"I thought so."
"You won’t be laughing as you burn along with this church."
Bodmer held the candle aloft, letting it waiver over a trail of paint thinner he'd sprayed on the floor, a trail that led to where Sean was sitting. "You know," he said, "when they get to the tomb of Berthier and recover the ring, none of this would have mattered. All of your efforts could have been avoided, and you wouldn't have had to die. Not yet, anyway," he said with a disturbing clown-like smirk.
Sean didn't take the bait, but he did make a note: Berthier. That was it, the missing name from the list. Sean rapidly processed the information. He seemed to recall reading something about an officer named Berthier who had served Napoléon. That had to be it. The ring was at this Berthier's tomb. He tried not to focus on that. It was, after all, the assumption of a man desperate to save his life. "Careful with that, Commander. With all this turpentine you accidentally spilled, you could start a fire with that thing."
"I know." Bodmer dropped the candle dramatically to the floor, but by the time the candlestick hit the wooden boards, the flame had been extinguished by the wind.
Sean couldn't stop himself from laughing despite the dire circumstances. Even though he was now free from the waist up, he still had to get the tape off his legs before he could move.
"I'm sorry," Sean said amid the laughter, "I just…one second. He wished he could pretend to wipe tears from his eyes for more effect. "That's just too funny. I mean, you were trying to be all dramatic and do a kind of mic drop with the candle and…it blew out!" Another round of laughter ensued.
Bodmer hurriedly picked up another candelabra and spilled glops of wax on his hand. He angrily shouted something in French and then lowered the flame carefully to the floor. "I'm going to make you pay for laughing."
"You sure you don't want to try the big mic drop again?" Sean joked.
The flickering yellow flame touched the paint thinner and the trail immediately caught fire. It was a slow burn at first but rapidly picked up speed. Bodmer watched it for a moment as the flames shot out in different directions, all following the different paths of fuel he'd poured to make sure the entire room would be engulfed within moments of his leaving.
He turned and motioned for the guards to open the door. The two men did so and stepped through, leaving Bodmer to watch as the fire neared Sean. The American struggled against the duct tape, fighting to get free, but the effort was futile.
Bodmer briefly contemplated saying something else to the prisoner, but he decided against it. Soon, this entire place would go up in smoke, and he needed to be as far away from it as possible.
40
NOTRE DAME
The second the door closed behind Bodmer, Sean ripped his arms out of the tape and started trying to free his legs. The flames danced wildly around him, lapping at the chair as the wooden floor beneath caught fire.
More flame trails crawled up the walls, surrounding him like liquid rivers of fire flowing upward until they reached the ceiling and joined in the center.
Sean knew he had less than a minute before the entire place was consumed in flames.
He tried to pull the duct tape down over his shoes, but it was wrapped too tightly. "Where is the end?" he asked out loud as the sound of the fire grew louder. Thick black smoke filled the very top of the building and loomed over him like a cloud of death waiting to descend on its prey.
He felt the back of the smooth adhesive, searching for the seam that would indicate the end of the tape, but he couldn't find it. He kept searching even as the flames licked at his hands and feet. The searing heat swelled, and he could feel it pressing in on his clothes and skin from every angle. Sean was about to give up on freeing himself and try to hop over to the door when he felt the edge of something graze his fingers.
The end of the tape.
He jammed a fingernail under it and pulled. At first, only a tiny patch pulled free from the rest of the bonds. Sean stayed persistent, though, and soon he had the entire end unwrapping from the bundle. He worked fast, working his hands over and under his legs even as the flames continued to build.
The heat in the room was nearly unbearable, even for someone like Sean, who been in a few infernos, nearly dying in one.
Sean forced himself to concentrate, knowing that if he tried to do things too quickly he could lose his focus and mess up, tangling the tape. The flames drew ever closer, encroaching on his personal space. He winced against the scalding heat and gave one last tug on the duct tape.
The adhesive ripped away from his pants and he jumped out of the chair to sprint to the door, but something was holding him back. He looked down at his ankles and realized that two strips were still attached to his legs, wrapping individually around the ankle and the chair supports.
"Oh, come on!" he shouted.
Sean bent down and ripped the tape on his right ankle, then the left. Now, however, a wall of fire stood between him and the door. Smoke was already trying to force its way into his lungs, and he knew he didn't have much longer before he succumbed to either the smoke or the irrepressible heat.
With only seconds to spare, Sean found a spot on the floor that seemed to be resisting the flames. It was one where Bodmer hadn't spread any flammable liquids. He dove to that area to buy some time and found himself standing next to a small wooden table. This one was similar to a bistro table, not as large as the worktable on the other side of the room but bigger than a common nightstand.
Sean could only think of one way to use the table to his advantage. It was pretty much the only thing left in the room that wasn't on fire, save for him, and that could change at any moment.
He flipped the table onto its top and started pushing it toward the door. His legs churned, the muscles tightening and releasing with every step. The table's surface squelched the fire in Sean's path, suffocating the flames of their precious oxygen so that Sean had a charred, but not burning, trail to follow to the door. He was nearly to the exit when the front end of the table caught on a jagged piece of floorboard. The end Sean was pushing lurched up, and the fire he'd tried to avoid flamed violently in his face. He jumped back and dropped the table, effectively putting out the surge of flame. He felt sure his eyelashes and eyebrows were singed, but he didn't care. He had to get out.
