He yanked out the fob and rushed to the SUV. He flung open the door and threw himself into the front seat. As he did, he radioed Yuri.
“They’re on the run,” he gasped out. “I’m in pursuit.”
With no time to summon Kane, he hit the ignition.
As he did, the other Mercedes next to him growled to life.
He froze for a second, confused.
Then he felt the pistol pressed against the side of his neck.
He stared into the rearview mirror as a pale face rose into view, framed by snowy hair. A dark tattoo stood out sharply.
Valya reached around and ripped off his throat mike. “Drive,” she said. “If you hope to find where the others are going. Or die here.”
Tucker had no trouble making this choice. He shifted the vehicle into gear and headed away.
The other Mercedes paced him across the lot. A scarred figure with adark ponytail sat behind the wheel. He imagined the two women must have secured the second fobs to these Mercedes—and turned both vehicles into traps.
And I jumped right into one.
Valya leaned close as Tucker made the turn onto the street.
“You’re not who I had hoped to catch,” she said. “But you’ll do for now.”
23
May 12, 9:07A.M. MSK
Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius, Russian Federation
Jason continued through his assigned section of the wine cellar’s labyrinth. Sister Anna accompanied him. Twenty minutes ago, the team had broken off into pairs, all carrying flashlights.
Not that we’re making any progress.
Crossing into the next chamber, he swept his beam around. He searched the walls, floor, and roof for any sign of a hidden library. Across the back of the space, splashes of graffiti glowed under his flashlight, shining in neon yellows, blues, and crimson.
Anna huffed her disapproval.
This wasn’t the first sign of trespassers. There were piles of trash everywhere: broken bottles, crushed cans, crumpled bags. In one chamber, a stained mattress had been left behind, surely harboring an unknown number of STDs. More disturbing, in one cavern, someone had spread a set of matryoshka dolls—Russian nesting dolls—across a row of niches, with their faces all painted into leering, fanged demons.
Down in these shadowy caves, Jason had shuddered at the macabre sight.
While the grounds above might be sacred, there’s nothing holy down here.
As the two continued, with each chamber failing to offer any clues, tension slowly built.
Jason tried to break it, asking a question that he had wondered about. “Sister Anna, your name... did you pick it when you became a nun?”
“I’m still a novice,” she reminded him. “I’ll take my formal vows next month. But, yes, I could change my name—and I did.”
He glanced toward her, not sure if it was polite to ask his next question.
She smiled and answered anyway. “My given name was Iskra, which I was never fond of anyway.”
“Iskra?”
Her smile widened. “I know. My parents wanted both their children’s names to begin with the letter I.”
