It was cool and damp inside the passage that had been carved out of stone centuries earlier. Still, Paul broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with the climb or the cold, and everything to do with the unknown that awaited when they reached the top of those steps.
What if there were German patrols on the island? What if the monk had been seen leaving and someone had grown suspicious? What if they'd been seen, and a German patrol waited for them at the top of the passage?
The rifle was heavy on his shoulder. He shifted it, grateful for the weight of it.
“It is just here, according to the monk,” Micheleine announced as they reached the top step of the next level.
They stepped past her and put their shoulders to the heavy timbered door as the Americans made ready in the event there was anyone on the other side. It creaked and groaned, then slowly opened into a darkened alley. They breathed in cool, fresh night air.
They heard the roar of the ocean on the rocks below. At the opposite end of the alley, light was visible from the street that led into the village.
“This way,” Nico called out, and they followed him in the opposite direction, circling around the back side of the island.
He had no idea how long they walked, expecting to find German guards around every turn. Eventually they reachedthose steps that reached up into the night sky toward the Abbey Church.
“Bloody insane if you ask me,” Callish complained. “How are we supposed to get the blighter to the landing if he's injured? And that is if someone doesn't stop us, or kill us?”
Paul caught sight of uniformed guests at one of those outdoor tables. He exchanged a look with Micheleine as she turned and started the climb toward the church.
They stopped several times on that steep climb to catch their breath as wind whipped around the island. Near the top they stopped again, the Americans moving ahead to make certain there were no surprise encounters with Germans who had decided to take a tour of the abbey. A tap on his arm, and they silently moved toward the entrance.
It was quiet inside the church, the silence broken only by the whistle of the wind against those massive doors. Just inside the entrance they were met by one of the monks. He frowned when he saw their weapons.
“This is a house of God.”
“And we will defend it in God's name,” Micheleine said, pushing past him. “We were told you have one of our people. Please take us to him.”
The Abbey at Mont St. Michel was a work of art, going back thirteen hundred years, the different influences that followed—Roman, Gothic, and the later defensive fortifications of the fourteenth and fifteen centuries—were evident in the chapel, the cloisters, and the narrow window openings at the outer walls.
The monk stopped at another hallway opposite the cloisters.
“Stay here,” Micheleine told them. “If there is trouble, get back to the boat as quickly you can.” She turned and followed the monk down a dark hallway into another part of the abbey.
They waited, hidden in the shadows beside a massive tapestry mounted at the wall of the cloisters. Paul took a pictureof it, but the lighting was poor. It probably wouldn't show much detail.
How long had she been gone, he thought, winding the camera? Ten minutes? More?
Paul checked his watch while two of the Americans stood watch at the entrance. Eventually he heard the sound of footsteps on the stone floor of the sacristy. He laid a hand on Callish's arm against the instinct to raise his weapon, as Micheleine returned.
“Did you find him?”
She nodded. “It is very bad. He has lost a lot of blood. He cannot be moved. I will stay. You must go back with Nico.” Before he could ask more questions, she angled her head toward Callish.
“Go on ahead,” Paul told him. “Let the others know. I'll be right behind you.”
She smiled her gratitude and slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand.
“Stefan is very weak. I wrote down what he told me. There may be more information when he is stronger. You must take this back with you. It is important.”
“What about you?”
“We will leave when he is better. The monks will help us.” She laid a hand against his cheek.
“You must not worry. God will protect us.”
Did she believe that, or was it just something to put his mind at ease about leaving her there.
She glanced at the tapestry on the wall. “Like the story of the tapestry, I entrust you with this.” She smiled faintly. “It is called the Raveneau Tapestry. There is a legend about it. Supposedly the lovers were separated.” She pointed to the images in the different panels.
