Gray grimaced. “Which dovetails into this wholeRusskii Mirtheology tied to the Tikhvin Icon. So, I can see why this lost continent philosophy would appeal to Sychkin.”
Yelagin sighed. “But do not be dismissive. Dugin’s books that expound upon this ideology—Foundations of GeopoliticsandFourth Political Theory—are studied and taught at our country’s military and political science academies. The current regime in Moscow uses his philosophies to support its ambitions to expand our borders—into Crimea, into Ukraine.”
Gray struggled to accept this. “All because Dugin believes your people came from this mythical continent?”
“Myths can move mountains,” Anna whispered.
“As can faith when it comes to the Tikhvin Icon,” Yelagin added. “And whether the continent is myth or not, the Arkangel Society—an eclectic gathering of scientists, philosophers, religious figures—seeks to find proof to support Dugin’s assertions.”
As Gray stared across the spread of pages, a cold dread crept into him. He knew how heated the Arctic had become of late, and not just in terms of warming temperatures and thawing ice. Russia was reopening dozens of old Soviet bases along its northern coast and building new ones. Additionally, they were constructing hundreds of ice-hardened warships and training brigades of soldiers for fighting in the frigid, ice-choked seas.
Other nations were only beginning to take note of this aggressive posturing, ratcheting up tensions. The entire Arctic was a cold powder keg waiting for a match. One misstep and the next global war could erupt.
Gray remembered Yelagin’s words from a moment ago.
Whether the continent is myth or not...
Even if Hyperborea wasn’t real, just thesearchfor the place in an area that volatile could be the flaming match that triggers Dugin’s apocalyptic war.
And if that continent were ever discovered...
The result could be much worse. It would destabilize the region’s fragile geopolitical landscape, wiping out established borders betweenArctic nations, blurring others. And considering the area’s vast untapped wealth, war over those resources would be inevitable.
And Russia has already set up the groundwork to win that icy battle.
From Yelagin’s pallid features, he also recognized the danger to the world. His next words grew defeated. “I suspect Sychkin first employed Valya Mikhailov to simply secure the book, hoping it might be a clue to the Golden Library. There have long been rumors that Ivan the Terrible hid the collection because it contained mystical black arts that could help Russia rise as a supreme Earthly power. That alone would have drawn the archpriest’s interest.”
Monk pointed to Bailey’s pages. “After securing the book, he must’ve read those same passages that you just did.”
Yelagin stroked his fingers through his gray beard. “I think he believes—and maybe rightly so—that the Golden Library holds the key to unlocking this mystery, to revealing the location of Hyperborea. That’s why he has grown so brazen.” The bishop looked across the table, to the woman who had remained silent through all of this. “Brazen enough to order the kidnapping of a Russian botanist.”
All eyes turned her way.
Dr. Stutt looked aghast, as confused as all of them. “But why me? What do I have to do with all of this? With a lost continent?”
Gray answered as he stared at the spread of photos, “I think I may know.”
12
May 11, 9:28P.M. MSK
Moscow, Russian Federation
Valya appreciated having friends in high places. It had been Sychkin who had alerted her to where Sigma was holed up in Moscow. Unfortunately, he had refused to sayhowhe had come by such knowledge.
Still, it was an opportunity she would not waste.
From her lofty vantage on the fifteenth floor of a housing complex, she continued to surveil the Apostolic Nunciature. The Vatican embassy squatted on the far side of a parking lot.
As she kept vigil, waiting for her team to get into position, her fist tightened on the knife in her hand. Behind her, the apartment’s original occupants—an elderly couple—lay dead in their bloody bed. Valya had meticulously cleaned her blade afterward. The polishing ritual normally calmed her, but her heartbeat still pounded in her throat.
Frustration kept her on edge. The trap she had laid at the Simonov Monastery had failed to capture or kill her targets.
I will not repeat that mistake again.
Through an earpiece, she monitored the chatter of her assault team. It would not be much longer. She had confirmed her targets were inside the building. An hour ago, she had spied upon a group that had arrived at the embassy’s gate. She identified one of them as a Sigma operative. They were met by another who ushered them inside. The group was escorting the Russian botanist whose kidnapping had been thwarted.
Valya hoped to correct that failing, too.