Sean tilted the front of the table just enough to get over the piece jutting from the floor and pushed hard the last few steps. His leg muscles burned, but they could have been burning in a much worse way as he felt the end of the table run into the wall next to the door. Luckily, there was still a small patch of floor that wasn't on fire. Sean stepped over to it and then tapped on the latch to make sure it wasn't hot. He knew metal knobs and handles heated quickly, a harbinger of a potential inferno on the other side. Thankfully, it was still cool and Sean pulled down on the latch. The door opened and he stepped out into the corridor, quietly shutting the door behind him to contain as much of the fire and smoke as he could.
Bodmer and his men were nowhere to be seen.
The short corridor ended just beyond the room where he'd been. There was a stone staircase at the other end, and he recalled being dragged up it, an exercise that had exhausted Bodmer and his men.
Sean hurried over to the stairs and began his descent. He did his best to do it quietly, but the sound of rafters collapsing and glass shattering covered up any noise his feet could have made on the hard stone steps.
He looked down into the narrow shaft between the winding staircase. He spotted a hand rounding a corner several floors down. The men he was after were already nearing the bottom. Once they were outside, it would be impossible to catch them.
A sudden explosion in the upper room rocked the building. One of the highly flammable cans must have caught fire. Where he stood remained stable, but as the fire spread things would rapidly deteriorate.
Sean plunged down the stairs, two, sometimes three steps at a time. He flew around the corners, vaulting himself down nearly an entire flight to make up
time he'd lost above. He had no weapon, but it wasn't the first time he'd been in that predicament. He had to slow down Bodmer and his crew. That was the least he could do to help his friends.
Besides, Sean learned a long time ago that guns, knives, explosives, none of those things were weapons. They were tools.
He was the weapon.
His feet hit the final landing as a door slammed shut in the next corridor. The men he was after still didn't know he'd escaped. He jumped down the last couple of steps and wrested an iron sconce from the wall. The object was hanging loose and broke free with little effort. Sean removed an iron chain from a loop beneath it and then rushed to the door.
He flung open the heavy wooden door and stepped through into the next corridor. He saw Bodmer and his men near the end of the hall. They were almost to the exit. Sean wouldn't be able to catch them, and even if he could they would hear him approaching. He had to figure out a way to cut them off.
Think, Sean.
He remembered the men bringing him there. They'd brought him in a burlap sack, which had been its own kind of uncomfortable. The rough fabric scraped against his skin and reeked of turpentine, or whatever it was that caused burlap to smell the way it did. Still, he'd been able to see out of the top and noted where Bodmer's driver had parked. He also recalled the path they'd taken to get into one of the maintenance entrances to the church.
That was all just before they entered the musty stone corridors of the cathedral. Sean knew most of the other hallways would be occupied with people there to appreciate the historic site. What they didn't know was that they were all in great danger.
That fact smacked Sean squarely in the jaw.
Bodmer and his men opened the door at the other end of the corridor. A dim, orange-yellow light radiated into the dark passage. He couldn't see much beyond the exit, but he knew where they were going. Sean had to take a different path out, and on the way he had to warn everyone of the danger.
His mind made up, Sean took off in the other direction, and when he reached another door he tossed the chain and sconce onto the floor with a clank.
Bodmer and his three henchmen were already gone, which meant they wouldn't hear the noise.
Sean found himself standing next to an alcove where a priest was kneeling before dozens of candles and a sculpture of Christ on the cross. Sean didn't want to interrupt the man's meditations, but there was no time.
"Father," Sean said, tapping the man on the shoulder.
The old priest looked up at him with confusion in his eyes.
"You need to get everyone out of here."
The priest frowned at the insinuation. It wasn't an angry expression, merely one of bewilderment.
Sean clarified with his best French. "The building is on fire, Father. You must get everyone out."
The man's eyes widened just as a fire alarm pierced the air with its sharp beeping.
"Go," Sean ordered.
The old man nodded and stood quickly before hurrying out into the sanctuary, where Sean assumed he would help usher people out of the building.
Taking off in the other direction, Sean headed down another side corridor that ran perpendicular to the sanctuary, behind the presbytery, and out to the other side of the building. He reached a door set in the wall and tried to pull it open—but it was locked. He scowled, wishing he'd asked the priest for a key. The locked door also explained why Bodmer and his men had taken the long way around. For a moment, Sean was paralyzed by the distracting thought about how the four men were able to sneak a corpse-size burlap sack into the church, but that question would have to wait.
Sean sighed, looked to the ceiling, and said, "I'm sorry." Then he kicked the door with the heel of his boot. The hinges creaked, and the housing broke free as the bolt splintered the wood on the other side.
He sprinted through without a second thought. He also gave no thought to stealth or covert movement. Only his target occupied his thoughts.
41
NOTRE DAME
Sean burst through the door and found himself under twinkling stars set amid a crystal clear sky. He blinked rapidly for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, and then scanned the area.
