The Rome Prophecy

103

Valentina keeps her gun trained on the body at her feet.

Whoever this jerk is, he holds the key to why Anna was so screwed up, and what’s behind all the killings.

She can’t wait for Trench Coat to come round.

The chiesa is silent.

Disturbingly silent.

Empty churches have spooked her since she was a kid, and this one is certainly a major kid-scarer.

She glances over her shoulder.

Two people are there.

A man and a woman.

They’re moving towards her and the man has a gun aimed at her head.

Valentina stays cool.

He’s slightly built and looks older than the woman – much older, maybe even in his sixties.

‘Lift your hands and move into the aisle.’ He waggles the gun towards where he wants her to go.

‘Not going to happen.’ She looks challengingly into his pale blue eyes.

‘Lift them!’

She places her bet. ‘I really don’t think so.’ She looks away from him and keeps the Glock pointed at Trench Coat. ‘You’ll have to shoot me before I give this creep up.’

The old guy’s gun kicks in his hand.

There’s a muzzle flash and a barking boom.

Valentina’s heart all but explodes.

She’s made the wrong call.

She doesn’t feel any pain, but then again, she’s been told that at first you don’t.

Still nothing.

Now she’s sure it was just a warning shot.

A warning duly observed.

If he’s prepared to let off a gun in a church, he’s desperate. Desperate men – even those who don’t intend to kill – often end up doing so.

Over in the pews near the entrance she spots two more figures.

Men, she thinks.

Younger than Shooter, maybe the same age as Trench Coat.

‘Drop it – drop the gun.’ He waves his pistol and speeds up his walk towards her. ‘Now!’

Valentina gives it up.

The clunk of the pistol on the floor is the cue for them to rush her. Not just Shooter and his female sidekick, but the watchers by the door.

A hand with a vice-like grip clamps around her neck. It forces her face first over the pew.

She feels the hard metal of a gun barrel against her temple.

Behind her, the young woman speaks for the first time. Her voice is shaky and nervous. ‘Is he okay, is he breathing?’

There’s a lot of movement. Valentina guesses they’re trying to resuscitate Trench Coat.

‘Attis, can you hear us?’ Someone slaps his face. ‘Attis, wake up!’

Valentina notes the name. She’s sure she remembers Tom mentioning it. Slowly it comes back to her. Attis was the unfaithful lover of the goddess Cybele, who was driven so crazy he castrated himself. Given the chance, she’d do the same to him, then stick the guy’s balls in Shooter’s mouth.

But for now, all she can do is listen and try to make sense of the voices.

‘He’s okay. He’s coming round. Get him to his feet.’ This is Shooter.

‘Come on, let’s get you up.’ This is a woman, an older, more authoritative one. ‘Let’s get moving.’

‘Which way?’ Another woman.

‘No choice.’ It’s the older one again. ‘We’ll have to go through the crypt.’

‘What about her?’ It’s the gentler woman speaking.

There’s silence.

‘She comes with us. We’ll deal with her later.’