A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “click, click”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Is our Juliet with him?”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “click”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “Shit. Who’s transmitting then? Did we confirm Udo Zurn’s death?”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Yes.”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “Then it’s the other brother, Stefan. We need to locate him. According to their bios, the Zurn brothers like their guns.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “If Bio is right, then we’ve got a shooter on our hands. Shit, that complicates things. The north end of the nave has a balcony that houses a pipe organ. Good sniper location. The staircase off the west corridor leads up to it. I swept it clear, but someone could have ducked in after me. There is also a tower of renovation scaffolding beneath the cupola that could be trouble.”
A. Archer—RS: Bio: “Technical, can you pinpoint the location of the transmission?”
E. VanCleave—RS: Technical: “Standby … pinging the phone … the target is inside the church … initiating handshake. It’s a mobile phone. Running a trace … the number is registered to one Mr. Stefan Zurn. Confirm Bio’s hypothesis; the other brother is in the game.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “Social, do you have your Kevlar on?”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “click”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “Social, divert to the balcony. Eyes only. Do not engage Sierra Zulu. Bio, if you’re in the car, I need you inside ASAP, to cover Social.”
A. Mesnil—RS: Social: “click”
To his astonishment, AJ found himself reaching into the duffel bag on the back seat of the BMW and grabbing the Sig Sauer pistol he had taken from Raimond Zurn. Instead of wishing he were back in the familiar safety of his lab at BU, all he could think about was protecting his colleagues. He had bumbled his way through the sampling op at Chiarek Norse, with the Coordinator and Nicolora telling him what to do every step of the way — but he had survived. He had improvised during his meeting with Foster at the Hotel Sachar, and gotten lucky scuffling with Zurn — but he had survived. This time would be no different, he told himself. As he reached for the door handle, a hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back.
“Slow down,” said VanCleave, his eyes fixed on AJ.
“They need me in there. You heard Kalen.”
“AJ, we’re not real special agents. We’re not the Navy SEALs. As a rule, we don’t run around toting guns. We don’t kill people. This organization solves people’s problems, but we don’t fight their wars for them. This case has mutated into the worst type of assignment, the kind The Tank wants nothing to do with. We’re magicians, not warriors.”
The VanCleave before him was not the VanCleave AJ was accustomed to. The condescending pompous techno-god was gone, replaced by a concerned father figure.
AJ met his gaze and said. “VanCleave, I’m going.”
VanCleave shook his head. “Then you’d better take EDGAR with you.”
“Who’s Edgar?”
AJ followed VanCleave out of the car and to the trunk. Inside the trunk were three, hard-sided, black suitcases. VanCleave opened the middle one and retrieved a device the size of a handheld camcorder.
“This is EDGAR. It’s an acronym for Electromagnetic Detection, Geometry, And Ranging. This device uses modulated radar pulses to detect structures and movement through solid objects, a.k.a. walls. EDGAR will find your sniper for you, wherever he’s hiding,” Van-Cleave said. “Turn it on, point, and look at the LCD display. Moving things turn red.”
“So it’s a thermal imager, like firefighters use?”
“No. Thermal imagers measure irradiated heat. Imagers are passive. They can’t see through walls or windows. EDGAR uses modulated EM signals to see through objects. Think Superman’s X-ray vision.”
“If the sniper is not moving, how will it find him?”
“EDGAR is sensitive enough to detect even the slightest movement. It will ID a stationary living target based on the expansion and contraction of the chest cavity during respiration.”
“VanCleave, I almost feel liking hugging you right now.”
VanCleave grimaced.
“Oh, one more thing,” AJ said, nodding sheepishly at the Sig pistol in his hand. “Before I go, can you please show me where the hell the safety is on this thing?”
Raimond Zurn emerged from the shadows of the west corridor with Julie standing on his left side. Her posture was erect and awkward. Something was wrong. They shuffled together toward the center aisle, stepping into the moonlight and stopping shy of the first pew. Will could not make out exactly what it was, but Zurn had something wrapped around her neck. It was pulled taught underneath her jaw and disappeared beneath her blonde hair. The tension on her neck was causing her visible discomfort. Will could not see Raimond’s left hand, but surmised it held a cord that he was using to choke her. In his other hand, Zurn gripped a pistol and pressed it against the side of her face.
“I’m surprised you came, Foster. I figured you for a coward the way you’re always running away,” said Raimond, his voice reverberating in the empty church.
“You mean like the time I kicked your ass in Prague,” Will said. “Let her go, Zurn. I’m the one you want.”
“Pretty arrogant for a man who’s about to …” Raimond was interrupted by the sound of his mobile phone vibrating in its holster. He raised one eyebrow. He wanted to ignore the call, but if it was Stefan, the information could be critical. Raimond turned to Julie. He pressed the muzzle of the pistol firmly into the fleshy part of her cheek. “Reach down and grab my phone off of my belt. Show me the screen. Don’t say a word. Don’t press any buttons. Fuck with me and I’ll blow a hole right through the middle of your pretty face.”
Julie did as he instructed, retrieving and raising the phone so he could see the backlit LCD screen. The screen read:
FOSTER HAS A GLASS VIAL IN HIS POCKET
“Put the phone back in the holster on my belt.” Raimond said.
She struggled to complete the task. The piano wire he had strung around her neck made it impossible for her to tilt her head to see what she was doing. Eventually, she felt the holster and slid the phone back inside.
“It seems that you’ve been holding out on me, Foster,” Raimond said. “The glass vial in your pocket. Let me see it.”
Will blanched. He thought he had been alone when he retrieved the sample. There was only one way that the bounty hunter could have learned about it. Someone else was in the church.
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Physical, this is the Coordinator, standby for revised tasking from Founder One.”
K. Immel—RS: Physical: “What? Foster is in trouble, I need to get in there.”
R. Parish—RS: Coordinator: “Tasking sent. Check your handheld.”
Kalen pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen flashed with a text message:
REVISED TASKING
FROM: FOUNDER ONE
TO: RS: PHYSICAL
PRI 1—OBTAIN SAMPLE VIAL FROM FOXTROT
PRI 2—EXECUTE HOSTAGE RETRIEVAL
Dressed in black pants, a black shirt, and a Catholic priest’s white collar, Kalen emerged from a door on the west side of the altar. His dark hair was colored with streaks of gray, and he had applied make-up to accentuate the fine wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, visibly aging him twenty years. He took three strained steps toward the altar, using a wooden cane in his left hand to assist him, and then stopped.