Chapter 17
Cal watched their tail and walked silently beside Io. They’d already attended mass at two separate churches and were on their way to a third. Sitting in the pews had given him time to think. Time to realize that something changed between yesterday evening and this morning.
She was his team leader now, not his wife.
The camaraderie they’d had yesterday was gone. There was mission focus and not one thing more. Fuck, he had teammates who were chattier while on an assignment than Io was. This wasn’t a mood. Coffee or more sleep wasn’t going to fix this.
This was something else, but he was damned if he knew what.
Now wasn’t the time to ask and he doubled down on making sure no one was following them. Once they stopped for the night, once they were secure and he didn’t have to look over his shoulder, Cal would find out what was going on.
His phone buzzed and he reached for it. Io glanced over at him. The message was from KW, his teammate working at La Convento de Madres Fieles.
Found a way for you to look around. Come to Iglesia Sagrado Corazón de Jesús. Mass starts at 10.
Cal did some calculation. The church was near the convent and that made it a potential risk, but KW wouldn’t tell them to come if there wasn’t a way to get inside without them being spotted.
He checked the time. It wouldn’t be a problem to walk there, but they would need to take a less circuitous route than he’d like.
He slowed and replied. Torres? Petrova?
KW responded quickly. Use the entrance on Av Los Alisos. It’s clear.
“Who are you texting with?” Io asked in her team leader voice.
“KW.” Cal took a breath and gave a report as if she weren’t his wife. He passed along all the details, including the suggested route. For a moment, he thought she might ask for his thoughts, but the fantasy didn’t last long.
“They’re watching the convent, not the church, so Av Los Alisos should be clear as KW said.” It was obvious from the way she spoke that Io was familiar with the area. “Tell him we’ll be there.”
“Copy that,” Cal said. He thought Io might look over at him and smile, but she didn’t. Frowning, he sent the reply, put his phone away, and followed her as she adjusted their course through Trujillo.
The streets narrowed as they neared one of the older sections of the city. It was quiet, the shops closed, and the few people out were dressed for mass. The buildings blocked the sun and they mostly walked in shadow.
“I have us clear,” Io said quietly.
“Clear,” Cal concurred. No one was on their ass. He just hoped that lasted, that KW was right about approaching the church.
As they neared Av Los Alisos, bells began to toll. No sign of Torres’s or Petrova’s men.
They turned and the side of the church was in front of them. Without any signal passing between them, he and Io slowed at the same time. Most parishioners were going around to use the front entrance, but a few went to the side door.
Cal was more concerned about who he couldn’t see.
“No perimeter,” Io said, voice still soft.
“Confirmed.”
He didn’t like it. The church was next to the convent. Why wasn’t it inside the zone the arms dealer and mobsters were watching? Why was the focus solely on the abbey?
“Let’s take a stroll,” Io said.
“Copy that.” Yeah, taking a walk would give them a better idea of what the fuck was going on.
He scanned. Carefully. Thoroughly. The rooftops in the area were steep and tiled, making them impossible to use for surveillance, but what about one of the upper floors of a nearby building?
He didn’t detect anyone and they couldn’t risk circling the block because then they would trip the perimeter.
“How much do you trust KW?” Io asked as they reached the end of the block.
“With my life.” And he trusted his teammate with Io’s life, too, which meant he trusted Kyle Winter absolutely.
“Then we’re going in the side door as he suggested.”
“Copy.”
The church was large and it was old. Two hundred years ago, when it was built, it had likely been a showplace. Now? It looked tired. Run down.
He held the door for Io. She paused just inside the entry, maybe allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, and then her elbow connected with his midsection.
Confused, he glanced down at her. With a frown, she gestured for him to take off his baseball cap.
Cal tucked it into the back pocket of his camo pants.
Satisfied, she slipped into a pew toward the back. Sitting beside her, Cal looked around, but didn’t see anyone who worried him. No Russian mobsters and no one who worked for the arms dealer. Just parishioners who appeared as tired as their place of worship.
The interior of the church held nothing worth stealing, anything of value had been removed a long time ago.
The altar was a simple wooden island with a worn red cloth atop it.
The walls were painted cream, the woodwork around the archways simple and the windows were clear, no stained glass in sight.
