Mr.Churchill's Secretary(96)

Frain motioned for the two to step back, which they did, reluctantly. He, too, stepped back but never took his eyes off Edmund. “Anything?”

The agents were getting impatient. And nervous, because Frain was blocking their view.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “There are a few options. But any one of them could be a trick.”

“That’s what we were saying, sir,” the taller agent said. “It basically comes down to green, white, or orange. If we cut the correct one, the bomb will be disabled. If we cut the wrong one …”

“Kaboom,” the shorter agent finished. “There’s enough dynamite down here to take down the whole bloody cathedral. He must have smuggled it all in, stick by stick.”

“Thank you,” Frain said drily. “Professor Hope?”

He glanced up at Frain and got to his feet, wiping his hands on his trousers. “We could use that override key. Have one yet?”

All eyes fixed on the ticking gold pocket watch. Then Frain said, “No. And we now have exactly twenty-four minutes.”

From the crack between the door and the wall, Maggie and Claire took in the scene before them. Maggie whispered, “If he blows us all up, there’ll be no stopping the bomb at Saint Paul’s.…”

Claire knew what she had to do. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” she said softly. “I’m sorry about everything, especially about Sarah.”

Without warning, she opened the door wide enough to walk into the room. There was a long moment as the seconds ticked and Devlin and his men saw and acknowledged her presence.

Things began to happen more or less at once. As Devlin made his move, Claire grabbed a chair, raised it over her head, and ran to Devlin. He spun to face her and fired a single shot.

She staggered for a moment under the impact, making a high-pitched keening moan, but then continued on, side-swiping him with the chair.

Devlin staggered from the impact but didn’t fall. He looked more shocked than anything else. “Miss Kelly,” he said, putting his hand to the wound. “You shouldn’t—”

Claire slumped to the floor, her blouse slowly staining crimson.

In what looked to be slow-motion choreography, one agent dove for the briefcase and threw it to another, who began to open it, while yet another agent shot Devlin through the head, which exploded, leaving nothing but blood and tissue. When he’d fallen, two agents ripped the gun from his hands, then began to search his body for the key.

Time began to progress normally again.

“Claire?” Maggie cried, running to the girl. Although blood continued to pump from the wound in her chest, Claire’s body was still and her eyes glassy. “Paige?”

The closest agent examined Claire’s body, then lowered her eyelids. “She’s dead,” he said impassively.

The agents searching Devlin’s body began to panic. “There’s no key!” one cried. “There’s no key!”

Maggie got to her feet. Her shoulder protested at the abuse and gave a renewed white-hot throb of pain.

“But—” But there was Paige. Claire. Lying in an ever-widening pool of her own blood.

“Place might be rigged,” the agent said. “We’ve got to move out.”

“But—” Maggie said.

“We have to go.”

They made it to an unmarked black van parked in the warehouse’s lot and climbed in. A few other men in the van moved aside to make room for them to sit on the floor, and one closed the sliding door with an earsplitting bang. With a screech of the tires, the van sped off.

“You were pretty brave back there, miss,” one of the men said. He was blond, almost white-haired, with kind eyes.

“Thanks,” Maggie managed.

He gave her hand a quick pat. “Sorry about your friend.” He looked around at his comrades, who nodded.

“Name’s Will,” he said. “Will Archer.”

“Maggie,” she said, on autopilot.

“Maggie, nice to meet you, although under unusual circumstances.”

“Likewise.”

“Are you all right? You look a little green around the edges,” he said.

“I think—I think I need to not talk right now,” she said, feeling a sudden pressure rising beneath her ribs and a wave of nausea. For a brief moment, she thought she was going to vomit. Then, mercifully, the urge subsided, but she could feel her legs and hands start to shake.

She felt light-headed and bent over, trying not to faint.

She exhaled explosively and then began to sob in long, racking silent cries. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her body admitting what her mind couldn’t yet process.

Will Archer patted her back awkwardly as she sobbed silently.