in."

The man stood, grinning, for a moment, then he broke open the shotgun and leaned it against a tree trunk. He came at Ry with his arms spread wide, and Ry braced himself. Cleeland Lewis had a cannonball for a head and shoulders like boulders. Ry was a big man himself-six-four and a shade under two hundred pounds of solid muscle-but when Clee's enormous black hand smacked into his back, it nearly knocked him on his a.s.s.

"Hey, man. Sorry about the welcome party," Clee said. "I wasn't expecting company today."

"You must have one heck of a security system."

Cleeland Lewis had a shady past and an iffy future, mostly having to do with the ragged airfield he'd carved here out of the Appalachian wilderness. The small, twin-engine aircraft that flew in and out of Clee's place did so under the radar, and in more ways than one.

"So you got video," Ry said, "and what else? You got the place wired?"

Clee's grin turned wolfish. He waved a hand at the dusty, battered old Caddy. "Let's just say that if you hadn't stopped that piece of c.r.a.p where you did, I'd be sc.r.a.pping what was left of you off the treetops."

Then the grin slid away as he studied Ry's face. "You in some serious s.h.i.t, bro?"

"Yeah."

Ry didn't elaborate, but then Clee wouldn't expect him to. They'd spent three h.e.l.lish years together in Afghanistan, running special ops against Al Qaeda and the Taliban. They would have died for each other, no questions asked, and more than once they nearly had.

"What you need?" Clee asked.

"Ammo for my Walther, and enough cash to tide me over until I can get at my own stash. Say, ten thousand, if you can swing it."

Clee nodded. "Better make it twenty. And you'll want more firepower than just that ol' Walther of yours. 'Cause sometimes you got a tendency to overestimate your talents."

Ry almost smiled. Back in D.C. they'd come after him with everything they had, and he'd not only lived through it, he'd kicked their a.s.ses good. Now those f.u.c.kers were dead and he was alive, and there was no other feeling like that in the world.

"Also," Ry said, "I'm going to need a plane."

"Figured that." Cleeland Lewis looked down at Ry's feet, bare and cut all to pieces by the broken gla.s.s from his living room window. "Gonna need a pair of boots, too."

9.

Galveston, Texas OFFICER B BEADSLEY stood on the top step of the Sacred Heart Church, watching a big man come at him fast from out of the wet summer night. He planted his feet and unsnapped his holster. stood on the top step of the Sacred Heart Church, watching a big man come at him fast from out of the wet summer night. He planted his feet and unsnapped his holster.

"Hey, bubba," he called out. The guy slowed, but he didn't stop. The cop's hand rested now on the b.u.t.t of his Glock. "You see that yellow tape you just stepped over? The one that says CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS?"

"I've got a message for the monsignor."

The big guy was close enough now for the cop to make out the black suit and white collar bands. He relaxed, took his hand off his gun. "Sorry, Father, I didn't know it was you. I mean, I didn't know you were a Father. The lieutenant told me to keep out the press and the ghouls, but that it was okay for you all to go on back in. The forensic guys are through in there."

Officer Beadsley pulled open one of the church's ma.s.sive wooden doors for the priest to pa.s.s on through, but the other man hesitated at the threshold.

"They've taken the body away?"