by Alex Archer
Vlad caught her staring.
“Academy of Oceanography,” he said, indicating the double doors leading off the platform. A change came over his expression. “Hall of Experimentation.”
Hefting his gear, he led them inside.
Within moments it was apparent to Annja that the mosaic was some witty designer’s way of trying to put lipstick on a pig. The Academy of Oceanography’s vaulted Hall of Experimentation was little better than a workshop of horrors. It had been more than forty years since the facility had been operational and much of the interior had been cleaned out, but even from what was left Annja could see that the normal measures of oceanographic study were far removed from what had gone on here.
They passed through a massive preservation room that still contained a number of specimens in oversize jars of formaldehyde, floating in their tanks. The lights of their headlamps reflected off the glass and created the illusion that the specimens were moving inside the tanks, turning the place into a carnival sideshow of creepiness.
Annja couldn’t wait to get out of there.
According to Vlad’s information, there was supposed to be an exit to the tunnels inside one of the back offices. Sure enough, they found a gaping hole knocked into a wall at the exact location indicated. Vlad stuck his head inside the tunnel, looked around and pronounced it “Perfect.”
Given what they’d experienced so far on their search for the lost library, Annja was starting to believe that “perfect” was a code word for “brace yourselves.” But she was more than happy to leave the Academy of Oceanography and all its strange specimens behind. Even the grime of a three-hundred-year-old tunnel seemed preferable to that.
Chapter 35
They fell into the same pattern they’d established underground previously—Vlad in front, sniffing out the trail, Annja in back, protecting the rear, and the less experienced Gianni in the middle.
Vlad was still working from his notes, the recollections of a close friend who was no longer with them, he confided, and so the going was steady but slow. The tunnels were an odd mix of eras, from the brick-lined passages put together by Catherine the Great’s work crews to the steel-reinforced corridors that were filled with the detritus of the Cold War.
They had been walking for half an hour when they emerged from an earthen tunnel to find themselves standing in the middle of a corridor that reminded Annja of a supersecret laboratory straight out of a cheesy science-fiction flick. A series of reinforced steel doors on either side of the corridor were arranged in a staggered sequence. Each had a thick plate-glass window set in it. In those cheesy movies, the windows were to allow whatever was on the opposite side to be viewed from the corridor without opening the door.
Vlad barely noticed, but Gianni couldn’t resist satisfying his curiosity. He edged up to one of the doors, looked through the window and promptly recoiled, hurrying down the hall in Vlad’s wake.
After witnessing Gianni’s odd reaction, Annja stepped up to see for herself.
It didn’t appear all that extraordinary to her. Just a lab workroom, like any other, though one that seemed to have been suspended in the sixties. An old rotary telephone hung on the wall near the door and Annja noticed that there was a corresponding space for one on her side, too. Lockers lined one side of the room, a wooden bench bolted to the floor in front of them and she could see an old-style chemical protection suit hanging in one of the lockers that was open.
Then she saw the corpse.
He sat in a chair in front of a steel desk on the far side of the room, his head tilted forward on his chest as if he’d fallen asleep. His face and flesh had shriveled so badly that he looked like one of those shrunken-head dolls during Halloween. On the table in front of him was an open container half-full of strange blue crystals. A pile of those same crystals sat on the table in front of him.
Accident? Suicide? Annja couldn’t tell.
She understood Gianni’s reaction, though. There was something very unsettling about the scene, a sense of catastrophe only narrowly avoided.
She intentionally did not try the handle, then hurried to catch up with the others.
Farther down the tunnel they encountered a series of seven chambers, each once covered entirely with painted murals that shouted of a time and an age long passed. Blue guitars danced beside red mushrooms through a field of musical notes, rainbows and unicorns, smiling sun faces, even slogans like Groovy and Peace and I Love John Lennon.
The lights on their headlamps grew a bit dimmer and Vlad made them stop to exchange their old batteries for new ones. They took the time to drink some water, as well. Staying hydrated was important, they all knew.
After a five-minute break they continued.
Just a few more minutes brought them to the entrance of a bunker that must have been able to hold at least three thousand people. The sight of it put a smile on Vlad’s face.
He pointed to the rock above their heads. “Cathedral of Christ the Savior. Destroyed by Bolsheviks in 1930s. Very close to destination now.”
Ten minutes later the tunnel opened up before them, revealing three new passageways. Only one of them showed up on the map. Because it was hand-drawn and therefore not to scale, they didn’t know which of the three the map depicted.
It was as good a reason as any to call a rest break. The three slumped to the ground, weary after the long hike through the tunnels and battling giant Russians and speeding trains. Annja sipped from her water bottle as she studied the three routes.
Her first inclination was to take the middle one, but that was just human nature, a built-in need to make everything even, to have it all be balanced in the end. Neither of the other two routes looked noticeably different, however, and it was going to be difficult choosing between them.
That’s when she saw it.
