Tucker flashed a signal to Kane. The shepherd rounded to her side, his tail wagging, ears tall. He pranced a bit on his paws.
His antics drew a small smile from the woman. She freed a hand and reached to rub his neck. As she did, the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed.
Watching her, Tucker noted the nametag on the woman’s coveralls. It reminded him of a question that had been nagging him, one he had failed to ask.
“Dr. Stutt—Elle—you’re a research botanist at the city’s gardens. But what were you studying there?”
She brightened as she faced him, clearly happy to talk about her work. “It’s a special interest of mine.”
“Which is what?”
She grinned. “Carnivorous plants.”
Second
7
May 11, 5:07P.M. MSK
Moscow, Russian Federation
Gray rattled his motorcycle through an abandoned construction site that bordered the Moskva River. Other dirt bikes and ATVs sped across piles of sand and rock, using the area as a makeshift motocross track.
He did his best to blend in, riding a Russian-made IMZ Ural. The heavy-duty cycle had been designed for rugged terrain. He had also picked it for another reason. The Urals typically came outfitted with sidecars.
“Ahead of us,” Seichan warned from the neighboring seat. “On the left.”
Gray had spotted it, too, and sped faster. He turned away from the river, sending up a roostertail of dirt behind him. Seichan hunched under the sidecar’s windscreen.
A wooded slope bordered the far edge of the construction site. Above its tree line rose the crumbling red-brick remains of an old fortress wall. A massive round turret—topped by a tall spire—loomed above everything. It was one of the surviving towers of a sixteenth-century monastic fortress. The Simonov Monastery had fallen into disrepair centuries ago. All that was left were sections of deteriorating walls, a trio of towers, and a handful of outbuildings. Attempts at reconstruction and repairs had been sporadic. The site had eventually been given over to the Russian Orthodox Church, where they had refurbished a smallcorner of the sprawling grounds, turning one building into a shrine dedicated to Theotokos of Tikhvin.
That church was their destination.
It matched the address that Tucker had obtained from one of the attempted kidnappers—which made no sense.Why a church? But the spot still had to be checked out, and the timetable was tight, if they were not already too late.
Two hours ago, Gray’s team had landed in Moscow. While in the air, Gray had arranged for him and Seichan to canvass this area. According to what Tucker had overheard, the botanist had been scheduled to be delivered here at noon today.
That was four hours ago.
So even if the address was accurate, whoever had ordered the kidnapping was likely long gone.
Still...
Gray guided his motorcycle along the edge of the wooded slope, then nosed into a break in the forest. He cut the engine, which clicked and tapped as it cooled. He removed his helmet and turned to Seichan.
“Ready?”
She climbed free of the sidecar and tossed her helmet onto her seat. “Let’s get this over with.”
He dismounted, shouldered a small pack, and checked the SIG Sauer secured in a holster under his jacket. The two set off up the slope.
Gray hoped he had something to report to the others.
Back at the airport, Monk and Jason Carter had headed off with Father Bailey to meet with a representative of the Russian church: Bishop Nikil Yelagin. He was the man who had dispatched the doomed researchers into the labyrinth under Moscow. Their goal was threefold: to retrieve the body of Monsignor Borrelli, to establish their bona fides as part of the Vatican’s investigative team, and to circumspectly question Bishop Yelagin.
The other part of their contingent, Tucker and Kowalski, would be arriving in Moscow in another hour. They were traveling from Saint Petersburg aboard a high-speed train, secured in a private car, courtesy of Tucker’s Russian benefactor. It was quicker than flying and lessproblematic, especially with a pair of large shepherds in tow. The group was escorting Dr. Elle Stutt here for safekeeping, accompanied by the security chief of the Russian oligarch.
Gray stared up the slope toward the crumbling fortress wall.
