“Wow,” Rebecca commented as Lopez tried to maneuver around a clump of pedestrians that had spilled over from the sidewalk. “The Russians take their V-Day seriously.”
Talli nodded. “They had way more on the line during World War II. They didn’t come to the ‘aid’ of the Allies. They had been fighting for the existence of their country for years. The Russians lost over twenty-eight million people to the Nazis.”
“I didn’t realize,” Rebecca said, scanning the boisterous crowd with more appreciation.
Most didn’t. There was a very real reason the Russians worried if any other country’s military exceeded theirs. The Nazis had taught them a hard-won lesson. And now Brandt and his team were here, right smack dab in the middle of all the makings of an international incident.
Adding to the delays, the event’s organizers were still trying to get all of the military equipment out of Red Square from the day’s earlier events. A truck pulling a large missile turned in front of them. It felt like Russia was giving them a big fat warning. Nothing says don’t mess with my country better than a big fat missile. Up ahead it looked like a flatbed with a fighter jet. Each moving at the speed of a snail.
While the day had been dedicated to their war accomplishments and showing off to the world their military might, tonight was about celebrating their victory. Brandt had never seen the commemoration party—the Russians had just started to allow foreign soldiers to attend last year—but it supposedly surpassed New Year’s Eve in New York. There would be bands, a DJ, and then fireworks. The whole shebang. Red Square would be crammed with people into the early morning hours.
“What do you want me to do, Sarge?” Lopez asked.
Brandt glanced to Rebecca.
“What did you teach me?” she asked.
He cocked his head, uncertain what Rebecca meant.
“If you can’t beat ’em?” she said with a smile.
Join them.
CHAPTER 11
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Moscow, Russia
9:59 p.m. GMT
Rebecca stepped from the steamy shower of their suite at the Baltschug Kempinski. With its gold-trimmed handles and silk curtains, the hotel was the finest luxury in Russia. Of course it was owned by Swedes, but hey as least it had enough hot water to finally wash the smell of not-all-that-well-refrigerated meat from her hair.
When she had suggested that they blend in with the crowd as tourists, she never imagined that Brandt would actually have them become tourists. Rebecca did not argue one bit though when he suggested getting a hotel room to act as home base.
Of course on V-Day everything was booked solid, so again, she didn’t complain when they had to rent a suite at the finest hotel in Russia. Nor did she complain when Brandt suggested she take a shower while he and the men developed an entry plan into the cathedral. She was more than willing to let the guys do the heavy lifting on this one.
Winding a towel around her body, she parted the curtains.
The sight made her nearly drop her towel. For as many times she had traveled to Moscow for various archeological conferences, she’d never witnessed Red Square at night. Their hotel room was positioned directly across the Moscow River from the Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral. She had the perfect view of their quarry. Even as the windows steamed up, the sight stunned.
At the far end of the square, floodlights illuminated the Russian National Museum. The bright lights accentuated its red, red facade. The building screamed, “I am Russian. Take that.”
Then there was Red Square. It was accustomed to crowds, but this gathering was off the hook. There was a small stage built by the museum. Lights throbbed to the music as the entire crowd moved as one to the rhythm.
Off to the right of the crammed square sat GUM, one of Russia’s largest shopping malls. The exterior of the mall was lined by tiny twinkling lights, almost like a Swiss chalet at Christmastime. The building’s gaiety seemed so incongruous to the usual harsh, utilitarian nature of the Russians. It was like having the Mall of America across the street from the White House.
The Kremlin sat off to the left, seeming odd as well. One might have expected an austere, functional building, yet here they would be confounded as well. The Kremlin wasn’t a building so much as a complex. It contained something like four palaces and churches within the grounds that were protected by a tall brick wall along with nearly a dozen towers. The Russian president lived within the largest palace, a huge white-façade-covered building capped in green and gold.
The seat of Russian power was meant to impress, and it did. Especially at night. The gilded towers glistened against the darkness.
But the true sight was St. Basil’s Cathedral. What could you say about one of the world’s most unique buildings? They truly shattered the mold when they built the cathedral.
Instead of all the straight lines and sharp angles you would usually associate with Russian architecture, the designers had borrowed from nearly every culture to assemble Ivan the Terrible’s church.
The onion-domed roofs were to honor his victory over the Islamics, and the detailed flames adorning the domes were meant to resemble God’s fire rising to the heavens. The brickwork was commissioned from the Germans, and colors? Dear God, the colors were a riot. They made no sense individually. Blue, red, orange, purple, and green fought for attention as they basked under the floodlights. Yet, taken together, they all worked together as a tribute to both Ivan’s victories and his God.
Could the tablets of Moses be hidden within those brightly colored walls? Or knowledge of where the tablets were sequestered? Had Amed found what he was looking for?
As much as Rebecca had sworn off anything religious, she had a “smart” gene to prove damn it, a bit of her thrilled at the sight of the cathedral. Science brought its own sense of accomplishment. However it demanded slow, deliberate, painstaking attention to detail. And research at the DNA level? Double that. And when she proved that certain genes bestowed exceptional intelligence and culture-building properties, she would break open a bottle of champagne.
