Black talons raked her right cheek. The wounds stung like acid. The creature landed on its back with a heavy thud.

Instantly it was up again. Annja heard Godin's pistol go off, like a string of firecrackers in the enclosed space.

The creature screamed. It lunged at Godin. He dodged aside. It ran past him out the door.

Annja picked herself up. She felt as if the aid of a cane would not be unwelcome. She felt as old as the church and much less well preserved. Her right cheek and the back of her left upper thigh stung as if from fire-ant bites.

Out the door she ran. To find herself staring down the barrels of at least a dozen handguns and shotguns pointed by terrified-looking law enforcers.

Annja just had time to throw herself down behind the cover of the sealed well as the police and sheriff's officers opened fire in a thunderous fusillade.

Chips and dust blasted from the facade of the church showered down on Annja. Most of the shots fired came nowhere near the monster. She realized with a fresh jolt that there were still people trapped in the courtyard – right in the line of heedless fire.

She shifted to a crouch to be ready to move.

The policemen's magazines all ran dry almost simultaneously. Silence fell like a lead curtain.

Annja whipped around the side of the well. She took quick stock of the situation. At least half a dozen people lay scattered around the little courtyard just in her field of view. How many of them were sensibly hugging the ground during the panicked barrage, and how many had fallen victim to the beast – or police gunfire – she did not know.

The courtyard was in chaos as people continued to flee. The police were searching frantically for the killer beast.

"What was that?" Annja asked as Godin approached her.

He merely shook his head.

"The police are taking control," Godin finally said, looking around, "and are starting to return. We should most likely absent ourselves."

"Amen to that," Annja replied. But she hesitated.

"There are injured people here," she said, gesturing at shapes lying supine in the muddy, trampled turf, beginning to stir and moan. "Shouldn't we – ?"

"There are already several ambulances parked on hand," the Jesuit pointed out correctly. "More emergency personnel are undoubtedly on their way. They can help these poor ones far more efficiently than we can."

She nodded briskly – and gratefully. She had no more desire to answer official questions about all this than he appeared to. They walked quickly out the gates, turned left toward the nearest woods and walked as purposefully as they could without seeming to hurry.

So frantically had the crowd, including police and news crews, fled when the monster appeared that Annja suspected nobody had actually seen the beast's final moments. She and Godin appeared to be but two survivors eager to escape the sanctuary.

From above came the heavy chop of big rotor blades, descending fast. Out of the low ceiling of cloud a black helicopter appeared. Men wearing full-head ninja masks dangled black Nomex-clad legs from doors open in its sides. They carried machine pistols across their laps.

Powerful spotlights stabbed out from the descending Black Hawk. Bystanders raised their hands to shield their eyes from the glare. Snow from the ground swirled up all around, blown up by the down-blast. It quickly shrouded the scene.

With no one paying any attention to them, Annja and Father Godin slipped in among the snow-shrouded pine trees and quickly disappeared from that place of sorrow.

Chapter 19

Her companion led her across the flank of a small peak overlooking the sanctuary. Beside a narrow dirt road running down a narrow valley with steep tree-crowded slopes, his vehicle waited, gleaming dully in the eerie shine between snow and cloud.

"An Escalade?" she asked as he opened the passenger door courteously for her.

"You know my order," he said. "We like to go first class."

"But what it costs to keep this boat's tank filled – "

"Expense account," he said, and closed the door.

He drove with lights out down slick mud-surfaced roads that were barely more than tracks. Even away from the sanctuary a surprising amount of light emanated from the swollen bellies of the clouds. Perhaps they reflected the glow of nearby settlements, the blindingly illuminated tribal casinos, even Santa Fe twenty or more miles away. Annja's eyes were struggling to see well enough to drive. She wondered if Godin might be overestimating himself.

But I haven't noticed him doing much of that so far, she thought. Not everything he'd tried had worked. Against the monster – or her. But that seemed to be because he was intent upon tryingeven if odds didn't favor him, not out of cockiness.

He may be the most competent man I've ever met, she thought. "Where are we going?"

"Elsewhere," he said, not taking his eyes from the road. "The obvious egress routes from the sanctuary and the vicinity of Chimayó will be carefully watched."

"By the police?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps them, too."

She took in a deep breath and let it shudder out. She realized she was quivering like an aspen leaf in a brisk breeze. Her muscles and joints ached and the wounds in her cheek and thigh throbbed as if inflamed. "We need to talk," she said.

"Yes. Or rather, you need to listen," Godin replied.

She started to bridle at that. Then she settled back sideways on the wide seat with her arms folded tightly beneath her breasts and her nostrils flared. It was all futile display to salve her ego. He was right. She knew it.

"There is something...unexpected going on here," he said. She wondered briefly if he was driving at random through the mountains and foothills or had some plan in mind. She decided she'd just as soon not know right now.

"That's an understatement," she said.

"I have uncovered evidence of a secret research project being carried out in this vicinity. One of many, of course. But my interest is attracted by rumors my contacts in the counterterror and mercenary communities whisper in my shell-like ear. The security contract is held by a man with whom I am professionally familiar, a certain Colonel Thompson. He is a former U.S. Army Ranger and Delta Force operator. He is known for being very expensive and very good at what he does.

"He is also known as Mad Jack. He is well named. He's got a taste for methamphetamines, to give an edge to himself and his men. He has also, let us be candid, a taste for atrocity. To such an extent he was fired as a private contractor by U.S. occupation forces in Iraq for mysterious incidents late in 2003. Rumor has it he ambushed a patrol of SAS men dressed as Arabs near Ramadi and killed two of them. The U.S. command, which as you know seldom admits culpability for any misdeed or accident, would take no official corrective action. But the SAS swore vengeance. He was removed for his own safety."

"Lovely," Annja said.

"Some people believe times of great peril call for such men. Myself – having known many such – I feel the peril they themselves pose outweighs any benefit they incidentally confer on mankind. But leave that.

"The point is, if he is employed by this facility, it is doing something big. And whoever is in charge will go to literally any lengths to keep it secret."

"You mean to the extent of breaking the law," Annja said.

His only answer was a laugh.

"And you think this mysterious research may have something to do with these monster sightings?"