The group parted, and another figure pushed forward, clearly their leader.
The figure marched up to him, drawing nose to nose with him. “Where is the library?”
Alex quailed back—not from the threat, but from the raw venomin that voice. He stared at the ice blue eyes above the drape of cloth. He was shocked to realize his interrogator was a woman.
He pushed down his shock and stammered, “I don’t know what—”
The woman silenced him with a flick of her wrist. A steel blade appeared in her fingertips as if out of thin air. “I’ve been paid well to find the truth.”
The point of her dagger lifted his chin and freed his tongue.
“We... we found a chamber,” he admitted, aghast at how quickly word must have spread about Vadim’s discovery. “A vault. With trunks of books. But it was booby trapped. The whole place collapsed. We barely got out alive.”
Her gaze shifted to what he clutched to his chest. “But not empty-handed, it seems.”
He pulled the book tighter. He couldn’t help from doing so, though it likely hinted at its value. “It’s an old Greek text. All I could grab. But it’s only of academic value.”
She reached and ripped the book from his hands. “We shall see about that.”
He tried to snatch it back, but it was to no avail. It only made her eyes narrow suspiciously.
She pressed him, “And there was no evidence the collection below was connected to the Golden Library.”
“None at all,” he lied.
She huffed heavily and swung away. Her arm waved back as if dismissing him—but a sharp line of fire ignited across his throat. “Then you’re of no use to me.”
A hot dampness poured down his chest. It was only then that he realized her dagger had sliced deep under his chin. Shocked, he coughed more blood. As he was released, he fell to his hands and knees. His heart pounded hard. Agony flared in his chest. Pain narrowed his sight.
“No...” he choked out.
His captors ignored him, stepping past him.
He reached into his pocket, clawed out his phone, and cradled his body low over it. He tried to hide his efforts as he tapped and swiped rapidly. Blood pooled on the red bricks under him.
Before darkness could overwhelm him, he struck the last button, an address. He heard the whoosh of the text as it sent off a cache of photos. They were pictures he had taken on the stairs with Igor’s help.
Alex’s efforts were finally noted—whether from the noise or the shine of the screen.
The woman lunged back toward him, knocked him over, and grabbed the phone. She cursed thickly in Russian. The vehemence made her underlings lurch back.
Alex let his head fall to the cold bricks. His gaze drifted to the shining golden cupola of the Ivan the Great Bell Tower, which still glowed brightly against the purple sky. The tower was a monument to Ivan III, whose grandson—Ivan the Terrible—hid the treasure that led to so many deaths this day.
The library must be indeed cursed...
Darkness finally snuffed out the golden torch, taking the world with it. Still, Alex took solace in his final act. The new prefect of the Vatican Archives had given him an address to text in case of emergency. It came with no name, not even a number, just a symbol.
A single Greek letter, which Alex took to be providential.
He pictured it as he took his last breath, praying it was significant.
∑
2
May 10, 4:17P.M. EDT
Washington, D.C.