But the thought of touching the actual Ten Commandments? To feel the weight of the stone beneath her fingers? That sent a thrill through her that staring down a microscope could never provide.
Add in the bonus of saving the world from a Rinderpest plague the world hadn’t seen since biblical times? Yeah, that feeling never got old.
“Hope you’re decent,” Brandt said just before he burst into the room.
“Brandt!” Rebecca protested, tugging the towel upward, suddenly aware of her wet hair sending rivulets of water down her cleavage.
Apparently oblivious, the sergeant held out a pair of binoculars. “Look.”
“At what?” she asked, taking a step back.
“The back door of the cathedral.”
She knew when the sergeant was in this mood there was no stopping him. So hoping the towel stayed up, Rebecca accepted the binoculars and swept them past the Kremlin, the huge, surging crowd in Red Square to St. Basil’s. Fiddling with the focus, she zeroed in on the back door. Was there someone standing outside, a woman smoking? Looking out at the celebration?
“Is that who I think it is?” Brandt asked.
But it couldn’t be. Could it?
Despite her mind’s protests the young woman’s face came into sharp focus.
There she was in Technicolor.
“Bunny.”
* * *
At the confirmation of the woman’s identity, Brandt spun on his heel and charged into the living room of the suite. “We’ve got a complication,” he informed his men.
“You know the woman down there?” Talli asked.
“Barely,” Brandt answered. The men were “read in” to some aspects of the previous mission that led them from France to Budapest to Istanbul to Rome in pursuit, or more accurately put, pursued by the Knot. Many, many, many details from that mission were seriously need-to-know, and until the appearance
of Bunny at St. Basil’s, she had not been one of them.
“I thought she was dead,” Rebecca said as she hastily tugged a shirt on.
“Technically she was,” Brandt said.
“Define technically?”
Talli and Harvish stepped closer. Crap. The lid was off—why not blow it all the way open? He turned to his men first. “Brenda Hollingford, aka ‘Bunny,’ had been a graduate student of Rebecca’s old mentor. She was badly injured in our escape from the Knot at the French laboratory.” Actually, badly injured was an understatement. The woman had come a hairsbreadth from death. “The US asked the French to declare her dead. She was then transported home to the States and put into the Witness Protection Program.”
To his surprise Rebecca nodded, not demanding a more elaborate explanation of why she hadn’t been informed. “Probably best,” she stated. “But what is she doing in Russia?”
Brandt didn’t know, and he did not like coincidences. Actually, he didn’t believe in them at all. And happy coincidences? Never. Bunny was supposed to be in Topeka or a city equally boring, waiting tables or marrying a major league ballplayer or something.
“Guess we’re going to find out,” Brandt answered Rebecca and then turned to Talli. “Your nest is the same.”
The dark-skinned man picked up his sniper’s “go-bag.” “You got it.”
And maybe this time you might want to actually shoot something, Brandt thought but didn’t voice. Pushchino had been a clusterfuck on a massive scale. Putting the lion’s share of the blame on Talli wasn’t going to help anyone. But they couldn’t and shouldn’t count on Davidson saving the day. Talli needed to step up or go back to escorting businessmen in the Green Zone.
“Harvish lead the way,” Brandt said as he stripped his black T-shirt off to change into something a bit more festive, like a white T-shirt. “We stick to the plan until the plan comes unstuck.”
“You got it,” the point man said, prepping his equipment.
Brandt turned to Rebecca. Her eyes found the jagged scar just below the vest. He’d like to say he forgot it was even there, but that would be a blatant lie. Every time he twisted hard to the left or even lifted weights that scar screamed in protest. Well, Brandt just shouted back.
He tucked his shirt into his pants, wanting Rebecca focused on the problem at hand, not on the fact of exactly how many times they’d each almost died on the last mission. As he buttoned the shirt, Rebecca’s eyes found his.
“Maybe Bunny’s appearance is a good thing?” she suggested.
Brandt grunted. He had only known Bunny, the conscious Bunny, for a few minutes, and in that time she had grated against his last nerve. She had been arrogant, difficult, and whiny. The civilian trifecta.
“Still,” Rebecca said, “you have to admit it’s quite a coincidence.”
Which was exactly why Brandt hated coincidences.
* * *
Rebecca walked next to Brandt as they crossed the Moskvoretsky Bridge from their hotel to Red Square. Revelers jostled past them, scurrying to Red Square. And she knew why. The concierge at the hotel had, quite enthusiastically, informed them that they had best hurry if they wanted a good position to watch the fireworks that started within the hour.
Stumbling as an overly excited partier bumped her from behind, Rebecca caught herself on Brandt’s arm. She pushed off against it like it was a cobra and she was no mongoose. Still, he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulder.
“You know what the concierge said,” Brandt whispered.
Rebecca rapidly checked her pocket just to be sure her fake passport was still there. The concierge had warned them about a “minor” problem at an event like this, however picking pockets was so routine in Russia that it wasn’t even classified as petty crime, it was simply called kahrmannik. Roughly translated it meant “take from the suckers.” And these weren’t Oliver Twist street children running these pickpocket rings. This was serious business for the vori v zakone, the thieves’ world. They employed grandmothers, men in business suits, and even pregnant women.
