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“It is; it’s the way Florida should have turned out, but didn’t,” Holly said. “No high-rises on the beach, very green.”
“Might be a good place to retire,” the agent said. “Fairly crime-free?”
“I recommend it,” Holly replied. “It’s normally free of major crime, except lately; we’ve had a couple of killings.”
“I heard.”
The two chatted sporadically as they waited, then the music got louder, meaning the front doors of the church had opened.
“Condition red,” the commander said over the radio.
Soon a procession, led by the priest and two coffins, made its way from the church into the churchyard, toward two open graves, side by side.
“I want a maximum effort now,” the commander said. “These people are at their most vulnerable.”
Holly’s companion had shifted his position and brought his sights to bear on his assigned portion of the churchyard perimeter. Traffic had been stopped on all the streets leading into the square for the duration of the brief graveside service, and, somewhere in the distance, an occasional driver made his impatience known with his horn. Apart from that sound, the square had become extremely quiet, unusual for an urban area.
Holly, having no assigned quadrant, swept as much of the area as she could see with her binoculars, looking for any kind of suspicious activity.
The priest spoke for a minute or two in English, then reverted to Latin.
“Position one, this is position five.” Harry.
“Five, this is one.”
“Nobody has seen a damned thing,”
Harry said, “not a whit of threatening activity.”
“He wants her, and this is his best chance,” Holly replied.
“I hope to God he makes an attempt,” Harry said. “I want this to be over.”
“Nobody more than I,” Holly replied. She was glad she was not standing, exposed, in the churchyard by the two coffins and the two open graves. Maybe five minutes to go, and they’d be clear; Marina would be back in the limo, headed home.
The priest concluded his ceremony, and one or two people came forward and picked up handfuls of dirt to sprinkle as the coffins descended into their graves. But first, there was another small ceremony.
Marina Santos, dressed in funereal black, stepped forward to the heads of the coffins, bearing two red roses. She kissed one coffin and placed a rose upon it.
Holly watched with sadness through her binoculars.
Then, as Marina kissed the second coffin, both caskets exploded.
The shock wave set the bells in the steeple to ringing. Holly and the FBI sniper, knocked off their seats, writhed on the wooden floor, clutching their ears.
51
Then Holly was on her feet, running down the stairs, her radio pressed to one ear, but with her ears still ringing, she could hear nothing. “He’s in the square,” she said into the radio. “Trini’s in the square. Find him.”
She reached the ground and ran into the churchyard, which looked like a war zone. Headstones for yards around had been toppled and thrown about; a good-sized tree had been knocked down. And there were bodies and parts of bodies everywhere. She saw a smoking torso that was what was left of Marina. Holly let her anger replace her revulsion.
A car screeched to a halt at the curb, and Harry Crisp and a uniformed police captain came running toward her.
“He’s in the square, Harry!” she said. “We’ve got to find him!” She was barely in control of her fury.
“Take it easy, Holly,” Harry said.
“It was a radio-controlled detonation,” the captain said. “He could be anywhere.”