The tiles on the floor were chipped, a trip hazard, and for a moment he worried for the elderly members of the congregation.
Cal spotted KW. He came up the main aisle, paused at the pew Cal shared with Io, and did a bob while he made the sign of the cross. Then he took a seat next to the aisle, leaving a huge gap between him and Io.
KW used the kneeler and bowed his head over his hands. Cal didn’t know why his teammate didn’t join them. Anyone glancing over would think they were together no matter how far apart they sat. They were the only two men dressed like mercenaries.
He and Io followed the other attendees. They stood, sat, and knelt when everyone else did. On one of the movements, he did another scan of the church and saw the nuns in a loft behind them. Part of the congregation and yet separate.
After the Lord’s Prayer, the priest said, “Daos la paz.”
Even though this was their third mass, it still felt odd to shake Io’s hand to give her peace.
As soon as they were done, she turned to KW and shook his hand as well.
Communion came next, and like at the other churches, he and Io remained in their pew.
The sisters stayed where they were and a Eucharistic minister went up to give them communion.
When mass ended, KW left, following the other parishioners. “Where’s he going?” Cal murmured.
“I don’t know, but during the handshake, he passed me this.” Io showed him a folded note before she opened it. “Meet Father Tomás at the altar,” she read quietly. “You’re sure we can trust your friend?”
“Yes.” Cal didn’t expound. He didn’t like the setup, but Father Tomás sometimes worked with the captain. If BD trusted the priest and Cal trusted KW, it was okay.
And if it wasn’t, his weapon was handy. Nothing was happening to Io. Nothing.
Father Tomás stood near the front entrance to the church, shaking hands and speaking with his departing parishioners. There were only a few stragglers left. The sound of movement had his gaze focusing on the nuns, but they were quietly filing out.
Beside him, Io was kneeling, her hands clasped and her head bowed. Cal didn’t know if she was really praying or not, but it gave them a reason not to leave with the others.
It seemed to take forever for the priest to say goodbye to the final few, but at last he strode up the aisle, returning to the altar.
He didn’t glance their direction, his black robe swirling around his legs.
As he reached the front, he began to put things away, going through some sort of ritual with each item.
Cal’s gaze went to Io, but she remained where she was, hands folded, head bent.
It wasn’t until the priest was nearly finished that Io made the sign of the cross and moved from the kneeler to the pew. She gave him a nudge with her elbow and this time Cal didn’t need her to explain. It was time to talk to Father Tomás.
Cal rose, moved to the aisle, and waited for Io to join him. She did the bob and sign-of-the-cross motion and led the way to the altar. The church was nearly silent, just the soft sound of their feet on the tile and the priest’s movements.
Father Tomás didn’t look up as they approached. He finished placing the plain chalice into its velvet-lined case, then closed it with reverent care. He struggled with the latch, the wood warped enough to make it difficult. Only then did he acknowledge them.
“I was told you’d come,” he said in Spanish, voice low and steady. “Follow me.”
Without waiting, he led them to the side of the altar and opened a narrow door. Io followed him, but Cal made sure his pistol was within easy reach before he moved. He had to turn to get his shoulders through the doorway.
The hallway they entered wasn’t much wider, but he didn’t have to turn sideways.
The scent of incense faded and was replaced by something musty.
They entered a room that was unexpectedly large.
It held four chairs, a large table in the middle, and another good-size table against one wall.
Another held a chalkboard with a reference to a Psalm and a large piece of white chalk on the ledge.
On the third wall was a wardrobe. A narrow window near the ceiling allowed natural sunlight to illuminate the space.
The walls were wood paneled, elaborately carved, and in desperate need of restoration.
Father Tomás didn’t speak. Instead, he walked to one of the walls, pressed a spot on the carved paneling, and a doorway opened, revealing a flight of stairs descending into darkness.
“The tunnel leads to the convent,” the priest said softly, still in Spanish. “Your teammate found it inside the abbey and followed it here. It’s safe to use.”
“No walls or ceilings falling? No flooding?” Io asked.
“No, Senora. The tunnels are as sound as the convent. The insects and other creatures living down there have also been cleared.”
Cal was aware of what kind of condition the convent was in—not great—but it was still standing.
