Chapter Twenty-Five
"No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected."—Julius Caesar
"Scheisse."
Heinkel muttered, keeping her gaze locked on the friar's face as her hand inched towards her weapon. She had no idea who this Brother Eli was, but since the monkobviously knew her identity, she had no choice but to incapacitate the old fool. Oh, well. Even the most meticulously planned operation had…hiccups.
Distantly, she noted her use of German profanity; it had been a while since Heinkel had spoken in her mother tongue (aloud, anyway). Upon discovering Millennium's Nazi origins, she'd decided to downplay her heritage as much as possible; Heinkel had worked far too hard for those lunatics to ruin things for her.
Although she'd been a devout Catholic since birth and a Vatican operative for the better part of a decade, she was all too aware how tenuous trust could be; all it would take was the slightest glimmer of suspicion, and Heinkel would be transformed from soldier to prisoner.
Though in the end, she thought, I was cast aside anyway. She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
To Rossi, she said, "I'll try not to kill him."
Normally Heinkel would never give such a guarantee—no sense in making promises you couldn't keep—but as the other two were clearly acquainted, she didn't want her companion having a change of heart once Brother Eli was held at gunpoint. Besides, pompous ass though he might be, the friar had chosen to dedicate his life to Christ; he couldn't be all bad.
Evidently, Brother Eli could hear better than his age suggested, since he chuckled at this statement. "Kill me? My dear, I'm afraid that's impossible."
In response, Heinkel unholstered her gun and aimed it at the old man's chest in one smooth motion, feeling a rush of satisfaction as she released the safety; the click was nearly inaudible, but the slight widening of the friar's gaze told her he'd noticed.
Good. Heinkel thought savagely. She drawled, "Want to test that theory?"
Beside her, Rossi let out a sound of protest, but Heinkel hardly noticed. Feeling the weight of her weapon in her hand, target squarely in her sights, she was invincible. Not only did she have enough bullets to take down an army—or at least a battalion—her entire body buzzed with adrenaline, exhaustion now a distant memory. Until this moment, Heinkel hadn't realized how badly she needed a good fight.
And without Seras to hold me back, I can really have fun. Her smile widened.
Quickly regaining his composure, Brother Eli tsked. "Really, there's no need for threats; I find such tactics quite distasteful, myself. Don't you agree, Maria?"
At the sound of her name, Rossi flinched as though she'd been struck. Hands curled into fists, eyes enormous, she reminded Heinkel of a rabbit watching in helpless horror as the hawk swooped down, talons outstretched.
"Get ahold of yourself!"
She hissed, exasperated by the younger woman's cowardice. She's the one with the gun, after all. Though Rossi had yet to draw her weapon—probably a good thing, since her hands were shaking too badly for her to fire with any accuracy. Besides, Heinkel wasn't entirely certain Rossi wouldn't aim it at her.
She hadn't been blessed with the gift of foresight, but Heinkel felt a twinge of premonition now: a shivery sensation that all was not as it appeared. Just who was this man, that he'd managed to obtain information on Iscariot, the Vatican's most tightly guarded secret? And why was Rossi so afraid of him?
Heinkel steadfastly ignored the inner voice that pointed out she was also wary of the old man. After all, she was the one in control here; she had nothing to fear from an unarmed civilian. So why were her senses screaming at her to put as much distance between herself and the monk as possible?
As an operative, Heinkel had learned to obey her instincts—but she was also reluctant to abandon her mission when they were so close. So, she ignored her mounting paranoia: a decision she would later regret.
"While I've enjoyed our little chat, I really must be going." Brother Eli took a step forward; and Heinkel's finger tightened around the trigger.
"Not another step." She snapped, fighting the urge to shoot the old codger where he stood. It was getting harder and harder to remember why she'd promised to spare him.
The monk ignored her, keeping his gaze trained on Rossi. "All it took," he mused, "were a few lies from this woman—a known enemy of Christ—for you to abandon the one true Church. Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted his heel against me. An unfortunate decision indeed, though not unexpected."
"What do you mean?" Rossi stammered.
Though she still looked pale, her face had regained some color, and her hands were no longer trembling. Maybe she wasn't completely useless, after all. Of course, she was still far too much of a rookie for Heinkel's liking...Yumie would have skewered the monk as soon as he opened his mouth.
Brother Eli smirked, and Heinkel realized for the first time just how much he was enjoying this."Did you really think I would allow an operative under my command to come and go as she pleased, without supervision? I see you are of little faith in more ways than one."
"You were spying on me?"
Rossi looked stunned, and Heinkel didn't blame her. While Maxwell certainly had many faults, at least he'd trusted his subordinates to obey orders. Then, the implication of the monk's words registering, she glared at the younger woman. "He's your boss? Why didn't you say something sooner?"
Who knows how many underlings he has—and how fast they'll get here? For all I know, we could already be surrounded.
Eyes darting around the corridor, Heinkel scanned the shadows for any indication that they weren't alone but saw nothing. Not that this meant much, since anyone with a modicum of training could easily conceal themselves in the gloom.
It was during that moment of distraction when Brother Eli made his move. Glimpsing a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye, Heinkel squeezed the trigger…and missed, even though the old man was just feet away. He was surprisingly quick for his age, she thought wryly—her last thought before blackness took her.
8 Hours Later
Heinkel clawed her way to consciousness like a drowning man struggling to reach the surface; several minutes passed before she summoned the strength to open her eyes. Light seared her retinas, and she squeezed them shut again.
"Awake at last."
At the sound of Brother Eli's voice, Heinkel's stomach clenched; she swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that burned her throat. Despite her grogginess, she had no trouble remembering the events preceding her collapse; just hearing the smug bastard's voice was enough to make her tremble with rage.
Of course, that was all she could do at the moment. Heinkel wasn't sure what the friar had drugged her with, but it was powerful stuff; it would be a long time before she was in any condition to fight.
How long have I been unconscious?
Apparently, not long enough; had the sun set, Seras would have come looking for her, promise or no promise. Heinkel's heart sank. Until then, she was on her own; there was no choice but to endure whatever the monk had planned for her.
In her weakened state, she'd be lucky to make it across the room, much less escape; besides, her hands and feet were so tightly bound that her wrists and ankles throbbed in unison. Underestimating Brother Eli had been a massive mistake: one Heinkel was certain she would pay for—and dearly.
Fear renewing her strength, she forced her eyes open once more, squinting against the glare. After a minute or two, the brilliance subsided, and Heinkel was able to look around the room in which she lay, sprawled on the floor with her arms pinned behind her and her cheek pressed against the carpet.
It was a rather unremarkable space: a small, dingy room, with faded wallpaper in a rosette pattern. A shabby desk and an uncomfortable-looking chair occupied most of the space; a large crucifix hung on the wall behind them.
The only light came from the flames crackling merrily in the fireplace (they'd seemed much brighter before). There were no windows, and the door was an impossibly vast distance away: a distance she couldn't cross, in her current condition.
Her gaze returning to the crucifix, Heinkel realized that the Christ depicted there wasn't the serene figure usually portrayed in scenes of His death; instead, His features were twisted in agony, mouth open in a silent scream.
A chill skittering down her spine, she hastily directed her attention elsewhere—though she couldn't escape the figure's tortured gaze. This Christ, she thought, would rather have watched her burn than die for her sins. Then again, he might just get his wish…