The Omega Factor(70)

The door opened.

A bearded young man entered, eating a sandwich. His eyes immediately locked on what was surely the only strange thing, to him, in the room. The guy said something in Flemish.

“English?” Nick asked.

“Who are you?”

“No one told you?” he asked, adding surprise to his voice.

“No one told me anything.”

“I’m here for the woman shot last night. I don’t have a name. Caucasian. Blond hair, cut short. Face bruised from slamming the pavement. Multiple gunshot wounds.”

“I know who you mean. But nobody told me her body was being moved. I am going to have to—”

Claire pounced, wrapping her right arm around the man’s neck and clamping her left hand tight to the right wrist.

A choke hold?

She applied pressure until the sandwich slipped from the man’s grip.

“Are those taught in the convent?”

She released her grip and helped the man’s limp body fold to the floor. “We never use lethal force.” She stood. “I wasn’t sure where you were headed with the double talk. We don’t have time to be subtle.”

Apparently she had little faith in him. “How about we find Sister Rachel and get out of here. There could be more people working tonight. And we can’t choke ’em all.” He paused. “Or can we?”

She ignored his jab and they checked the refrigeration compartments one by one, finally finding Sister Rachel. She lay inside a black body bag on a stainless-steel tray. Sister Claire crossed herself and recited a prayer. He stood reverently and allowed her the moment. They’d only zippered back enough to expose the pale head on the naked body.

But the tattoo was visible.

The plan had been to get the body out, then leave Ghent and connect with Sisters Ellen and Isabel, who would be waiting out of town. From there, Sister Rachel would make a journey out of Belgium and back to France. About a twelve-hour trip. Thankfully, there were no border checks between European Union nations. A free flow of commerce, which these maidens planned to take full advantage of.

Claire crossed herself again, signaling she was finished.

He zippered the bag shut and looked at her.

Tears seeped from her brown eyes. “She should not have died.”

He agreed. But he had to ask, “Was it worth it?”

She glared at him. “To her it was, and that’s what matters.”

“You people are quite cavalier about death.”

“Not in the least,” she shot back.

“That’s not the way it looks from here. I watched this woman die. She tossed that laptop down and then stood there and took the bullets. Maybe she thought they wouldn’t shoot? But when they did, she just stood there.” He paused. “To give you time to get away.”

The tears increased. He wondered how often this woman cried.

Not all that much, he imagined.

“You do know,” she said, “that I fully realize all of that. I was her superior. I sent her in there. I was responsible for her.”

The voice cracked but stayed firm.

“Whatever is going on here, I hope it’s worth it.”

Her eyes drifted back down to the body bag. “It is.”

“We need to go.”

She swiped the moisture from her face and nodded.

He reached down, gripped the bag, and lifted it, draping the corpse over his right shoulder. Not the most respectful way to carry the dead, but they had no choice. He had to hope that there was a path away from the building where darkness could be their ally. They certainly could not traipse out the front door and risk being seen by the police next door. A second door led out of the room, which Claire opened to reveal a larger space with stainless-steel tables where autopsies were surely performed. Glass-fronted cabinets lined the walls holding supplies and instruments. He found what he wanted across on the other side. The door out. Heavy metal with a small wire-meshed glass window.

They headed for it.

Then he spotted trouble.

A camera in the far corner, with a red dot signaling it was on.

Claire saw it too but said nothing. Instead, she yanked open the door and they rushed out into the night.

An alarm sounded.

Loud.

No way they could make a discreet retreat now. And no way they’d make it to the car parked a block away. He spied another vehicle just past the small loading dock. “Go and see if there are keys on that guy.”

She did not hesitate and disappeared back inside. He descended a short set of steps and headed for the vehicle, which was unlocked. No surprise considering it was parked inside a fenced enclave with a police station a stone’s throw away.

The alarm kept wailing.

Claire rushed out the door, displaying a set of keys. The vehicle was an older Volvo, a compact with four doors, messy on the inside with clothes and other stuff scattered everywhere. He carefully laid Sister Rachel across the back seat atop what was there.

“I hope those are the right keys,” he said.

She tossed them and he saw the black chuck of plastic attached to the ring with “Volvo” etched on it. “We’ve got company coming this way. I pushed those tables against the interior door to slow them down.”

They both hopped into the car.

He settled behind the wheel and inserted the key end of the fob.