the monsignor who were now shouting at each other. Gina nodded at Miguel and he walked away. Then she turned to face the three men whose voices grew still louder.
Gina didn't know who was arguing what and didn't care. "Hey!" she shouted. "Did any of you call for help?"
With near-frantic emotion Father Stephen said, "The phone lines must be down because of the storm!" But he did not seem convinced of that, and he certainly wasn't very convincing.
"Fine," Gina muttered. "I'll use your radio. We're flying out of here—all of us!"
None of them moved or spoke, but Gina knew.
"What happened to the radio?" she asked.
Stephen seemed to gather himself. "It's broken. We don't know who did it. We don’t know when it was done. But it is inoperative."
"It is demolished " Melanchthon clarified. "It cannot be fixed." He gazed at Gina. "We are alone."
But Gina had to be sure ; it was a hard and fast rule. When your life is on the line, never trust that any gun is loaded or unloaded, never trust that you have the proper equipment, never trust that something works or doesn't. Check it yourself and then check it again.
She cocked her head toward the distant office.
"Let's take a look."
Father Stephen glanced toward his office and hesitated.
Gina leaned toward him.
" Now ."
Rebecca and the children, seated on the huge stone dais that supported the two gigantic pillars of the temple, were still visible when Gina reached the office and glanced back. She didn't have to enter the room to evaluate the condition of the radio.
The cover was still attached to wiring that descended almost to the floor. She saw broken fuses and torn circuit boards. Even the dials were crushed, as though they'd been hit with a hammer. Whoever had done this had obviously meant to make it permanent. She didn't doubt that it was unfixable— not with the equipment she saw.
"Do you have another one?" she asked Stephen.
"No."
Gina grimaced. "Don't you have spare parts? Surely you have spare parts. You said you guys were self-sufficient."
The priest moved across the corridor and opened the door to what Gina knew was a storage room. It was filled mostly with books and writing materials, catalogues, treatises, and church-related material. But one shelf contained a box—a very old box. And when Stephen brought it down from the shelf Gina saw instantly that it contained a host of spare radio parts.
She shifted them around, though she knew nothing about radios. She was aware of the monsignor as he stepped forward. "Here," he said quietly. "I know something of this."
He, too, moved the parts, but with a definite aura of purpose. He nodded once, twice. "Yes," he said. "I believe I can build something that will work well enough."
"Do you know the emergency frequencies?" Gina asked.
"I know all of them quite well, yes. And if the other radio can be made to function at all, I am confident that I can—at the very least—transmit a message to Lausanne." He lifted the box and spoke tersely to the abbot. "Collect everything in the office that is even remotely related to the radio—torn wiring, broken fuses, anything. We will assemble a device in the Hall."
Gina reentered the Great Hall with more hope than she expected as she took the hands of Josh and Rachel, again thanking Rebecca with a nod. But Gina had a haunting sensation that this was far from over. Despite a single bright moment, there was too much happening—too many unknowns—dangerous and unpredictable.
If even one of them influenced the situation, all chance of survival could be erased in a single moment. And she sensed something else. She sensed that, win or lose, this would permanently take something out of her. It had already taken something out of her—her very grasp on reality. And when the rest of this left, it would leave with her guts in its teeth.
She collapsed on a cushioned scarlet divan and her kids plopped down next to her. She rubbed her head and tried to deny what her intuition told
Gina didn't know who was arguing what and didn't care. "Hey!" she shouted. "Did any of you call for help?"
With near-frantic emotion Father Stephen said, "The phone lines must be down because of the storm!" But he did not seem convinced of that, and he certainly wasn't very convincing.
"Fine," Gina muttered. "I'll use your radio. We're flying out of here—all of us!"
None of them moved or spoke, but Gina knew.
"What happened to the radio?" she asked.
Stephen seemed to gather himself. "It's broken. We don't know who did it. We don’t know when it was done. But it is inoperative."
"It is demolished " Melanchthon clarified. "It cannot be fixed." He gazed at Gina. "We are alone."
But Gina had to be sure ; it was a hard and fast rule. When your life is on the line, never trust that any gun is loaded or unloaded, never trust that you have the proper equipment, never trust that something works or doesn't. Check it yourself and then check it again.
She cocked her head toward the distant office.
"Let's take a look."
Father Stephen glanced toward his office and hesitated.
Gina leaned toward him.
" Now ."
Rebecca and the children, seated on the huge stone dais that supported the two gigantic pillars of the temple, were still visible when Gina reached the office and glanced back. She didn't have to enter the room to evaluate the condition of the radio.
The cover was still attached to wiring that descended almost to the floor. She saw broken fuses and torn circuit boards. Even the dials were crushed, as though they'd been hit with a hammer. Whoever had done this had obviously meant to make it permanent. She didn't doubt that it was unfixable— not with the equipment she saw.
"Do you have another one?" she asked Stephen.
"No."
Gina grimaced. "Don't you have spare parts? Surely you have spare parts. You said you guys were self-sufficient."
The priest moved across the corridor and opened the door to what Gina knew was a storage room. It was filled mostly with books and writing materials, catalogues, treatises, and church-related material. But one shelf contained a box—a very old box. And when Stephen brought it down from the shelf Gina saw instantly that it contained a host of spare radio parts.
She shifted them around, though she knew nothing about radios. She was aware of the monsignor as he stepped forward. "Here," he said quietly. "I know something of this."
He, too, moved the parts, but with a definite aura of purpose. He nodded once, twice. "Yes," he said. "I believe I can build something that will work well enough."
"Do you know the emergency frequencies?" Gina asked.
"I know all of them quite well, yes. And if the other radio can be made to function at all, I am confident that I can—at the very least—transmit a message to Lausanne." He lifted the box and spoke tersely to the abbot. "Collect everything in the office that is even remotely related to the radio—torn wiring, broken fuses, anything. We will assemble a device in the Hall."
Gina reentered the Great Hall with more hope than she expected as she took the hands of Josh and Rachel, again thanking Rebecca with a nod. But Gina had a haunting sensation that this was far from over. Despite a single bright moment, there was too much happening—too many unknowns—dangerous and unpredictable.
If even one of them influenced the situation, all chance of survival could be erased in a single moment. And she sensed something else. She sensed that, win or lose, this would permanently take something out of her. It had already taken something out of her—her very grasp on reality. And when the rest of this left, it would leave with her guts in its teeth.
She collapsed on a cushioned scarlet divan and her kids plopped down next to her. She rubbed her head and tried to deny what her intuition told
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