Chapter Fifty-Seven

Ben had seen these stone walls before. They were deep in the heart of the house now. The classical décor was behind them. In front of them was an arched bridgeway that Ben knew would take them where it had taken Oliver almost a year earlier.

He led the way through the arched passage and laid a hand against the heavy wooden door at its end. It was open. He pushed gently and stepped through.

They were standing on a high gallery overlooking the interior of the private church below.

Gardier’s whispered voice buzzed urgently in his earpiece. ‘Subjects have left’, he said. ‘Presume heading your way. I have no visual contact. Repeat, heading your way.’

Just a little moonlight seeped through the stained-glass windows, throwing long shadows across the church’s interior. The flagstones were plain and grey. Polished wooden pews gleamed dully.

Ben’s mouth went dry and his heart began to pound. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing, but it was undeniable. It wasn’t the room Oliver had captured on film. This was a completely different place.

He glanced around him. There were no doorways leading off anywhere, just the one they’d come in.

He could sense O’Neill and the others behind him, watching him and wondering what was wrong. His mind started to race, filling with thoughts that swelled his fears.

Kroll’s associates were heading for a completely different part of the house. Kroll had anticipated him, double-bluffed him. Eve had tricked him a second time. He’d walked right into it. He’d given Aragon away to them on a plate. He was out of time. And he was leading his team into a trap.

‘What now?’ O’Neill asked.

Ben said nothing.

‘What do we do, sir?’ There was an edge of worry to the Irishman’s whisper.

Ben said nothing.

Down below them, there was a grating sound of stone on stone. In the shadows of the church, in the middle of the aisle between the rows of pews, something was moving. A flagstone scraped sideways. A dark figure of a man seemed to emerge from the floor.

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