Nightbringer Read Online Free

Gregory's!"
    "Wow ! Cool."
    Gina laughed. "Skull bones?"
    "Oh, Josh," said the girl seated behind them.
    Josh glared. "C'mon, Rachel! This is gonna be twice as cool as Frankfurt!"
    Rachel leaped. "Look!"
    Together they turned.
    Rising from the crest of a wind-blasted hill, the Abbey of Saint Gregory's stood alone and gigantic and brooding on the crest of the mountain. A single square tower rose a hundred feet taller than the hundred-foot-high walls, and two parapets like huge black eyes glared down from above a length of white columns that supported the gigantic domed mouth of an entrance. The ominous impression was that of the mountain's gargantuan skull staring angry and displeased over a grave-yard of gray and scattered stones.
    No one spoke or moved. Then Trevanian turned and gazed frankly at Gina. The tour guide attempted to appear relaxed, though his smile was clearly forced.
    "Welcome to Saint Gregory's, madam."
    * * *

     
    Chapter Three
 
    Saint Gregory's seemed even more enormous inside its massive walls. The gigantic stones, each weighing tens of tons, had been fit together with such exacting craftsmanship that Gina couldn't imagine air passing between them even a thousand years from now. She wondered how men might have accomplished such a prodigious task using only primitive tools.
    Skill, dedication, patience ...
    Curiously she saw no signs of war—no pockmarks of cannon or mortars or even rifle fire that had scarred every historic structure she had seen across Europe.
    Yes, this place had somehow avoided the armies that had fought World War II ... or the armies had avoided it. Then she laughed; yes, it was scary, but it wasn't that scary.
    Saint Gregory's had probably escaped the war because it was so inaccessible and had no true military value—at least not enough value to risk a battalion on the road they had just exited. The closest place for an airstrip was in the valley eight thousand feet below and even today there wasn't a nearby open site to land a helicopter. It was as though this place had been content to let time pass it by – as if it served its most profound purpose by serving no purpose at all.
    Wandering about the outer courtyard alone, Gina seemed to study the abbey for more than its architecture. She noticed the doors and windows, as if searching for something specific and then she entered the enormous edifice.
    S he paced slowly down a wall, reaching up to touch the stained-glass windows set low to the ground. She touched the frame, pinching the wood as if to test its strength. She pressed softly against the glass.
    Her athletic build was evident even in loose-fitting casual clothes and she seemed every bit a woman in the prime of her life. Her tanned cheeks were high above full lips and she showed no tension. It was only her eyes that revealed a detective's acute awareness to detail.
    She turned, staring at the bus. Beside it stood the quietest member of the tour group—a man in his mid-forties.
    He had a strong build and spoke little. His hair was dark brown and his eyes were blue like the sea off the coast of some Mediterranean island. He carried nothing but an aluminum case and a duffel bag.
    She had attempted to speak with him several times during the past four days, and he had been unfailingly polite but also mysteriously elusive. He did not seem to mind her questions, however, and so Gina had persisted. What she noticed most was that he always seemed to pause before answering—a trait of intelligence or deceitfulness.
    His name was Michael Constantine.
    She had barely walked out of the courtyard and back to the bus as the wide doors of the basilica behind her opened. The priest who greeted them was the personification of graciousness. He stretched out his arms as if to embrace the whole of them— men and women he had never met and knew nothing about.
    "Welcome to Saint Gregory's," he s tated. "I am Father Stephen, the Father Abbot. Please freely receive the blessings we bestow