Page 72 of Cyn
“One of Brian’s cousins is going to meet us there,” Cyn said, looking up from her phone. “Apparently, Lucy wasn’t joking when she said he had all his cousins on stand-by. They were just waiting for us to ask. She’ll also coordinate with Beni, so Beni can keep her resources.”
“What about Nora and Devil?” Joe asked.
“They’re sending Fawkes to be with them,” Cyn said. Joe hadn’t missed her hesitation when Fawkes had first offered and he wasn’t sure what had changed her mind, but he was glad to know his old Navy buddy was going to have Nora’s and Devil’s backs if needed. But wait…
“How do Brian and Lucy know Fawkes?” he asked.
Cyn gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Something about Fawkes being friends with friends of his cousin. It’s a DeMarco thing. They collect people. Not everyone, just the good ones.”
“Not a bad trait to have,” he muttered as he accelerated around another slow driver. A tense silence filled the car as the miles ticked by, bringing them closer and closer to their first destination. Finally, after what felt like years later, they arrived at the church in South Boston with forty-five minutes to spare before the start of the service.
Pulling into the nearly empty lot, he spotted a man with a backpack slung over his shoulder standing on the church vestibule talking to a priest. “You think that’s DeMarco’s cousin?” he asked as the three of them all but jumped from the car and started toward the pair.
“I certainly hope so. He looks like he’s making friends with the priest, and we could use an in,” Cyn said.
“I could always distract him with an ecumenical discussion,” Six said. Cyn snorted, and Joe figured there must be some sort of inside joke there, but he didn’t have time to ask. The man on the vestibule waved them over.
“Anthony DeMarco,” he said, holding out his hand. One by one, they each introduced themselves to both the cousin and Father Gerald.
“Father G is an old friend of the family,” Anthony said. “He’s going to let us in to have a look.”
Joe cast the man a surprised—and appreciative—look. Gaining access to the buildings was a part of the plan that they more or less had no strategy for. They’d have to check out the options and play it by ear at each location. Being invited in was the preference, but on the other end of the spectrum was the option to break in. He could pick most locks, and he figured the women could, too. But picking locks in the middle of the day in the middle of a city wasn’t high on his priority list.
“Proving your worth already. I like that in a man,” Six said with a grin as she led them into the building. Anthony didn’t smile back, but his lips did quirk up a bit, and Joe was pretty sure he took a moment to check out Six’s ass as she walked by.
“Let’s divide up, ladies and gentlemen. Father?” Cyn turned to the priest who’d followed everyone in and now stood in the lobby with the doors closed behind him. “Can you give us a thirty-second overview of the layout of the church?”
“Organ on the upper level and the walkways to get to it, but nothing else. Two stairwells lead up there, one on either side of the apse. The door to the left of the apse”—he pointed as he spoke—“leads to the offices and counseling rooms. The door to the right goes to a stairwell that leads to the basement. A lot of things are stored down there, but Mr. Kerrigan, one of my parishioners, keeps it very tidy.”
Only fifteen seconds had passed. Joe was impressed, and it must have shown on his face because Father Gerald smiled. “Army. Fought in Vietnam and stayed in for a few more years before finding my calling,” he said, by way of explaining his succinct report.
“And we appreciate your service,” Six said, grabbing Anthony by the arm. “We’ll start at the organ, then move to this floor. Cyn and Joe, you head to the basement.” And without another word, she dragged Anthony, who didn’t seem to mind, up the stairs.
“Will you keep your attendees out of the building?” Cyn asked. “We hope we’ll be done and gone before any show up, but it would be safer just in case.”
Father Gerald gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Now don’t worry about me. Go do what you need to. I love Anthony DeMarco like a son, but that man has not visited a church in a decade. Whatever brought him here today must be serious, so anything I can do, aside from keeping any visitors out of the building, let me know.”
Cyn inclined her head in acknowledgment, then gestured for Joe to follow her. He hadn’t ever imagined himself going into a situation like this again—not after leaving the Navy. But he figured if he had to do it, going in with Cyn and her crew wasn’t a bad way to operate. Especially not if he had the opportunity to appreciate the extreme sway of her hips as she quickly walked to the stairwell. Inappropriate? Yes. But did he care? No. He was going to get every tiny bit of enjoyment out of life that he could. They were on the hunt for a terrorist bomb, and who knew what the end of the day would look like.
They descended a set of dark wooden stairs, the light from the main floor filtering down and lighting their way. As soon as Cyn hit the landing, she flicked a switch, and several fluorescent lights flickered on, bathing the large, musty basement in industrial light.
He came to a stop beside Cyn, and they both surveyed the room.
“It’s a different shape than the drawing,” Joe commented. The drawing had basically been a rectangle with one end slightly curved. Whereas this room was oddly shaped with the end farthest from them being narrower than the one closest to them. It also had four alcoves—two against the wall to their right and two on the wall opposite where they stood.
“It is, but where do you want to start?”
He smiled. He wouldn’t have expected any different, but he liked that Cyn didn’t leave any stones unturned.
“I’ll take the far end. You start with the alcoves.”
As acknowledgment, she pivoted on her heel and walked toward that part of the basement. With one last glance around to confirm that they hadn’t missed anything obvious, he started toward the back of the room.
Father Gerald hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the basement was packed. There were stacks of boxes scattered around the floor, and although they appeared somewhat haphazard, Mr. Kerrigan had left paths around them all and nicely labeled each grouping, indicating which holiday—or saint day—the boxes contained decorations for. Thankfully, they were stacked in such a way that the light reflected the dust that had gathered on the tops, making it easy to see that none of them had been disturbed lately.
“What’s it look like on your end?” he called out as he started to examine the walls and flooring for any footprints. Surprisingly, the floor was carpeted and not concrete. The pile wasn’t thick enough to easily capture footprints, but if the light caught it right, he could see if it had been disturbed.
“The building is old, and the bricks are the supports,” she responded. “I don’t see any indication that the walls have been disturbed enough to place a bomb behind them and, from what I can tell, the boxes, with the exception of the Christmas ones that I passed, all had a thin layer of dust, so I don’t think anyone has been moving those around either.”
