"That's not really up to us, is it?"
It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did, her voice was incredulous. "What do you mean?"
"I came here to find Vance and bring him back. Whatever's out there . . . it's not my concern." As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he knew he wasn't being entirely honest. He smothered the thought.
"So you're just going to walk away?" she blurted, clambering angrily to her feet.
"Come on, Tess. What do you expect me to do? Put New York on hold for a few weeks while I go wreck diving with you?"
Her green eyes were boring into him with indignation. "I can't believe you're saying this. Damn it, Sean. You know what they'll do if they find out where it is?"
"Who?"
"The Vatican," she exclaimed. "If they get their hands on the astrolabe and find the wreck, that's the last anyone will ever hear about it. They'll make sure it disappears again, and not just for seven hundred years, but forever."
"It's their call." His voice was distant. "Sometimes, some things are better left alone."
"You can't do that," she insisted.
"What do you want me to do?" he fired back. "Help you dredge something from the bottom of the ocean and hold it up proudly for everyone to choke on? He's made no bones about what he's after,"
he said, jabbing an angry finger toward Vance. "He wants to bring down the Church. Do you really expect me to help you do that?"
"No, of course not. But a billion people out there might be living a lie. Doesn't that bother you? Don't you owe them the truth?"
"Maybe we should ask them first," he replied.
He thought that she was about to press her point further, but then she just shook her head, her expression one of acute disappointment.
"Don't you want to know?" she finally asked.
Reilly held her gaze for an uncomfortable moment before turning away, and said nothing. He needed time to think this through.
Tess nodded, then looked down toward the clearing where they'd left Vance. After a pregnant silence, she said, "I ... I need to drink something," and headed down the ridge toward the shimmering stream.
He watched her disappear into the shadows.
* * *
A hurricane OF confused thoughts battered Tess's mind as she stumbled down to the clearing where they had parked the pickup truck.
She knelt down by the stream and cupped her hands to sip the cool water and saw that they were trembling. She shut her eyes and breathed in the crisp night air, desperately trying to slow her racing heartbeat and calm herself, but it was no use.
That's not really up to us, is it? Reilly's words had hounded her all the way down from the rocky perch, and they weren't letting go.
She glanced up at the craggy ridge and could just about make out Reilly's distant figure, silhouetted against the night sky. She busily reran his take on the momentous crossroads they were now facing over and over in her mind. Given all that had happened, all the bloodshed and the unanswered questions, she knew his decision to take Vance back to New York was probably the sensible one.
But she wasn't sure she could accept it. Not given what was at stake. She flicked a look at Vance.
He was sitting exactly how they'd left him, his back to the pickup, his hands tied. From the merest glint of moonlight reflecting in his eyes, she could tell he was watching her.
And that's when it hit her.
A disturbing, reckless notion that sliced straight through the havoc that was raging inside her and came rushing out.
And hard as she tried, she couldn't shake the thought away.
Reilly knew she was right. She had gone straight to the doubt he had felt earlier, listening to Vance. Of course, he wanted to know. More than that, he needed to know. But regardless of his conflicted feelings, he had to go by the book. It was how he did things, and besides, he didn't really have much of a choice. It hadn't been an idle remark when he'd said that they couldn't go after the wreck themselves. How could they? He was an agent of the FBI, not a deep-sea diver. His priority was to bring Vance—and the astrolabe—back to New York.
But he knew perfectly well what the end result of that would be.
He looked out into the night and saw Tess's face again, the disappointment he had seen in her eyes, and he was painfully aware that he was just as disappointed. He had no idea what might have developed between them, given time, but right now it looked as if any relationship they might have had was foundering on the rock of his faith.
And that was when he heard the sudden sound of an engine.
Not in the distance.
Close.
Startled, he glanced down and saw the pickup moving off.
His hand went instinctively to his pocket before he realized he didn't have one. He was still in his wetsuit. He flashed back to when he'd tucked away the truck's keys under its passenger seat, remembering that Tess was next to him when he did that.
And with a reeling horror, he knew.
"Tess!" he hollered, as he scrambled down the slope, kicking up debris, losing his balance, and tumbling awkwardly in the darkness. By the time he reached the clearing, the pickup was already a fast-receding dust cloud way up the trail.
Tess and Vance were gone.
Furiously angry with himself for allowing it to happen, his eyes darted around, desperate to latch onto something that could overturn this disaster. He quickly found a small piece of paper sticking out from under some food provisions and camping gear that had been left for him, close to where the pickup had been parked.
He picked it up. He immediately recognized Tess's handwriting: Sean,
People deserve to know the truth. I hope you understand that— and that you'll forgive me . . .
I'll send for help as soon as I can.
Chapter 70
Reilly woke up in a daze, his mind bristling with raw emotions. He still couldn't believe Tess had left with Vance. Much as he tried to rationalize it, it still galled him—more than galled, it ate away at his every fiber. He was angry at being duped, at being left there in the middle of nowhere. He was stunned by her decision to leave, even more so at her having gone off with Vance.
He was bewildered by her temerity and concerned about her putting herself in danger—yet again.
And, much as he tried to suppress it, he couldn't help feeling his pride had taken a pretty big hit too.
Straightening up, he felt the chirping of birds and the blinding morning glare assaulting his senses.
It had taken him forever to fall asleep in the sleeping bag that had been left for him, his exhaustion finally overwhelming his anger into submission late in the night. Squinting, he checked his watch and saw that he'd been out for barely four hours.
It didn't matter. He had to get moving.
He drank from the stream, feeling the welcome effects of the cold mountain water. The tightness in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours, and he quickly polished off some bread and an orange. At least they'd thought of that. He felt his body slowly come alive, and, as his head cleared, angry thoughts and images flooded his consciousness.
He took in the landscape around him. There was no noticeable wind and, apart from the birdsong, which had now subsided, everything was deathly still. He decided he would follow the trail back to the dam and to Okan's office, where he'd probably be able to contact Federal Plaza— not a call he was looking forward to.
He had barely started the long trek back when he heard a distant sound. It was an engine. His heart skipped a beat as he imagined it was the pickup, but he quickly realized the sound wasn't that of a road vehicle. It was the throaty chatter of a helicopter, the beating of its blades echoing against the hills and growing more audible by the second.