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as a Z. Right, said Stryker. Right, I repeated. So the only way to decrypt the message is to know the original rotor setting. He met my eyes. Try PSW. I bent back to the keyboard and readjusted the rotors. More gibberish. Dammit! Stryker s hand struck the table. No, wait, I said. I forgot about the plugboard. I pointed to the area at the bottom of the simulator. Since we ve got three letters, I can t plug them to each other. So I m going to plug them to the first three spots.P to A, S to B and so on. Maybe we ll get lucky, Stryker said as I reset the machine. I typed the coded message in again, and this time thank God the answer made sense. Or, rather, the answer wasn t gibberish. At the moment, at least, it didn t make any sense at all to me. YOUSE EKTHE HEAVE NNEXT TOHEL L Nice, Stryker said. The letters emerge in groups of five. It says You seek the heaven next to hell. Like I said, nice. What the hell does that mean? Stryker might not know, but the answer clicked with me right away. How could it not, considering the many hours I d spent wandering the length of Fifth Avenue, lusting over the contents of the various stores? St. Patrick s Cathedral, I said. The clue is something at St. Patrick s. He gaped at me. What hat did you pull that out of? Haven t you ever noticed? The cathedral s right across from 666 Fifth Avenue. And with the saint medal and the reference to St. Louis, a Catholic church makes sense. Let s go. Can t, he said. They close up for the night. Vandals. Oh. I was antsy, wanting to go, to figure out the next clue. But while Stryker might be willing to break into a restaurant, I didn t think he d be inclined to break into a church. I guess we wait, I said. We can sleep, he said, his dark eyes burning into me with an intensity that made me warm and shivery. Or& ? What can I say? I took the or. Chapter 57 A s they walked into St. Patrick s the next morning, Stryker genuflected automatically, even though it had been years since he d set foot inside a church. He hadn t been to Mass since his mother had gotten sick more than two years ago. As soon as he d heard the news, he d left the service, calling Riley to take him up on the offer of a job as long as Stryker could work from Jersey instead of D.C. Riley had agreed, of course, and Stryker had gone home to Jersey City to be with his mother. He hadn t seen her in three years, and she d lost weight and her skin had taken on a sallow, plastic quality. Her eyes had been the same, though. Sparkling with warmth and humor. And when she d opened her arms wide and flashed that familiar smile, the sick woman in the doorway had once again become his mother. He d prayed that night one last time, begging God not to steal this vibrant woman from him. God hadn t listened. And Stryker had stopped listening for God. Are you okay? Mel had her hand on his shoulder, arching up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. They were at the back of the cathedral, waiting for the priest to pass and the churchgoers to filter out now that Mass had ended. He shook his head, as much to clear it as to tell her he didn t want to talk about it. She looked at him for a moment but didn t argue. Good. He wasn t up for arguing with her, and he d been half afraid that she d go all female on him, thinking that sleeping together gave her license to pick at his feelings. He didn t want to be picked. He just wanted to protect her. And, so help him, he wanted her in his bed again. Beside him, she was gazing into the church with pure wonder. He understood the expression. The cathedral was stunning, like something transplanted out of Europe. Stone columns rising to a domed ceiling, stained glass everywhere, and so much detail that you had to believe it took masons centuries to complete the place. The place seemed to be made of arches, and he leaned over to whisper to Mel. Are any of these arches the catenary thing? Like in St. Louis? Could be, she said. She peered around. Someone must know about the architecture of this place. He tugged her sideways, then, easing them over to the Information desk. An elderly man with a ruddy face and piercing green eyes smiled at them. Can I be of some help to you, then? he asked, his Irish lilt seeming to fill the hall. Stryker couldn t help but smile. We were wondering if you knew about the architecture. Are any of these arches a catenary curve? Ah, well, that I couldn t tell you. Mildred might know, but she s in Pittsburgh this week for her daughter s wedding. How about someone who could give us a tour? Stryker asked. If they walked through the place, maybe Mel would see what they needed. I ve been a member since I was in diapers and a volunteer since I lost my Sadie back in eighty-three. I think I ought to do just fine. Paddy O Shea. The pleasure s mine. He peered at them through spectacles as he stepped out from behind the booth, signaling for the short, dark-haired woman beside him to staff the desk. Anything in particular you re interested in? The stained glass? Cathedral history? I don t know arches from anything, but the rest I ve got right up here. He tapped his temple as he walked past them into the nave. He started down the aisle toward the altar, not waiting for their answer and instead throwing out tidbits of information: the size of the cathedral, the year it was built, the architect, and enough other factual trivia to make Stryker s head swim. See that, he said, stopping and pointing to the baldachin over the main altar. Solid bronze. Amazing, isn t it? Are there any statues of the saints? Well, sure. He peered at Matthew. You re looking for Saint Michael. Beside him, Mel gasped. We are. How did you know? The old man cocked his thumb toward Stryker. That boy s a soldier through and through. Couldn t slouch if his life depended on it. Must be looking for his patron, eh? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |