As he reached the end of the count, he looked up and saw the small church in front of him, its outline cutting into the sky, its Norman lines lost to the blackness. He scanned the area to his right; the manse, a small cottage by day, was now little more than an amorphous hump on the horizon. He headed for the side of the church farthest from it, a window he had left unlatched during his visit that afternoon. Truth be told, he’d removed the latch entirely. No reason to leave anything to chance.
Hoisting himself up to the sill, he lifted the window, a momentary screech of metal on wood, nothing, though, to cause concern. He then pivoted himself through, slid down to the stone floor, and removed the pack from his back. Retrieving a laser-line flashlight from one of the compartments, he twisted its head and pointed the fine beam at the ground.
It would take him almost an hour to plant the explosives, most of the time devoted to positioning them so that enough of the fragments could be found and traced. That took some expertise. It was why he had been chosen.
Why others had been chosen.
Vienna. Ankara. Bilbao. Montana. Over a thousand names. Over a thousand churches.
One result.
Eeema, Eeema, Ayo.
The humidity had returned, even in the short amount of time they had spent in the restaurant. Added to that, the alley outside smelled like three-day-old garbage, the neighborhood cats having made easy work of the cans and bags placed along the walls. One or two were still busy, unconcerned with the arrival of the odd quartet. A quick glance over, then back to the hunt.
As the four of them neared the alley’s edge, Mendravic turned to Pearse. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll bring the car around.” He then handed him the boy and moved off down the street.
For just a moment, Ivo lifted his head, eyes half-asleep; just as quickly, he dropped his head down, nuzzling into the soft of Pearse’s neck.
It had happened so quickly, Pearse had no time to react. The boy in his arms. The very thing he’d been unable to do himself back in the apartment now handed to him without a thought. Mendravic had had other things to worry about.
Strangely enough, Pearse couldn’t recall what they were. Not with his son in his arms. For several minutes, he stood, eyes closed, arms wrapped around the sleeping boy, forcing himself not to hold him too tightly, the impulse almost too much. Mind a blank. The smell of sleep from his hair. The sound of breath on his neck. Here was the Teresian moment, felt, not thought, not even fully understood.
At some point, Pearse began to feel a hand on his arm. He turned to see Petra.
“You can let me have him,” she said, her arms outstretched, waiting.
He was about to tell her that it would be easier for him to carry the boy, when he saw the expression on her face. She seemed torn, unsure whether to give in to a moment she had wanted for so long, or to take back what was hers-if, in fact, she could think of Ivo as hers alone anymore.
Pearse suddenly understood why he had been so afraid in the apartment. It was because of this moment. Having held him, and then to give him up. That was the loss.
With a simple nod, he reached up under Ivo’s shoulder and carefully lifted him to his mother. Again, the boy’s body draped awkwardly on hers, but it didn’t seem to register with her at all.
Trying to focus on anything but the last few minutes, Pearse suddenly realized it was taking Mendravic a very long time to get the car they had left just outside the front of the restaurant. Motioning for Petra to stand back in the shadows, he slowly edged his face out into the light. He looked back over his shoulder. “Wait here.”
An eerie quiet filled the street, heightened by the glow of two white lamps at either end. No signs of life as he slowly began to move out along the pavement, head low, his own shadow half a foot in front of him. The air seemed to grow more sterile with each step, a dryness in his throat. Nearing the corner, he heard his own voice begging him to turn back. Still he walked.
The sound of squealing wheels broke through, his first instinct to flatten himself against the wall. The car was coming from behind him, its lights on high beam, blinding him for an instant as it careened down the street. With a sudden choking of the engine, it stopped directly in front of the alley. Pearse pulled himself from the wall and began to run, the only image in his head that of Petra and the boy, his own horror at having abandoned them. With his hand up to guard against the glare, he saw the driver’s door open, a man begin to emerge. Pearse propelled himself faster, lunging at the figure as he stood.
Mendravic caught him with a quick forearm, locking his throat in a viselike grip.
The two recognized each other instantly. Mendravic released, Pearse gasping for air as he steadied himself against the car.
“What the hell were you …” Mendravic had no time for questions as he moved to the back of the van, opened the trunk, and motioned for Petra to bring Ivo. Mother and son emerged from the alley, Mendravic taking the boy and placing him inside the van. Petra stepped up into the back cabin as well. Mendravic shut the door.
It was only then that Pearse saw the blood on his arm.
“Salko, what-”
“Get in the car,” he barked, racing to the driver’s side. Pearse leapt around to the other. He’d barely pulled the door shut before the car bolted out into the road.
Mendravic reached behind him and slid open a small glass partition to the back.
“Are you all right back there?” he asked.
“We’ll be fine,” Petra answered. “He’s up, though.” A small face suddenly appeared in the opening, eyes wide, a smile equally electric.
“Hello, Salko.”
“Well, look who’s up.” Mendravic continued to glance at his side mirror, his attention more on what lay behind them than on the road ahead. “Hello, little man,” he said. A hand now appeared and tugged at Mendravic’s ear, evidently a game between them. Removing the tiny fingers, Mendravic said, “Can you do me a favor, Ivo? Can you sit back there with Mommy and not make a sound? Can you do that for me?”
“Can I come sit with you?”
“Can you sit with Mommy?”
It was then that Ivo noticed Pearse. “Hello,” he said, his tone no less forthright.
“Hello.” Pearse smiled.
“I really need you to sit with Mommy,” said Mendravic, eyes still on the mirror. “Okay?”
The boy stared for another moment at the stranger, then back to Mendravic. Another quick squeeze, and then gone.
Mendravic slid the glass partition shut.
“He takes it all in stride, doesn’t he?” said Pearse.
“What?” Mendravic was concentrating on the road.
“Nothing.” Seeing the blood on Mendravic’s arm, he asked, “What happened?”
“Obviously, our friend in the resistance wasn’t as good as she thought she was.”
“They found you?”
“No. I found them. At the car. Good news, it was only two of them this time. Bad news, I wasn’t as effective.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we could have company.” He pulled the car around a corner, forcing Pearse up against the door.
“And your arm?”
“Is in pain.”
Pearse said nothing, watching as Mendravic took the road heading up into the mountains. Evidently, Visegrad would have to wait.
After nearly twenty minutes of silence, Mendravic finally seemed to relax behind the wheel.
“We’re not going to Visegrad,” said Pearse.
“Not tonight we’re not.” Mendravic took the car to seventy. “And we’re not taking Ivo anywhere near there.”
Pearse nodded, suddenly angry with himself. It was something he shouldn’t have needed to be told.
“Why did you leave them in the alley?” asked Mendravic.
The question felt like a slap to the face. “I … thought-”
“Next time, don’t. If I tell you to stay someplace, stay there. Do you understand?”