Cemetery Dance

"He shall not pass!" they called back, in unison. Their sudden, thunderous cry — after such silence — was almost terrifying.

"We will finish our work up here first," Pendergast continued calmly. "Any further efforts to impede us will be met with disfavor. Perhaps even unpleasantness."

Charrière pressed a finger against Pendergast's coat, the grimacing smile frozen on his face. "You have no power over me."

Pendergast stepped back from the man's touch. "Lieutenant? Shall we proceed?"

D'Agosta holstered his weapon. Pendergast had somehow bought them a minute or two more. "Pulchinski, take the lamb and the post. Perez, cut the lock off that chest."

Perez cut a padlock off the horsehair chest, lifted the lid. D'Agosta shined the light inside. It was filled with instruments wrapped in pieces of leather. D'Agosta picked up one, unrolled it — a recurved knife.

"Take the chest and everything in it."

"Yes, sir."

The crowd was muttering to itself now, the people shuffling closer. The high priest's face, split by a grimace, stared at them as they worked, his lips drawn back and working, as if he was chanting silently to himself.

D'Agosta caught a glimpse of Bertin out of the corner of his eye. He'd almost forgotten about the bizarre little man. He was poking in a transept — like corner, where dozens of leather strips hung from the ceiling, with fetishes pi

"Take that, too," said D'Agosta, pointing to a fetish lying on the ground. "And that, and that." He shined the light into the corners, searching for doorways or closets, trying to see behind the masses of people.

"May the Loa rain disaster on the filthybaka who defile the sanctuary!" cried the high priest. He now held a strange charm in his other hand — a small, dark rattle topped by a desiccated knob the size of a golf ball — and he was shaking it at the intruders.

"Take the fetishes off the altar," said D'Agosta. "And those instruments, and that other shit over there. All of it."

Quickly, Perez loaded the stuff into the plastic evidence locker.

"Thief!" thundered Charrière, shaking the charm. The crowd shuffled forward.

"Cool it, you'll get everything back," D'Agosta said. They'd better finish up — quick — and then check out downstairs.

"Lieutenant, don't forget the objects on thecaye — mystère. " Pendergast nodded toward another shrine set into a dark alcove, fringed by stripped palm leaves, on which were piled a number of little pots, fetishes, and food offerings.

"Right."

"Baka swine!"

Abruptly, a noise like a rattlesnake came from the circle of acolytes. It sounded first from one place, then another, and then it was multiplying everywhere. D'Agosta swept his light toward the circle and saw the people — closer still now — each thrusting forward a carven bone handle with what could only be rattlesnake rattles tied to the end.

"That should wrap it up," said D'Agosta, feigning nonchalance.

"Perhaps," Pendergast murmured, "the search below can wait."

D'Agosta nodded. Jesus, they really had to get out of there.

"Dog — eating baka!" the priest shrilled.

D'Agosta turned to leave. Their exit corridor through the nave was now completely blocked with people.

"Hey, folks, we're done. We're leaving now." Pulchinski was clearly only too ready to go, as was Perez. Pendergast had returned to collecting his tiny specimens. But where the hell was Bertin?

At that moment a noisy scuffle erupted in a dark corner. D'Agosta turned to see Bertin rushing at the high priest with a scream, throwing himself on the man like a wild animal. Charrière staggered back, the two locked in struggle over the charm the high priest clutched in his hand.

"Hey!" D'Agosta shouted. "What the hell?"

The crowd pressed forward, the rattling becoming a low hissing roar.

The two assailants fell to the floor, becoming entangled in Charrière's robes. In a flash Pendergast had joined the scuffle. A moment later he emerged, holding Bertin by the arms.

"Let me get him!" cried Bertin. "I will kill him! You, you will die, masisi!"

Charrière merely rearranged his robes, dusted himself off, and smiled another hideous, disfiguring smile. "It is you who will die," he said quietly. "You and your friends."

Bossong, the community leader, looked quickly at the priest. "Enough of this!"

Bertin struggled, but Pendergast held him fast, whispering something urgently into his ear.

"No!" Bertin cried. "No!"

The crowd moved in, rattles shaking maniacally. D'Agosta caught more glimpses of honed steel in the dark folds of their clothing. Bertin abruptly fell silent, his face pale and trembling.

The crowd pressed in.

D'Agosta swallowed. Confrontation was out of the question. They just might, with luck, be able to shoot their way out, assuming none of the mob had guns; but then they'd spend the rest of their lives in court. "We're leaving," he managed to say. He turned to the others. "Let's go."

Charrière stepped in front of him, blocking his way. The crowd tightened around them like a vise.

"We're not looking for a fight," said D'Agosta. He let his hand rest lightly on his service piece.

"It is too late for that now," said the high priest, his voice suddenly increasing in volume. "You are defilers, filth. Only a complete cleansing will remove the stain."

"Cleanse the church!" cried a voice, echoed by others. "Cleanse the church!"

D'Agosta's finger undid the keeper on his holster, and he did a quick mental calculation. The Glock 19 had a fifteen — round magazine; that would be enough to clear a path to the door through any normal crowd. But this crowd was far from normal. He tightened his grip on the pistol butt, took a deep breath.

Suddenly, Pendergast stepped toward Charrière. "What's this?" Like lightning, his hand darted forward, ripping something from the high priest's sleeve. He held it up, shining his flashlight beam on it. "Look at this! Anarrêt, with a false twine twist, done in a reverse spiral. The false — friend amulet! Mr. Charrière, why are you wearing this if you're the minister of these people? What do you fear from them?"

He turned to the crowd, shaking the little tufted fetish. "He's suspicious of you! Do you see?"

He swung back toward Charrière. "Why don't you trust these folk?" he asked.

With a roar, Charrière leapt forward to strike with his staff, cloak billowing; but the FBI agent twisted so adroitly that the man swung through air, whirling, and a short kick sent him sprawling to the dirt. An angry roar rippled through the crowd. Bossong stepped in quickly, putting a restraining hand on the high priest as he rose, a look of anger and hatred contorting his face.

"You! Bastard!" he said to Pendergast.

"Without a doubt, time to leave," murmured Pendergast.

D'Agosta grasped the forward handle of the coffin — size evidence box, Perez took the rear, and they dashed forward, wielding it like a battering ram, the surprised crowd scattering. With his free hand, D'Agosta plucked the Glock from his holster and fired into the air, the sound echoing and re — echoing in the vaulted space. "Let's go!Go! " Holstering his gun, he literally grabbed Bertin by the collar and hauled him along as they rushed the entrance, knocking people down as they went. A knife flashed but with a sudden movement Pendergast sent the would — be attacker sprawling.