Over the entrance to the tunnel someone had carved a crude representation of a dog’s head next to a broom. She had to squint to see it, and she might have passed both carvings off as a trick of the rock, a result of natural formations rather than intentional design, if it weren’t for what she knew of Ivan’s secret police. Often called the “Czar’s Dogs,” they’d used the severed head of a dog lying next to a broom as a symbol of their strength and omnipresence.
Annja got up, poured a little water on her hand and wiped down the symbols. With the dust forced out of their grooves, the shapes stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the rock.
“Good, Annja!” Vlad cried, staring up in delight at her cleverness.
Annja was rather pleased with herself, too, truth be told. Fioravanti and his crew probably knew the tunnels well enough after a few weeks to move about without the help of any kind of markers. But she remembered from Fioravanti’s journal that Czar Ivan had assigned squads of the Oprichniki to watch over the crew as they got close to the end and being underground had probably frightened them considerably. Not wanting to get lost in the maze, some enterprising Oprichniki soldier had clearly carved a symbol over the mouth of the tunnel.
“If my instincts are right,” Annja said to the others, “we should have circumvented the cave-in at this point and reconnected with Fioravanti’s original route. We shouldn’t be far from the location of the vault. Not far at all.”
Before anyone could respond, armed men rushed out of the darkness and surrounded them.
Chapter 36
Vlad tried to resist but quickly had his feet kicked out from under him and a gun shoved in his face. That was enough to keep them from resisting further.
The newcomers were dressed in just the same fashion as the armed men they had encountered back at the former KGB training center in Ramenskoye. Annja wasn’t surprised to see their scar-faced leader emerge from a nearby tunnel seconds after she and her companions were secured.
What was surprising was the fact that he was accompanied by an older man who appeared to wear a colonel’s decoration.
The newcomer wasted no time in getting down to business.
“
Ah, Miss Creed. So good to make your acquaintance,” he said in a voice that reminded Annja of the snake-oil salesmen she’d encountered in the Quarter when she was a young girl in New Orleans.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in faultless English. “I am Colonel Viktor Goshenko of the Russian Federal Security Service.”
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and indicated with his outstretched hand the scar-faced commando she’d tried to shoot in the underground facility in Ramenskoye. “And this is Sergeant Danislov, who I think you’ve already met.”
Goshenko ordered the captives to their feet and, given the number of guns that were pointed in their direction, they chose not to argue.
“I understand that one of you has a map,” Goshenko said. “If that map were to be handed over to me without argument in the next thirty seconds, I would guarantee you could walk away from here with your lives intact. Provided, of course, you never speak of this again.”
Vlad said something in Russian, which Annja didn’t catch. But apparently Danislov did. It must not have been flattering, because the sergeant wandered over and kicked Vlad solidly three times in the ribs. With all those guns pointed at him, Vlad had no choice but to stand and take it. If he tried to fight back, they most likely would have shot him on the spot.
Goshenko calmly waited until his henchman was finished, then addressed the captives once more. “No takers? Are you sure? We’re going to find that map, anyway, one way or another.”
Annja didn’t like the sound of that, but still, she wasn’t about to admit that she even knew what he was talking about, never mind give up the map.
How the hell did he know it existed in the first place? she wondered.
She found the answer to that in the next moment when Goshenko turned to Gianni and asked, “Who has the map?”
Gianni pointed to Annja. “She does. Would you like me to get it for you? I know exactly where she keeps it.”
Annja could only stare at him. He must have been feeding them information all along, which would explain how they knew to come looking for them at the hotel and then again down in the tunnels beneath the university. Even while Annja and Vlad were plotting an alternate route to get to the treasure, Gianni must have been filling his superiors in on their plans and preparing to have them intercepted.
Like now.
“Turn the library over to the people of Russia?” Gianni mocked. “Are you insane? Do you think I went through all the trouble to get that windbag Davies on board to finance this search only to allow you to come along and let it all slip through my fingers? There are buyers who would pay millions just for a single book from that library, never mind several major volumes.”
Gianni turned away in disgust and looked back at Goshenko. The colonel shook his head and then advanced on Annja.
“We have two options at this point,” he said softly. “Option one. You can give up the map of your own accord. Or two, I can order my men to hold you down and search you until they find it. I assure you the first will be far more pleasant than the second.”
With no real choice before her, Annja gave up the map.
Goshenko, Danislov and Gianni moved just inside the entrance to the next section of tunnel to study it, leaving Vlad and Annja surrounded by several armed guards.
They tried to talk to each other at first, but one of the guards threatened to club them into unconsciousness if they didn’t keep their mouths shut.
That didn’t stop them from communicating, however.
Vlad looked at her once, pointedly, then stared for a moment at the set of guards standing a few feet away from her. He looked at her again to make sure she was watching, then glanced down at himself once before looking over at the guards standing close to him.
The message was simple enough.
We’re getting out of here. You take out those guys over there, I get these guys over here, and then we’ll deal with whatever happens next.
Annja thought it was a marvelous plan.
