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Only a minute later they heard the rattle of the doorknob on the locked sacristy door, followed by a sharp knock. “Lieutenant Mateja?” said a muffled voice.
Angelina drew her gun before she stood off to one side, reached out and unlocked the door quickly, so if someone tried to burst through the door she wouldn’t be taken unaware. She relaxed her guard when she peered out and recognized the man as a fellow bodyguard.
“Sorry, Sasha,” she said, letting him in, then locking the door behind him and turning to follow him into the room. “I did not want to take a ch—”
A gunshot reverberated through the sacristy, and the cameraman Alec was guarding dropped to the ground without a sound. Angelina didn’t hesitate. Sasha’s arm had already shifted in Alec’s direction, but before he could get off another shot, she fired. He crumpled.
With her P320 still pointed at Sasha, she approached his body cautiously and then kicked the gun that had fallen from his hand into the far corner of the room. She went down on one knee to check his pulse behind his ear, but she knew even before she did it that it wasn’t necessary. He was dead.
She glanced over at Alec, whose own SIG SAUER was now drawn but who was also on one knee, checking the pulse on the cameraman. Their eyes met and Alec shook his head. “No chance,” he said.
Guilt slammed into her. “My fault.”
“Are you crazy?” Alec stood, quickly holstered his weapon and approached her. He grasped her arms with his strong hands and shook her slightly. “How the hell is this your fault?”
She swallowed hard and fought the shakes that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her as the realization sank in—she’d killed a man. She’d never killed a man before. She’d always known she might have to in her line of work. Had tried to prepare herself for the possibility...the eventuality. Had told herself she could handle it, especially if the man deserved to die, as Sasha most certainly had.
But thinking and doing were two completely different things. A man had lost his life at her hands. A man she knew. What she was feeling now was nothing like she’d imagined she’d feel.
“I let down my guard,” she whispered. “I should not have, but I did.” She tore herself from Alec’s hands and backed away. She glanced down at the SIG SAUER in her right hand, almost as if she was surprised to see it still there, and she holstered it automatically.
Just as automatically, she tapped her earpiece. “Captain Zale?” When he answered, she said in a wooden voice, “My prisoner is dead, sir. The man you sent to retrieve him, Lieutenant Tcholek, must have been part of the conspiracy, because he shot the cameraman. Lieutenant Tcholek is also dead, sir. I shot—”
“I did not send Tcholek. I sent Liev Arkady. But I just sent him—he should be there shortly. What the hell is going on?”
Angelina was startled out of her autonomic state. She glanced at Alec and mouthed the words He did not send Sasha. And knew from his expression he’d made the same connection she just had. Sasha must have seen her go into the sacristy with her prisoner. Must have seen Alec enter shortly thereafter. Must have been involved in the conspiracy. Part of her had already known he had to be, but she hadn’t really focused on it before. Now she did.
Was he the one who’d retrieved the guns for the would-be assassins? she wondered now. She couldn’t remember Sasha’s assigned post in the cathedral—there were so many on the various security teams here, it would be impossible to remember who was posted where. But it made sense he was instrumental in getting the weapons into the hands of the would-be assassins. What else had he been involved in? And was anyone else she knew, anyone else on one of the security details, involved in the assassination conspiracy? It made her sick just to think of it, but the question had to be asked.
Another knock sounded on the sacristy door. “Lieutenant Mateja? It is Lieutenant Arkady. I am here to collect your prisoner.” This time when Angelina unlocked the door, she was taking absolutely no chances. One man too late.
Chapter 7
It was very, very late—almost midnight—when Angelina returned to her apartment. She unlocked the door, secured it behind her and headed for her bedroom. But the blinking light on the answering machine stopped her. She almost ignored it, not really up to dealing with anything else tonight, but what if it was important? She hesitated for only a moment and then hit the play button. Her mother’s voice, with its plaintive tone, floated out of the speaker.
“Angelina, darling, where are you? Why did you not call us tonight? We have been waiting, wondering where you could be. We did not see you at the christening ceremony this afternoon, but then we were forced to join the crowd in the square outside—we were not able to get into the cathedral. The lines were too long, and your father complained his feet hurt too much to stand all that time. He said a better daughter would have arranged invitations for us—a better daughter would make sure her parents would not have to stand in line with everyone else. But you know his way. He did not really mean it.”
