“The hell we don’t,” Sherrilyn snarled in a denial that she knew was simply the triumph of loyalty over common sense.
Harry looked at her and smiled-a small, patient smile that she had never seen on his face before-and shook his head. “Sherrilyn, think it through. Command should pass to the guy who’s going to be bringing the decisive hammer to the party.”
“North.”
“Yeah, and he’s good. Let’s be honest, Sherrilyn: he’s commanded real units-military units-all his adult life. And Rome, and whatever comes next, is likely to be primarily a military operation. The Crew-hell, it’s always been hard to fit us into a team-player mold, when you get right down to it. We’ve always worked on our own: in fast, hit hard, out fast. Rome wasn’t like that-not as much as I wanted it to be, and that’s part of what got us torn up. North wouldn’t have made my mistakes.”
“Yeah? Well, he wouldn’t have made a bold plan, either. Hell, if we had to wait for Nervous Nelly North, we’d probably still be sitting in Rome, eating pasta, wondering what to do.”
Harry smiled. “Sherrilyn, you know that’s bunk. North just thinks more like a military commander than a commando. Frankly, if he had been in charge, I’m pretty sure he’d have given me complete autonomy with the Crew. He understands how to blend really good soldiers like his with high-power commando operatives like us. I thought I knew how to, also-but I didn’t. Not well enough.”
Sherrilyn rose up. “Okay, so maybe you’ve got something left to learn. Big deaclass="underline" you’ll learn it. Starting now.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, but this time, I’m not going to risk any more lives by learning on the job. Besides, Sherrilyn, let’s be honest; the Crew is never going to be the same again. And not just because of the casualties we took, but because someone found a way to mess with our act, to trip us up and knock us down.”
Sherrilyn shook her head sharply. “You don’t do self-pity very well, Harry.”
“This isn’t self-pity, Sherrilyn. I’m dead serious. Look: as long as we were tear-assing around Europe, blind-siding the locals and dancing off before they could get their paws on us, we were golden. The Wrecking Crew was like a rock band; we did what we wanted, spent everything we earned, lived like kings, had groupies, roadies, you name it.”
He looked sideways at the stars peeking over the roofs of the monastery. “But, also like a rock band, our glory ride had to come to an end. There’s always a point where you hit the wall, your moment is over: you’ve reached your limit and now you’re on the downslide. Problem was, we didn’t get to learn that gradually, the way most bands do; we didn’t see a string of gigs going more and more sour as the opposition got smarter and smarter. We caught it in our faces, all at once. The situation-and the guy-in Rome was deadly serious shit; I wasn’t ready for it.”
“Okay,” Sherrilyn answered with a sharp nod. “So you weren’t ready for it. Neither was North. Hell, none of us were. And how could we be? So maybe you’re right: maybe you need to watch and learn a bit before you sit in the big chair on that big an operation again. But so what? They say that if you don’t fail, you don’t learn. So here’s your learning opportunity. And one of the things you’d better damned well learn from this, Harry Lefferts, is that, sometimes, you’re going to be beaten-and it isn’t the end of the world. It means you’ve met an enemy who taught you a hard lesson-and your job is to learn that lesson and step up the game so that you are schooling him, next time.”
Harry smiled at her. “You give one hell of a pep talk, teach. Break ’em down and build ’em up-all in one minute. Pretty impressive.”
Sherrilyn shrugged. “Had plenty of experience at it.”
“Yeah, you did. And you always provided a good example-both in victory and defeat.”
Sherrilyn narrowed her eyes. “I heard that emphasis on ‘defeat,’ Harry. Don’t try to get slick with me. You got some bad news for me, you just come out and say it.”
Harry shrugged. “Okay, Sherrilyn. Here’s the deaclass="underline" you’re not coming back out with us. You’re going up-country to make sure they have some up-time expertise helping out with the papal security detail.”
Sherrilyn felt her jaw drop. “You’re benching me? Now?”
“Sherrilyn, I’ll ask again: how’s your knee? Or do I have to ask you to run a set of high hurdles and then we can both see how much you’re limping? Listen, we’ve all got some hard facts to deal with today. This one is yours: you are as kick-ass capable as you ever were, Sherrilyn, but your knee is giving out. Having you scramble around on tile roofs, climbing ropes, bouncing around on a pitching ship’s deck: it’s not safe. Not to you, and not to the people depending on you.”
Sherrilyn was all ready to tell Harry how wrong he was-but realized that she didn’t actually have a rebuttaclass="underline" she had no way to refute the incontrovertible evidence of her own swollen knee and gimping gait. She limped out from under the last groined vault of the arcade, stared up into the night sky, and sighed. “Yeah, okay-you’re right, Harry. But it still sucks-sucks that this could be the end of the Wrecking Crew.”
Harry joined her, looking up at the low clouds that had started scudding overhead. “Yeah, that part sucks all right. But we had a great run while it lasted.”
Sherrilyn looked over at his fine profile and resolved not to get maudlin. “Yeah,” she said. “The best. The very best.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Captain Vincente Jose-Maria de Castro y Papas drew up to his full height and stared down at the other man. “This is unconscionable. I will not do it.”
“You will, Captain, and you will do it personally. There can be no delay; it must be done before we set sail this afternoon.”
Castro y Papas stopped himself from refusing directly. The man he knew only as Dolor had no official place in the military command structure, but, as had Quevedo, enjoyed broad authority. Borja had even instructed all but three of his generals to obey this joyless, black-cloaked reaper without hesitation. So, disobeying Dolor would simply be a way to end his career, and maybe life, given Borja’s taste for vigorous punishment of any infractions that could be interpreted as treasonous.
Castro y Papas tried a different tack. “This punishment is not merely pointless; it will further harden them against us.”
Dolor shook his fine, close-cropped head. “It will remind them that we are to be feared, and will prevent them from aiding our enemies ever again. And besides, it is Cardinal Borja’s explicit order.” He stared up at Castro y Papas with calm disinterest, as if the outcome of their conversation was already obvious, and he was simply listening to the other out of courtesy.
His final impulse-to ask, “And why have I been selected to inflict the punishment?”-the captain successfully stifled. The question would not change anything, and besides, it was more his responsibility than anyone else’s. But more importantly, if he asked that question, there was the chance that the duty would indeed pass to someone else, someone who had neither the skill nor the interest in restricting the severity of damage inflicted.
Without responding to Dolor, Castro y Papas turned on his heel and harshly ordered one of his own guards-who were now outnumbered by Dolor’s retainers-to open the door to the prisoner’s room.
He walked in quickly, careful not to make eye contact. “You,” he spoke toward the window where he had seen the prisoner brooding a few minutes earlier. “You should not have involved yourself when the rescuers came, and certainly not by attacking the soldiers of His Imperial Majesty King Philip IV’s with an incendiary device. Now stand up.”
Frank Stone did, frowning. “Hey, if anyone’s going to be testy around here, I think I’m the one who has the best reason to-”
“Frank!” warned Giovanna sharply.
Castro y Papas grimaced. Damn it, but that one can read me like a book. Well, there’s no point in waiting- He looked up long enough to firmly fix Frank Stone’s position, and then threw the first punch.