If they could find a way to make Gianni pay for his treachery in the process, it would be even better.
Vlad had no intention of waiting around for the perfect moment, it seemed. After glancing at the tunnel entrance, he surged to his feet, roaring like an enraged grizzly bear.
Given his size and strength, Annja thought that an apt description, indeed. Their captors hadn’t bothered to secure them in any way, perhaps believing that two unarmed people would never be stupid enough to attack armed personnel. That proved to be a big mistake, as Vlad was up and moving before they could respond.
Vlad was looking to cause as much pain and misery as he could before they managed to cut him down. He started with the man standing the closest to him, lifting his foot and driving the tip of his steel-toed size-thirteen boot directly between the guard’s legs.
The man hit the ground like a sack of rice.
Vlad was already moving forward, reaching out with those big mitts of his and slamming the next two men’s heads together with a resounding crack.
Two sets of hands were always better than one.
Leaping up, she lunged toward the nearest of her captors even as she called her sword to hand. That first man died before he realized what was happening, as Annja buried three feet of tempered steel into his chest.
She snatched the man’s gun from his hand as he was falling beneath her attack, shouted, “Vlad!” and tossed it underhand in her partner’s direction. Then she was too busy dealing with two more of the Russian soldiers to see what happened next.
The sudden appearance of a broadsword in her hands had shocked the guards immobile for a moment. But now their minds were catching up with what their eyes were telling them and their hands were starting to obey commands. Namely, “Shoot her!”
Lucky for Annja the men’s tactical discipline was poor. They had been standing bunched together in a tight little group, which made it easier for her to deal with them swiftly before they had time to bring their deadlier weaponry to bear.
After tossing the gun to Vlad, Annja dove forward, releasing the sword as she went, tucking her body into a ball and crossing the distance between her and the next gunman. He was still trying to track her when she came out of her somersault on one knee, swinging her arm around, the sword once more in hand.
The blade caught the second gunman under the ear and continued all the way out the other side of his neck with only a moment’s hesitation when it encountered his spine.
But the third man was going to be more difficult. He was backing away as he brought his gun up, increasing the distance between them, and there was no way Annja could get to him before he could line her up in his sights. The smile spreading across his face indicated that he’d realized this, as well.
Annja brought her sword back over her shoulder and whipped it forward, sending it speeding through the air to drill itself through the back of his throat, cutting him off in midshout. With his spinal column severed, there was nothing he could do but bleed out on the floor at her feet.
Gunfire erupted behind her and she turned to see Vlad exchange shots with two of the other Russians from Danislov’s group. She knew the moment a bullet from one of the enemy’s weapons winged him in the hip, when he grunted and sagged slightly on that side. But that didn’t stop him from bringing up the weapon Annja had tossed him and putting down both men with short bursts of controlled fire.
That’s when Danislov came stalking across the room, pointing his gun at Vlad’s unprotected back.
“No!” Annja screamed as she charged forward, trying to intercept what was coming but knowing in her heart that it wouldn’t make a difference. That she’d never make it in time.
Her scream brought Vlad twisting about and his eyes widened as he saw who was coming toward him across the empty space of the room.
The weapon in Danislov’s hand went off three times.
The gunshots had a nasty, final sound to them, or at least it seemed that way to Annja as she watched each of t
hem unerringly find their target.
Vlad.
The bullets punched into his chest, jerking him backward with each blow as blood fountained into the air.
Twenty-five feet.
Twenty.
Danislov’s attention was still on Vlad as he crumbled to the ground.
Fifteen feet.
Twelve.
Now!
She leaped, the sword drawn back over her head, ready to come down in a savage blow, a scream of rage bursting from her mouth.
Almost casually, Danislov swung his arm about and pointed the gun in her face.
The open barrel seemed impossibly large right up to the moment Danislov pulled the trigger.
Chapter 37
Annja Creed fell in an ungraceful heap at the feet of Sergeant Danislov. Goshenko’s man stood there, arm outstretched, gun pointed at the Creed woman’s head, but he didn’t find cause to use it again. She didn’t move.
“Nicely done,” Goshenko told him as he stepped into the room, genuinely pleased to have such a difficult individual as Creed silenced at last. He thought for a minute of having her body brought topside, possibly even paraded as a spy, but decided against it. It was too much work and might raise too many questions about what she’d been doing down here in the tunnels. No, better to just dispose of her and that pain-in-the-ass self-stylized explorer Vikofsky down here in the dark. Where the only thing that might ever stumble on them would be the insects that ate their decaying flesh.
The colonel watched as Danislov bent over the woman’s body. At first he thought the other man was feeling for a pulse, but then he came away with something small and red in his hand. He passed it to Goshenko.
It was the tracking device the traitor has slipped onto the back of her fireman’s jacket hours before during the confrontation in the old KGB training center. Working with Travino had been a smart move. There was no way any of his men could have gotten close enough to plant that tracker on Creed, and without it they wouldn’t have been able to hang so far behind them through the tunnels.