Kane—who had lived for the past eight months with his new brother, eating, sleeping, playing, and training with the young Malinois—knew Marco’s scent as well as he did Tucker’s.
With this confirmation, Tucker continued past the gate. Kane followed with him, but the shepherd glanced over a shoulder with the faintest rumble of complaint.
Right there with you, brother.He patted Kane.Don’t worry, we’re not leaving Marco behind.
Tucker radioed Seichan. “They’re here. Kane caught Marco’s scent, like I told you he would. I’ll meet you at—”
She cut him off. “Stay in position.”
Tucker slowed as he reached the mouth of the back alley. “Why?”
“Sister Uliana suggested we make a house call.”
“Why?”
“To go begging for funds for their convent. Apparently, they do that a lot. It seems little of that new orthodox money ends up with them. They’ve approached Sychkin in the past and been rebuffed. So, what’s one more attempt?”
Tucker balked. “We were told to back off after we had confirmation.”
He could almost hear Seichan shrug. “This will give me a chance to look inside. Assess the security and manpower. Until then, stay close.”
He didn’t have to askwhyagain.
He motioned to Yuri and drew him into the alley.
“Chto sluchilos’?” Yuri asked, remembering to speak Russian this time.
From the security chief’s worried expression, the translation was easy.
What’s wrong?
Tucker tried to stare through the brick wall and mansion to its front stoop.
“We’re about to find out.”
8:32 a.m.
Seichan climbed the steps toward a wide stone porch. She followed behind Uliana, Maria, and Natalia and kept her head bowed.
It was Sister Uliana—a scrappy seventy-two-year-old—who had suggested this course of action. Seichan had balked at involving them,but Uliana had waved away her concern with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. The other two had nodded vigorously in agreement. While still paranoid, Seichan had sensed no deception in these women, only impish glee.
They must really detest Sychkin... or maybe they watchedThe Sound of Musictoo many times.
Regardless of the reason, Seichan wanted a peek inside—and not just with her eyes. She also palmed a matte-black spherical listening device. If given the opportunity, she would roll it across the threshold into a dark corner of the mansion’s vestibule. While her team had secured the mansion’s floorplans, the blueprints offered no intel on the level of security inside.
Time to find out.
Uliana led their brigade through the garden gate and up to the front doors, which were carved out of oak, patinaed darkly by age, and studded in iron. The nun pressed a buzzer. Chimes echoed out to them.
As they waited, Seichan noted a security camera and kept her face turned away. She shifted closer to the hinges and stayed behind Natalia’s shoulders.
Loud footsteps reached them through the thick wood. A moment later, the door swung open. A huge figure filled the doorway, blocking the view. The giant was dressed in an ankle-length black cassock, the same as he had been wearing before, but he had shed his cap, showing black hair shorn in a pious tonsure. His exposed scalp formed the shape of a cross.
Even Uliana knew the commanding figure. “Brother Yerik,” she greeted him in Russian, offering a slight bow. “I see from the limo that the Reverend Archpriest Sychkin has graced our town once again. We were hoping to beseech his generosity. Our need has grown most dire.”
Seichan tried not to roll her eyes.
Yerik merely stared under heavy brows. The left side of his face and neck were scarred and pocked from an old burn. Seichan had heard about his past with an apocalyptic cult. His small black eyes took in the women, showing little regard for them. He lifted a palm, plainly telling them to remain on the stoop.