“There’s a doorway on the other side? How do we open it?” Io didn’t look at the priest, but stared into the abyss waiting in front of them.
“KW will be waiting for you. Knock when you reach the end of the tunnel and he will open the door. Do not take any turns off the main passageway and you will reach the abbey without an issue.”
Looking at Io, Cal waited. He didn’t like this, but he trusted his teammate. He trusted his captain. Both men trusted Father Tomás.
She didn’t glance at him. Instead, she pulled out her phone, turned on its flashlight, and said, “Gracias, Padre Tomás.” And Io stepped across the threshold.
With a final nod to the priest, Cal turned on his phone’s flashlight and followed Io down the steep stairs. The air changed as soon as the door closed behind them. Cooler. Denser. Like the tunnel was located somewhere farther north, somewhere far from Puerto Jardin.
Cal kept his light low, sweeping the beam across the stone steps as they descended. The edges were crumbled, worn down by time and water, but the center held. Someone had cleared the worst of it—debris was pushed to the sides in uneven piles, like the tunnel had been prepped in a hurry.
At the bottom, the passage leveled out. Narrow. Arched. The walls were stone, patched in places, and slick with condensation. The scent was layered—mildew, rust, and something older. Not rot. Not death. But not pleasant either. It smelled old. It smelled forgotten.
They walked single file, Cal behind Io, his light catching flashes of carved alcoves tucked into the walls.
Some were empty. Others held remnants—splintered, rotting crates, rusted hinges, a lantern missing its glass.
One alcove had a statue, half-buried in dust, its face worn smooth and its hands still folded in prayer.
Another held bones. Clearly from a small animal. But he didn’t linger.
Side tunnels branched off at irregular intervals, narrow and dark, their mouths gaping like invitations. Most were blocked—collapsed or sealed with boards rotted with age. One had a rusted gate, half open, the hinges frozen mid-swing.
The main passage twisted once, then straightened. The floor shifted from stone to packed earth, then back again. Water had been here once—he could see the stains, the moss, the warped boards laid across the worst of it. Someone had made it passable. Barely.
They kept walking. Io’s focus remained ahead of them.
The silence wasn’t empty. It pressed in, thick and close, broken only by the soft scuff of boots and the occasional drip of water echoing off stone. Cal’s light caught something glinting in the rubble—a coin, maybe. Or a button. Io kept going, so he didn’t stop.
The tunnel narrowed again, the ceiling dipping low enough that he had to duck. Io moved like she’d done this before. Like she knew exactly where she was going.
Cal was just grateful that neither of them were claustrophobic.
It was like a tomb and the idea made his step falter.
“Are you okay?” Io asked, her voice soft.
“Fine.” He cleared his throat.
When they reached another place where the tunnel forked, Cal heard a noise down the side passage. He stopped. Waited for it to come again.
Nothing.
He aimed his light that direction. The beam caught dust motes and the edge of something jagged—stone, maybe. Or bone. The sound didn’t come again, but the silence felt different now. Like it was listening.
Io had already moved on.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
“It was probably a rat.”
He hesitated. Glanced back at the side tunnel.
She was right. It was probably a rat. But this would be the perfect place to set up some sort of illegal scheme.
Drugs. Bootleg merchandise. A serial killer’s dumping ground.
Just because Father Tomás and the Mother Superior didn’t know about these passages until recently, didn’t mean someone else hadn’t been aware of them for a lot longer.
“Come on, Cal. Our job isn’t to explore the tunnels. We have bigger items on our agenda.”
That landed. Clean. Unemotional. True.
Cal gave the side tunnel one last look, then turned and followed her.
Io was in charge and he was ready to get out of this mausoleum. Too easy to think of being trapped down here. Too easy to think of death, of burial, of moldering bodies. Not where he wanted his head to go. Not when he needed to protect her.
Even if it was just from a rat or two.
They reached the end of the passage. There was a wooden panel that appeared thick, more solid than anything else he’d seen.
Io knocked.
Nothing happened.
What if KW wasn’t there? What if the priest had been bribed to lure them down here?
The sound came again. Louder now. Closer. Behind them. Io was steps ahead, and the thought of anything reaching her before he did hit like a punch.
Cal drew his pistol and turned. Nothing—no one—was hurting his wife.