People were already gathering at a perimeter around the church. They likely believed they were at a safe distance, though Sean would have preferred them another hundred yards back.
He darted out of the doorway and headed toward the parking area that he recalled seeing through the little hole at the top of the burlap sack. It was entirely possible that he was going the wrong way, but he couldn't hesitate to worry about that. If he was wrong, he'd deal with it.
Sean filtered his way through the swelling crowd, almost having to swim through some of the denser portions of onlookers. Notre-Dame was one of the most famous landmarks in one of the most historic cities in the world. It was no surprise that when smoke began to billow from the rooftop, throngs would rush to the scene.
There was no time to look back and survey the damage Bodmer and his henchmen had caused. He'd have to hope the fire departments and emergency personnel could save as much as possible. It was lucky, in some ways, that the landmark was being renovated. There would be fewer evacuees, and most of the relics and important works of art had already been removed. Still, so much history would be lost if the building was totally destroyed.
He caught a glimpse of a jacket he recognized moving in the opposite direction to the flocking masses. He pulled his way past a smaller man who looked at him with a rude expression but immediately set his eyes back to the spectacle as Sean continued in the opposite direction.
Bodmer and his men were moving quickly, but not running. They were clearly doing their best not to look conspicuous.
The commander of the Swiss Guard was in the lead with the others trailing behind him in single file.
Sean searched the ground at his feet for anything he could use as a weapon but found nothing but the occasional empty cup and trash from fast food restaurants. He let out an exasperated sigh and scooped up a McDonald’s cup as he kept moving, closing the gap between him and the four retreating knights.
Twisting his way through the sea of people, Sean reached the first of the Teutonic guards. He pulled the plastic straw out of the paper cup and bent it in half to form a sharp V. Then he stepped on the guard’s heel, causing the man to stumble. Sean lurched forward, as if to assist the tripping man, and grabbed the back of his neck. To an untrained eye, he might have appeared to be helping. What the onlookers didn't see was how Sean shoved the end of the straw through the man's eye.
The knight's yelp was cut off as Sean "accidentally" fell forward and bashed the man's forehead into the pavement, rendering him unconscious, or possibly dead. Sean didn't stop to check. He had another target right in front of him.
He moved fast, catching the second guard in the same way, though this one required a more deliberate foot to the ankle to send him stumbling forward. The second guard managed to twist around as he fell to the ground, a move that made Sean's task much easier.
The knight's eyes widened as he saw the ghost of Sean Wyatt surging toward him. Sean grabbed him by the throat and used all of his momentum to drive the back of the man's skull into the sidewalk.
Instantly, the knight's eyes widened and then closed as he lost consciousness.
Sean immediately found the man's pistol at his side and was happy to see there was a small suppressor attached to the end of the barrel. It was more of a flash can than anything else, but with the rising tide of shouts amid blaring sirens, no one would notice a muffled pop.
He tucked the weapon under his shirt until he reached the third guard. They were almost to the SUV in the parking lot when Sean caught up with the man. He planted the pistol in the guard's kidneys, wrapped his hand around the man's mouth, and pulled the trigger. Sean was careful to make sure he felt the hard spine under the man's skin before he squeezed. The bullet of the 9mm would hit bone and continue on another few inches before it stopped.
&
nbsp; His plan went exactly as he knew it would. The bullet stopped in the man's abdomen, allowing for no exit wound and no stray bullet streaking into the crowd. It was a tactic he'd used before, but never in a crowd this dense.
The man grunted and collapsed onto knees that would never feel anything again. His face hit the pavement with a smack, but no one seemed to notice as the crowd pushed to get a closer view of the tragedy taking place before their eyes.
Sean hid the pistol under his shirt again as he hurried to catch up with Bodmer.
The commander reached out to grasp the handle on the SUV and turned to make sure the rest of his unit was with him, but instead was met by the deadly gaze of a man he knew to be one of the most lethal in the world.
Bodmer tried to retrieve his weapon, but Sean's was already drawn and shielded from view by his body. Not that the crowd would notice—their attention was focused entirely on the flames erupting from the roof of Notre-Dame Cathedral. A massive hole in the tiles dumped clouds of roiling black smoke into the otherwise clear blue sky.
Sean squeezed off a shot as Bodmer tried to slap the gun away. It was a quicker move than Sean expected and the round missed the target, instead tearing through the commander's right shoulder. It was only a scratch, though, and Bodmer immediately recovered, as would be expected from a highly trained elite member of the Vatican's security force.
Sean didn’t lose his grip on the weapon, but Bodmer wasn't done. He jabbed his right hand at Sean's face. Sean whipped his free arm up and partially deflected the blow, though Bodmer's fist still grazed Sean's jaw and sent a sting through his skin.
Bodmer followed with a knee that Sean avoided with a subtle twist. Though the force of the strike was intended for Sean's groin, it landed on his hip with a thud that sent a deadening pain through his leg and lower back.
Sean felt his left leg give, and it took all of his focus to shift weight to the right leg for the brief moment it required to recover.
The Napoleon Affair Page 33
