Cemetery Dance

Carefully, noiselessly, he retreated down the passage the way he had come.

Esteban waited in the tu

It was amusing, really, the FBI agent finding the two bodies. What a shock that must be. He wondered just how much the man had figured out; with both corpses in front of him probably a great deal — this Pendergast fellow was clearly intelligent. Perhaps he knew everything but the crucial point: the nature of the document he had taken from his ancestor's tomb.

The important thing was that Pendergast was operating on a hunch, without proof — and that was why he was here alone, without backup or a SWAT team.

At the thought of the document, Esteban felt a sudden panic thread his spine. He didn't have it. Where had he left it? Inside his unlocked car, sitting in the driveway. That damn alarm coming in over his BlackBerry had distracted him just as he'd arrived home. What if it was stolen? What if Pendergast found it? But these were foolish thoughts: the gate into the estate was shut and locked, and Pendergast was down here, in the tu

The silence from the tu

And waited. The faint, indirect glow of the light remained steady, unmoving. As the minutes crawled by, Esteban began to realize something was awry.

"Mr. Esteban?" came the pleasant voice out of the darkness behind him. "Would you be so kind as to remain absolutely still, while slowly releasing your grip on the weapon and allowing it to fall to the ground? Let me warn you that the slightest movement, even an ill — timed twitch of an eyelash, will result in your immediate death."

Chapter 79

Esteban released the gun. It fell to the ground with a thud. "Now if you will slowly raise your hands and take two steps back, then lean against the wall."

Esteban took the two required steps and did as he was told. Pendergast reached down, picked up the Browning, and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then searched through Esteban's pockets and removed his flashlight. He stepped back and switched it on.

"Listen—" Esteban began.

"No talking, please, except to answer my questions. Now you will lead me to Nora Kelly. Nod if you understand."

Esteban nodded. All was not lost… It was always possible to be too intelligent. He moved slowly backward, in the direction of the house.

"She's not that way," said Pendergast. "I've already explored those areas. You've used up your only chit — next time you try to pull something off, I'll conclude you are unhelpful, kill you without further ado, and find Ms. Kelly myself. Nod if you understand."

Esteban nodded.

"She's in the basement of the barn?"

Esteban shook his head.

"Where is she? You may speak."

"She's in a room hidden in the tu

"There was no fresh plaster in the tu

"The door is under a section of old wired — up plaster I can move and replace at will."

Pendergast seemed to ponder this. Then he waved his gun. "You first. Remember what will happen if you are unhelpful."

Once again, Esteban began walking back down the tu

The shot rang out but it was high, ruffling Esteban's hair. A grinding crash burst from the ceiling of the tu

All was pitch — dark — the lights had been buried with the agent. Esteban could hear the last bits and pieces of gravel rain down. Then he laughed out loud. This was the avalanche that had appeared to bury the pursuing prison guards in the climactic scene ofBreakout Sing Sing, as the hero leapt from the tu

Pendergast evidently was not a moviegoer. If he were, he might have recognized the tu

Esteban waded into the phony landslide, kicking the filler away, looking for Pendergast. After five minutes of forcing aside rubble, he spied the gleam of his flashlight, still lit, and next to it the agent's body, bloody and dust — covered, stu

A spreading stain of blood appeared on the ground underneath.

Esteban stood there, amid the dust, and allowed himself a small smile. Pity that this little scene would never make the silver screen. Now it was time for the final act in his private epic: kill the girl and get rid of the bodies.

All four of them.

Chapter 80

Laura Hayward made her way cautiously through the shadowy vaults deep beneath the alleys and cloisters of the Ville. The screams and cries overhead, which seemed to have reached a crescendo, had abruptly receded: either the confrontation had spilled out into Inwood Hill Park or she had descended too deep into the earth to hear it. The basement passages of the Ville spread across many levels and sported numerous architectural styles, from crude hand — carved grottoes to elaborate stone — lined vaults with groined ceilings. It was as if successive waves of occupants, with a variety of needs and levels of sophistication, had each extended the underground spaces for their own purposes.

A quick glance at her watch showed that she had been exploring the basements for fifteen minutes now — fifteen minutes of dead ends and circuitous windings each more confusing and macabre than the last. Just how far could this subterranean maze extend? And where was Vincent? More than once she had considered calling out his name, but each time some sixth sense had cautioned her against it. Her radio proved useless.

Now she paused at a crossroads from which four short passages led away to banded iron doors. She chose one passage at random, traversed it, stopped at the door to listen, then opened it and stepped through. Beyond lay a dirty and foul — smelling tu