The Testament

He was coming now and there was nothing Bravo could do to prevent it.

Je

Where was Camille? She looked around, found herself alone in the forest, with only a corpse for company.

"Christ!"

She levered herself onto her feet with the help of a tree trunk against which she leaned. Her head swam and whatever was in the pit of her stomach threatened to disgorge itself. Her pulse pounded, and she forced herself to take a series of long, deep breaths.

Pushing away from the tree, she started her search for the Witness, but the gun was nowhere to be found. Bad news-that meant that Camille had found it and was still armed. She wished she had her cell phone so she could warn Bravo of his friend's treachery.

Still, there were weapons to be had-she could see the muzzle of a gun peeping out from under her attacker's waist-all she needed to do was roll his corpse over. There was a terrible stink rising up from him, almost unbearable as she knelt beside him. Her hands hovered above his torso as she gathered her strength to roll him.

"All right now," a voice said in German-accented English, "back away."

Reflexively, she looked over her shoulder, saw Kreist, a Knight of the Field whose face and dossier were known to her.

"I'm injured," she said, indicating the makeshift tourniquet, though which blood was already begi

"You're not listening to me," Kreist barked. "I said back away. Now!"

Je

Kreist took a threatening step toward her. "I will not ask you again."

Saying a silent prayer, Je

Kreist spat. "Little bitch, what the fuck are you doing out here?"

Je

Without a backward glance, she turned and ran, ignoring as best she could the searing pain in her side, the blood seeping from her wound. Once, she fell to her knees, winded, exhausted, her head lolling, but she heard Bravo's voice in her head and she forced herself first to her knees, then to her feet, put one foot in front of the other, faster, faster.

"The cavern is a kilometer northeast," he had said.

The cache was hidden beneath a semicircular altar to the Greek goddess Aphrodite. The stone altar was without adornment of any kind, having been looted decades ago. In fact, had not his father delivered precise instruction as to how to find it, Bravo might never have known its original use. Bravo had a flashlight, but it was not necessary here. This section of the cavern was a honeycomb of small caves, passages and chimneys, some of which rose all the way to the surface of the mountainside. As a consequence, sunlight, colored by the greenish minerals in the rock, provided eerie illumination. Along with the light came sound, the wind moaning in mournful melody, as if through a gigantic panpipe.

He positioned himself in front of the dark stone altar on which, presumably, animals had been ritually slaughtered by pagan Greeks before the Virgin Mary came to these shores, perhaps even after, for the goddess of love held a special place in the hearts of Greeks. Wasn't everyone in need of her help?

He heard a sound, no more than the wind made, soughing through the chimneys, and the hair at the back of his neck stirred. He was not alone in the caverns-the Russian, and behind him, surely, Jordan. What had happened to Je

He heard the sound again, nearer to him this time, and he put his plan into effect, leaping to his right, arms outstretched in front of him as he hurled himself through one of the holes in the cavern.

He winced at the deafening sound of a gun being fired, the echo roaring through the passage he was in. When he turned, he saw the Russian on his hands and knees, coming after him. The Russian paused, raised his Makarov. Just before he squeezed off another shot, Bravo leapt upward into a chimney. Under cover of the noise, he scrambled into the first passage he came to. He crouched there, waiting, steeling himself for what had to be done.

The moment he saw the top of the Russian's head he attacked, slamming the heel of his hand against the Russian's ear. Launching himself forward, he kicked down, dislodging the gun from the Russian's hand. This was essential-it disarmed his adversary and evened the playing field-but it also allowed the Russian the time he needed to recover from the blow to his head.

The man reached out, butting his head into Bravo's sternum. As Bravo fell back, the Russian hauled himself out of the chimney. In the horizontal passage there was precious little room to maneuver. Within the space of three blows being delivered, Bravo had the measure of the Russian. He was ex-military, FSB or perhaps Spetsnaz. The modern battlefield being what it was, these soldiers had little use for hand-to-hand combat and so were trained only in what was known as "short and sharp," the killing blow to be delivered within thirty seconds of engagement.

Having absorbed three of the Russian's blows on bone and heavy muscle, Bravo got inside his adversary's defenses, broke the man's nose with the edge of his hand, his cheekbone with the knuckles of the other.

But he was mistaken if he thought that would finish off the Russian. It only got him going. He rushed Bravo, bulling him backward against the passage wall. Pi

He was going into shock, his vision a blur. He tried to get at Lorenzo Fornarini's dagger, but his side was pi

The Russian, blinded, staggered back, slammed into the opposite wall. Bravo went in beneath his raised arms, buried a knee in his groin. As the Russian doubled over, Bravo drove the same knee into the man's chin. His head snapped up and Bravo delivered a blow to his temple. The Russian slid to his knees, tears streaming down his face, but still managed to grab hold of Bravo, shake him until his teeth rattled. The man opened his mouth to bite Bravo, to rip a chunk out of him, and Bravo smashed the flashlight into his face, again and again, the blood ru