What does a botanist have to do with any of this?
Her kidnapping could be unrelated—except for one intriguing detail. Gray had been pondering it ever since Tucker had reported in. It was one of the reasons Gray had headed directly here.
“There’s scaffolding to the right,” Seichan reported.
He looked to where she pointed and nodded. The watchtower—the Bashnya Dulo—was in the midst of a restoration. According to legend, it had gained its name after an invading Dulo khan was slain by an arrow fired from an upper tower window.
Now, the structure was circled by planks, ladders, and metal scaffolds.
As they drew closer, the need for repairs grew obvious. The steeple had already been restored, but the red-brick façade had huge cracks running from foundation to roofline. In an attempt to protect it, steel rings had been secured around its circumference, corseting it all together.
Gray climbed the last of the distance, but he paused at the edge of the woods. The tower and its steeple rose fifteen stories. He removed a small pair of binocs from his pack and scanned those heights. By now, all the construction workers should have left for the day. Still, he wanted to be certain there was no watchman left behind.
Then again, what’s there to guard?
He kept a vigil for five minutes, until an exasperated sigh rose from his side. Seichan passed him and headed toward the nearest ladder. She mounted it and quickly scaled upward. Gray hurried to keep up with her. Upon reaching the third landing—which rose to the height of the flanking walls—they clambered across its planks to the tower’s far side.
A panoramic view opened up.
Behind them, the curving expanse of the Moskva River swept off into the distance, its waters turned a rosy silver by the glare of the low sun. Ahead, the breadth of the monastic fortress revealed itself.The southern wall stretched ahead of their position, interrupted by two more watchtowers. A small park lay outside it to the right, but the grounds inside the walls lay steeped in shadows.
Directly ahead and nearly as tall as the tower stood a five-story outbuilding. Its red-brick exterior was lined by rows of windows—mostly toothed by broken glass. From his study of the layout, he knew the dilapidated structure was the monastery’s old “malter,” or dyehouse, one of the oldest industrial buildings in Moscow.
For Gray and Seichan, it would serve as the perfect observation post.
Fifty yards beyond the dyehouse, the Theotokos of Tikhvin Church rose in all its majesty, one of the prime examples of Moscow Naryshkin Baroque. Its series of red-brick wings and stories were decorated with white limestone pillars and fanciful pediments, all roofed in blue-gray slate.
Gray studied the structure.
Why bring a botanist here?
The two set off down the tower’s scaffolding and into the thick shadows of the grounds. They hurried toward the rear of the dyehouse, keeping the building between them and the church. They reached a broken-out window in the lowest level and ducked inside, cautious of the sharp shards that rimmed the opening.
“Now what?” Seichan asked, her voice frustrated.
He understood why. The interior of the old malting house had fallen into ruin, far worse than the exterior had suggested. Inside, the floors had collapsed across several levels, creating a labyrinth of broken beams, ribbed joists, and gaping holes. The nearby staircase was a pile of stone rubble, though someone had left a rickety ladder that looked as if it could have been original to the building.
Gray nodded toward it. “We’ll get as high as we can.”
They continued upward through the building, chasing a scurry of rats ahead of them. A few pigeons took flight with a flutter of wings and a pebbling of droppings. The place stank of urine and rotting wood.
“You sure know how to spoil a lady,” Seichan whispered as they finally reached the fourth floor.
“I pick only the best places for you, sweetheart.” Gray wiped a drape of sticky webbing from his face, then pointed ahead. “That window should offer a good enough vantage.”
He feared going any higher. While this level was mostly intact, the floor had buckled with age. Still, they reached the window safely. Its jamb was empty of glass, but rusty bars had been sealed over the opening.
Gray took a deep breath of fresh air.
Seichan simply scowled.
From this high vantage, the view allowed them to spy on three sides of the church, which was circled by a narrow road and a small parking lot. Any closer approach would leave them exposed and in the open. The plan was to assess the area for anything suspicious and proceed accordingly.
“We’re clearly too late,” Seichan said. “Assuming this is even the right place.”
Gray sighed, unable to argue. The tiny parking lot was empty. The only person in sight was a lone elderly man who swept the front steps with a broom. While some exterior lamps glowed in the shadows, the church’s windows remained dark.
Gray passed a pair of binoculars to Seichan. “We’ll keep watch for a half hour. If there’s no sign of any activity, we can move in, circle the church once to be sure—then head back to meet Tucker’s group.”
