Jason knew the commander already had. “Where is it?”
Gray pointed toward the panoramic view. “The coordinates mark a spot along the walls that surround the Lavra.”
“If so, that makes sense,” Yelagin said. “It was Ivan the Terrible who, back in the sixteenth century, converted the Lavra’s old wooden palisades into the stone fortifications that stand today.”
“The same Ivan who hid the Golden Library,” Jason added.
Monk pressed Gray. “Butwherealong that wall do those coordinates point to?”
“At one of its twelve watchtowers. TheZvonkovaya Bashnya—or Ringing Tower.” Gray lifted his tablet and tapped at it. “I’ll pull up a picture.”
Once he found one, he passed around his tablet, which showed a stretch of wall with a prominent tower, steepled with what looked like a belfry at the top.
Still playing the skeptic, Monk questioned Gray. “But how can we be certain that’s the place?”
The answer came from Yelagin, who, after viewing the photo, hadreturned to the laptop. “Because of a unique aspect of the Lavra’s towers. All twelve are different—varying in size and shape—depending on their specific use.”
“Why’s that significant?” Monk asked.
“Because it appears someone left us a clue. In case there was any doubt.”
The bishop pointed to a small sketch on the lower right of the page on the screen. It showed a crude sketch of a tower that bore a strong resemblance to the one in the photo. In the foreground, a robed figure—maybe a monk—was drawn running toward it, as if late to ring that steeple’s bell.
“That must be the place,” Gray said.
Monk nodded. “You’ll hear no argument from me.”
About time, Jason thought.
Still, this raised a concern of his own. “Where could someone hide a vast library in that tower? One that’s remained lost for centuries?”
Gray stared out toward the glorious spread of the Trinity Lavra. “Only one way to find out.”
19
May 12, 8:07A.M. MSK
Sergiyev Posad, Russian Federation
Hiking along a trail through the wooded park, Tucker kept an eye on the clutch of black-robed women strolling along another path. Even knowing Seichan was one of the four, he could not pick her out.
The group moved with a silky brush of their robes, and though they kept a decorous stride, they spoke animatedly in Russian, often waving an arm back toward the Lavra’s towering walls behind them or pointing at the spring flowers poking their buds out of the damp soil.
Just tourists appreciating the sights.
Their two routes paralleled each other, both aiming for the next street.
“That’s the place,da?” Yuri whispered next to him. “Up ahead.”
Tucker frowned at the hulking man, not because he was wrong, but because Yuri had been instructed to speak only Russian. They both wore green military fatigues, including matching berets. The plan was to blend in as two soldiers on leave. Yuri accentuated his disguise with a half-empty vodka bottle gripped by its stem.
Tucker had his own accessory to help maintain his cover. He held Kane’s leash. The Russian army employed its own cadre of military working dogs, many of them Malinois. Kane was already wearing his vest, which to the casual eye looked like a stout harness. In addition to the visual look, the presence of Kane went a long way in discouraging any bystanders from approaching too closely or challenging Tucker’sfluency in Russian. A stern nod from him had proved good enough so far.
Tucker responded to Yuri, subvocalizing to demonstrate the throat mike. “Yes, that’s Sychkin’s house directly ahead.”
“Da, o verno,” Yuri whispered, chagrined.
Ahead, at the corner of Ilyinskaya Street, a five-story brick mansion rose above the tree line. It was crowned by a steepled tower with mullioned windows facing the Trinity Lavra. The house sat on an acre of gardens. It had once been adacha, a Russian country home—until eventually, the town grew around it.
