“It could be,” Anna admitted.
Monk cast his flashlight’s beam around. “If so, then they must have believed in communal living. It’s a regular maze down here.”
Other limestone caves—or wine grottos—extended in every direction, spreading past the reach of their lights.
“If we hope to search this place in a timely manner,” Gray said, “we’ll have to—”
“Don’t say it,” Monk pleaded with him.
Gray ignored him. “We’ll have to split up.”
Gray checked his watch and looked upward, remembering his team wasn’t the only one on a mission. He imagined that Seichan and Tucker must have completed their canvass of Sychkin’s mansion by now, but he had no way to confirm. Their radios had lost signal after descending into the wine cellars.
He stared toward the maze.
I hope they’re having better luck than us.
21
May 12, 8:44A.M. MSK
Sergiyev Posad, Russian Federation
Kowalski cringed as an alarm blared throughout the mansion. The sound ate into his skull—which still felt cracked after being battered inside the trash bin last night. It had left him bruised all over. His neck still had a throbbing kink to it.
He grimaced and rose from his cell’s cot. He did his best to shrug off his aches and pains.
Eh, I’ve had worse hangovers.
Knowing something was wrong, he stepped over to the metal door. A tiny, barred window allowed him to peek out into the next room. When he had been hauled down here in the wee hours of the morning, along with Elle and Marco, he had done his best to get his bearings. He had noted a boiler room, running with copper pipes, then they had descended another level, to some subbasement dungeon, maybe part of a secret S&M club.
The latter was suggested by the handcuffs hanging from chains bolted to the wall.
At least, I hope it’s a sex club.
Out in the hallway, a broad-shouldered man in a black suit guarded the steps that led up to the boiler level. The bulge under his jacket left no question that he was armed. The siren finally cut off, replaced by muffled gunfire echoing from above.
A trio of figures came rushing down. Two were cloaked and cassocked: a thin man with a prominent black beard and a hulking scar-faced giant.
The third was well known.
Valya Mikhailov scowled, her pale face darkening with anger. She carried her left arm in a sling, her shoulder heavily bandaged.
Someone must’ve tagged her.
Kowalski could guess who. Prior to the attack on the embassy, he remembered spotting Seichan slipping off and heading to the neighboring apartment building.
Once in the room, Valya grabbed the arm of the older robed figure. “Sychkin, I warned you. You should’ve let me bring in more of my team.”
“No need.” The man spoke with a calm assurance. “We’re barricaded down here. My security team will deal with the intruders. Plus, we have a contingency plan already in place.”
Another five men, all dressed in dark suits, rushed down the steps behind them. They were accompanied by a tall, muscular woman in motorcycle leathers. Her dark hair was drawn back in a ponytail. A thin scar ran across one cheek, from hairline to chin.
Sychkin turned to the cassocked giant, speaking in clipped Russian. Kowalski heard the nameYerik, and though he couldn’t follow the rest, it was clear the man was being ordered to move the prisoners.
Yerik turned to the men and signed to them—which was weird, as the giant had clearly understood his boss, so he wasn’t deaf. Maybe mute? No matter, the crew clearly understood, likely having worked with Yerik in the mansion. Pistols were pulled from holsters, and a pair of guards strode toward the next cell. The grating slide of a bar could be heard as the neighboring door was unlocked.
A threatening growl followed.