And at such a large event as this? The kahrmannik would be out in force.
So all the couples around them weren’t necessarily snuggled close together because of true love. They were trying to protect themselves from the fast hands of the kahrmannik. Brandt and Rebecca walking side by side not touching made them not just an anomaly but a target as well.
Still, knowing it was nothing more than a ruse as Brandt’s arm draped over her shoulder, everywhere their bodies touched drew a line of fire…and shame. Rebecca shrugged out from under his arm.
“We need to blend in,” Brandt whispered.
And she knew it, just not like that. That was too painful. Instead, she hooked her arm through his. This way they could pass as a couple yet only have their elbows in contact. A far better option than his false embrace.
Wordlessly they made their way over the bridge as the Moscow River made its sluggish way underfoot. Stepping off the bridge and into Red Square brought a distinctly different perspective than looking down atop it. The Kremlin’s walls towered to their left. Past the cathedral, GUM glistened. The concierge had informed them that after the fall of Communism the building had gone through many transformations until it became a huge indoor shopping mall that rivaled Rodeo Drive in selling high-end goods. Knowing Russia, the concierge was probably on GUM’s employment roll.
Still, shoppers poured in and out of the historic building, taking advantage of Victory Day sales. Bargain shopping was not on their agenda though, so Brandt had them linger near the back of the cathedral, pretending to soak up the sights. Which wasn’t hard to pull off. The multicolored, multicultural church was even more intriguing close up.
At ground level you gained a better appreciation for the fact the “church” really was nine churches in one. Each of the towers represented the roof to each of the sanctuaries.
Rebecca could imagine the construction difficulties a building like this would represent these days, let alone back in the 1600s. What stood before them should have been impossible to build back then. Yet here it stood.
Brandt walked them clockwise around the church’s grounds. Fewer and fewer people poured across the river. Instead, the crowd within Red Square swelled and got a little rowdy. Flashing neon necklaces and foam thumbs began to make appearances.
On their circular sojourn, they passed the front of the church. A large brass memorial statue stood at the entrance. A tribute to soldiers who had repelled one invasion or another. Polish, Rebecca thought, but couldn’t be sure.
As they finished their circle of the building there was no Bunny, but lucky for them, several large trees provided the back of the church with perfect cover. They were about to step over the low fence when a few stragglers approached, laughing and pointing up to one of the bell towers. Brandt pulled Rebecca under the draping branches of the tree.
“We’ve got to sell this,” Brandt breathed out, his mouth only inches from hers.
Rebecca forced herself to remember this was just spy craft. To think though, a few months ago they wouldn’t have had to “sell” anything. As a matter of fact, they would have had to remind themselves they were on a mission.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he urged, closing the gap between them.
God, she could smell him. That intoxicating mix of sweat and courage. That scent could wipe away any doubt except for that damned wedding ring. Even if Maria never knew. Even if it meant nothing to Brandt, it would mean the world to her.
Turning her face to the side, she laid her cheek on his chest, wrapping her arms around his back. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. She just couldn’t bring herself to put her lips to his. Not knowing he belonged to another.
Not quick enough, yet still too soon, she heard a soft call from deeper in the grounds. Harvish. He must have gotten the back door unlocked. Brandt supported her as she broke from his embrace and stepped over the low fence. Not needing to keep up
the illusion anymore, they broke contact. Hurrying up the three low steps, they entered the cathedral.
The same as Amed. Would they fare any better than he?
* * *
Absently, Brandt closed the church’s door behind them. He wasn’t struck by much. Stuff was just stuff. Especially after last year. He’d seen more beauty and destruction than most in a lifetime. But even he had to admit the cathedral’s interior was even more stunning than the outside. They stood in a small sanctuary. Really small. Like only three arm’s lengths wide. The cathedral looked so large from the outside, however the interior was partitioned off into tiny sanctuaries like this.
What the room lacked in width though, it made up for in height. The column soared above them. Harvish’s light did not penetrate to the ceiling. And every square inch of the walls was decorated by either swirling ivy, flowers, or images of the saints.
Since this was a church dedicated to Mary, her image appeared frequently. Sometimes as a young mother. Other times as a woman doomed to lose her son upon the cross. Always though rendered with such devotion. Faith and piety shone from her features.
He glanced to Rebecca, who had an altogether different expression on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
She shrugged, walking off. Brandt studied her back until she disappeared past a large wooden panel that separated the sanctuaries. No matter how hard he’d pressed her, Rebecca refused to tell him what had happened in that cave under the Vatican. All she would do was reassure him that she had not found Christ’s bones.
Whatever she’d found within the tomb, that was the Knot’s secret. And as shattering as it would have been for him and Christianity in general to have found Christ’s very human bones, this mystery they now chased had far more practical dangers. It was one thing to argue over theology. It was quite another to have the world’s livestock population destroyed.
Brandt didn’t have to walk that scenario very far forward to see worldwide riots, civil wars, and even a resurgence of the nuclear race. And if the virus could cross into the human population? Forget the biblical plague. This one could be a world-killer.
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Page 65