“Caught the brunt of a rocket blast. Rolled the Berkut.” Yuri nodded toward Kowalski. “Could’ve been worse.”
Kowalski shrugged. “My potshots managed to bobble the trajectory of the first rocket. But its launch-flash offered a perfect target, even for someone snow-blind. Then it was just flames, smoke, and an explosion.”
He mimicked the blast, fanning out his fingers.
Elle failed to entirely follow this; even Tucker frowned.
But Monk interrupted any further inquiry, calling from the back of the truck as he popped the rear gate. “Need help moving Father Bailey.”
They all headed over.
Tucker climbed inside and lifted the priest by his shoulders. Kowalski took his legs. Monk winced as Bailey groaned, thrashing slightly. Blood sprayed through the bandages over his hands. Even in the gloom, the stricken man’s face was ashen, his lips blue-tinged.
“Hold on.” Monk set about tightening the wraps, looking grim as he did so.
“How is he even alive?” Kowalski asked, but he wasn’t referring to the aftermath of the torture. “I thought he drowned back at the buried library.”
Monk shook his head. “Before I sedated him, he explained. When he was flushed down the chimney, the water column below broke his fall. Luckily, it seems the designers of the trap only meant the library to remain flooded for an hour or so. Long enough to drown any trespassers, but limit the risk to the books.”
Elle struggled to follow this story, recognizing there was much she had missed after being captured.
Monk continued, “The water was already draining by the time Bailey fell. He was sucked out of the fireplace by the undertow and managed to find air while it emptied. But he broke his ankle. Took a hard hit tohis head. No way he could try to scale that chimney again. Then soldiers burst inside and grabbed him, hauled him to Sychkin.”
Kowalski winced. “Seichan spotted a Russian squad hightailing it toward the Ringing Tower. Nearly caught her, too. But what about Yelagin?”
Monk shook his head. “Didn’t make it.”
Elle breathed hard, despairing, picturing the elderly bishop.
“And Bailey won’t, either,” Monk warned. “Not unless we can get him to a hospital, to a trauma team.”
Yuri hopped into the truck and waved for Bailey to be lowered back to the cot. Sid jumped in, too. “We can take him. Once you all get airborne, you’ll need to strike immediately for international waters. You’ll have time for nothing else.”
Monk winced. Clearly, he knew Bailey’s care could not wait.
“I can get him to a rural hospital,” Yuri offered. “I still have enough rubles to keep everything quiet. Plus, my boss’s ties with the Russianmafiyawill reinforce that.”
Monk took this all in and came to a fast decision, knowing the priest’s life depended on it. “Do it.”
Still, Monk looked at the plane, then back at Bailey, clearly pulled in two different directions.
Yuri grabbed Monk by the arm, staring hard into his eyes. “I will keep him safe, comrade. Trust me in this. The others will need you. If that bastard Sychkin knows where your friends are...”
Monk took a deep breath, nodded, and drew the Russian into a brief one-armed hug. “Thank you, Yuri.”
With the matter settled, the two parties quickly separated.
Tucker drew alongside Elle. “Go with Yuri. Bogdan can keep you hidden.”
“I’m done hiding,” Elle snapped at him. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m doing it.”
She broke away and strode toward the plane.
Tucker followed, drawing Kane and Marco with him. “Elle...”
“If you’re going with,” she called back to him, “then I’m going, too.”
8:18P.M.
