Mera Teale is dressed in full Satanic robes.
Not even Christian Lacroix could have designed a garment more sensuous than her silver-lined black alba. Though the Glock in her hand seems an excessive fashion accessory. Tom notes it's in her left hand. For a split second he remembers Carvalho's description in the morgue of how Monica had probably been killed by a left-handed person.
A male acolyte steps towards Tom. 'Hold out your hands.'
Eyes glued to the gun, he does as demanded.
The black-hooded disciple loops a sturdy plastic tie around Tom's wrists and begins to thread the end into the locking hoop.
It provides the split-second distraction that Tom needs. He breaks his hands apart, grabs the guy's arm and swings him like an Olympic hammer towards Teale.
There's a deafening roar.
Blood splatters Tom's face. The window behind him splinters.
Teale's shot has gone straight through the acolyte's chest. Tom drops to the ground. Sweeps a left-footed kick at the side of her knee.
She goes down like a snapped cane.
The gun drops free. He grabs it and glances at the barred window. Maybe, just maybe, he can use his weight and force his way through.
There's no hesitation in his run. He hits the centre of the window with a deafening crash. The old wooden frame buckles. The central iron bar slams into his shoulder and pain roars through the side of his head.
The strength of his leap and the weight of his body have broken the top of the bar free from the concrete lintel and it's given way, but the bottom of the bar has held firm.
He's stuck there.
Stranded.
Half in, half out of the window.
He glances back. Two other black-caped figures are now in the room and they have guns.
Tom raises Teale's Glock and pulls the trigger.
His shots are wide and wild. They zing across the walls but don't hit anyone. But they buy him enough time to twist around on the iron bar and heave his weight down on the metal.
It jerks and bends, then finally gives way.
He tumbles backwards and hits the ground with a thud that thumps the wind out of him.
Glass is stuck in his face. His shoulder is ripped and bleeding.
And he's dropped the gun.
The grass around him is long and time to search dangerously short.
He has no choice but to leave it.