There were still lights at the windows, but it was the absence of music that Fallon found puzzling until, gazing up at the notice board, he made the same discovery that Jack Meehan had about the time of evening Mass on a Saturday.
Panic moved inside him. Oh my God, he thought. I’m too late.
The door went back against the wall with a crash that echoed throughout the silent building, but the church was empty. Only the eternal ruby light of the sanctuary lamp, the flickering candles, the Virgin smiling sadly down at him, Christ high on his cross down there by the altar.
He ran along the centre aisle and reached the hoist. The cage was not there. They were still on top and he was con-scious of a fierce joy. He pressed the button to bring the cage down, but nothing, happened. He pressed it again with the same result. Which meant that the cage was standing open up there.
He hammered his clenched fist against the wall in despair. There had to be a way to bring Meehan down. There had to be.
And there was, of course, and it was so beautifully simple that he laughed out loud, his voice echoing up the nave as he turned and moved towards the altar rail and went up through the $choir stalls.
He sat down on the organ stool, switched on and pulled out an assortment of stops feverishly. There was blood on the keys, but that didn’t matter and he moved into the opening of the Bach Prelude in D Major. The glorious music echoed between the walls as he gave it everything he had, ignoring the pain in his right hand and arm.
“Come on, you bastard “I” he shouted aloud. “Let’s be having you.”
He stopped playing and was immediately aware of the slight clanging the cage made on its descent. He got up and went down the steps through the choir stalls, drawing the Ceska from his pocket and screwing the silencer into place with difficulty, arriving at the correct vantage point as the cage reached ground level.
Fallon flattened himself against the wall and waited, the Ceska ready. The cage door was kicked open and Bonati stepped out, clutching the Luger. Fallon shot him through the hand and Bonati dropped the Luger with a sharp cry and turned to face him.
“Meehan,” Fallon said. Is he up there?”
Bonati was shaking like a leaf in a storm, frightened out of his wits. He tried to speak, but could only manage to nod his head vigorously.
“All right.5 Fallon smiled and Bonati saw that face again, a face to frighten the Devil. “Go home and change your ways.”
Bonati needed no second bidding and ran up the aisle clutching his wrist. The door banged behind him, the candles fluttered. It was quiet again. Fallon moved into the cage and pressed the button to ascend.
On the catwalk, Meehan, Anna and Father da Costa waited, the rain falling in silver strands through the yellow light. The cage jerked to a halt, the door swung open. It was dark in there.
Meehan raised his Browning slightly. “Bonati?”
Fallon drifted out of the darkness, a pale ghost. “Hello, you bastard,” he said.
Meehan started to take aim and Father da Costa ducked low in spite of his bound hands and shouldered him to the rail, tripping him deftly so that Meehan fell heavily. The Browning skidded along the catwalk and Fallon kicked it into space.
He leaned against the rail for support, suddenly strangely tired, his arm really hurting now, and gestured with the Ceska.
“All right, untie him.”
Meehan did as he was told reluctantly and the moment he was free, Father da Costa untied Anna. He turned to Fallon, concern in his voice. “Are you all right?”
Fallon kept all his attention on Meehan. “The bomb? Have you set the fuse?”
“Get stuffed,” Meehan told him.
“Bomb?” Father da Costa demanded.
“Yes,” Fallon said. “Did he have a bag with him?”
“Over there,” Father da Costa pointed to where the canvas hold all stood in the shadows.
“All right,” Fallon said. “You’d better get Anna out of here fast and I mean out. If that thing goes off it will bring the whole church down like a house of cards.”