Brimstone

At that moment, footsteps sounded from beyond the dining room. They flattened themselves behind the door of the kitchen. Voices spoke in Italian, too indistinct to make out, but approaching.

"Let's keep looking," Pendergast said after a moment. "Any moment now the alarm might be raised."

He ducked into the meat locker: a cool stone room hung with prosciutti and salami, shelves groaning under the weight of massive wheels of aging cheeses. Pendergast shone Fabbri's torch around the crowded space. There was a gleam of aluminum on one of the upper shelves.

"There!" D'Agosta grabbed the case.

"Too bulky," Pendergast said. "Get rid of the case and let's assemble the weapon."

They opened the case, and-with a little difficulty-Pendergast screwed together the various parts. He handed it to D'Agosta, who slung it over his shoulder by its attached leather strap. Then they hurried back into the kitchen. More voices, this time from the dining room itself. Then the hiss of a radio. A voice rasped out, loud, full of panic.

"Sono scappati!"

A flurry of activity, followed by retreating footsteps.

"They've got radios," Pendergast murmured. He paused only another moment. Then he dashed back through the kitchen and across the dining room, D'Agosta following, weapon bouncing on his shoulder. They ran out into the central gallery, past the age-darkened portraits and luxurious tapestries.

Dim voices could be heard ahead.

"This way," Pendergast said, nodding toward a small open door. They ran through it to find themselves in an old armory. Rusted swords, armor, and chain mail hung from the walls. Without a word, Pendergast took down a sword, examined it, put it back, took down another.

The voices grew louder. And then a group of men passed by the doorway, ru

Pendergast peered out, and then motioned to D'Agosta.

They continued down the gallery, then veered away through a maze of elegant chambers, arriving at last in the small, damp, windowless rooms surrounding the old keep. D'Agosta heard no footsteps but their own. It seemed they were temporarily in luck: nobody expected they'd head for the heart of the castle instead of making toward the outer walls.

No sooner had this thought occurred to him than he heard a voice ahead, talking furiously. He looked around. There was no place to hide in this series of bare stone rooms.

Pendergast swiftly got behind the door, D'Agosta crouching at his back. A man appeared in the doorway, jogging, radio in hand. Pendergast raised his sword with one swift motion; the man grunted, then sprawled forward onto the floor, run through, blood ru

In an instant, Pendergast had retrieved the man's handgun, a 9mm Beretta. He handed the sword to D'Agosta and gestured for him to follow.

Ahead yawned the entrance to a circular staircase, leading down into darkness. They began flying down the steps, two at a time. Then Pendergast raised his hand.

Footsteps rang faintly from below. Someone was ru

"How many thugs does the fat fuck employ?" D'Agosta muttered.

"As many as he wants, I imagine. Stay still. We have the advantage of surprise and altitude." And Pendergast aimed the gun carefully down the curve of the stairs. Moments later, a man in peasant dress appeared. Pendergast fired without hesitation, then knelt beside the crumpled form, retrieved his weapon, and tossed it to D'Agosta.

A second man was shouting up from below. “Carlo! Cosa c'è?"

Pendergast darted down the stairs, tattered suit flapping behind him, and-leaping toward the second man-sent him sprawling backward with a kick to the head. He landed lightly, paused to pluck the man's gun from his hand, and thrust it into the waistband of his trousers.

They ran down the dank corridor leading away from the staircase. Behind them, D'Agosta could hear shouts and cries. Pendergast switched off the flashlight to make them less of a target, and they continued forward in almost complete darkness.

Ahead, the tu

"Note the guano? The bats fly out this way."

They took the left-hand tu

"What about the microwave weapon?" he asked.

"Useless in this situation. Takes too long to operate, doesn't have the range. Besides, we don't have the time now to figure out how to use it."

The tu

"Shit."

"I expected something like this," said Pendergast. He swiftly examined the bars. "Ancient, but sound."

"What now?"

"We make a stand. I'm counting on that shooting ability of yours, Vincent."

Pendergast flattened himself against the last angle of the tu

"Shit!" D'Agosta said, shrinking back involuntarily.

"Keep holding them, Vincent, while I see what I can do about these bars."

D'Agosta crouched low, ducked briefly around the corner, fired. The automatic weapon returned fire, the bullets once again ricocheting off the ceiling, thudding into the ground in a scattered pattern not far from D'Agosta.

They're deliberately aiming for the ricochet.

He yanked his magazine out of the grip, examined it. It was a ten-shot magazine: six bullets were visible, plus the one in the chamber.

"Here's the spare clip," Pendergast said, tossing it to him. "Conserve your fire."

D'Agosta glanced at it: full. He had seventeen shots.

Another short burst of automatic-weapons fire came zinging off the ceiling, thudding into the ground directly before his feet.

Angle of incidence equals angle of refraction, D'Agosta vaguely remembered from his pool-shooting days. He fired at the place where he'd seen the rounds ricochet off, fired a second time, each time aiming for a smooth patch of stone, carefully angling for the ricochet.

He heard a cry. Score one to mathematics.

Now a fusillade of shots came ricocheting in. D'Agosta rolled back just in time, half a dozen rounds slapping the ground where he had been.

"How's it going?" he called over his shoulder.

"More time, Vincent. Buy me time."

More bullets came in off the ceiling, with a spray of broken stone.

Time.  D'Agosta had no choice but to return fire again. He crawled up to the angle, peered around. A man had ducked out from the shadows and was ru

Now Pendergast was firing his own gun in measured shots. Glancing back, D'Agosta could see him shooting into the masonry holding the grate in place.