However, Brandt wasn’t all that fond of a word like hopefully associated with any mission objective.
“Rebecca still powdering her nose?” Lopez asked as he folded the map.
“More likely charging her laptop,” Brandt responded, looking over his shoulder to the restrooms.
Harvish was on guard duty, only to make himself not look on guard duty, he’d bought a pack of smokes. The guy’s face flared a bright red as he sputtered on the cigarette. Brandt knew that Harvish had smoked before, but clearly not Russian cigarettes. Like everything else, the Motherland liked their products to pack a punch. Good thing the point man had chosen the Play brand. It was meant to appeal to young girls.
Brandt’s attention was diverted back to Lopez as he spat out the Russian “Nyet” at the station owner.
“Is there a problem?” he asked his corporal.
“This guy is trying to tell me there’s suddenly a new twenty-percent tax on all petrol. Right.”
Brandt looked to the short Russian man in front of them. Barrel-chested with slicked-back hair and a heavy mustache, the guy could have been named Boris and no one would have blinked an eye. He also resembled a bulldog. A bulldog that could bald-faced lie.
“Pay it,” Brandt ordered Lopez. They didn’t need to get into a squabble over a few rubles, which the station owner seemed to understand fully. However, when the guy got that victory smirk, Brandt responded in Russian. “Iat he kompranac.” Split the difference.
Neither Lopez nor the station owner seemed pleased, so clearly it was an effective compromise.
“Finish up,” Brandt said as he walked to the restrooms. “I’m going to find out what’s taking Rebecca so long.”
“I’ll keep the engine revved.”
Of that Brandt had no doubt.
Rebecca splashed water on her face. She looked up into the mirror as droplets fell from her eyelashes. The reflection looked like a woman she barely knew, and come to think of it, didn’t really want to get to know. Dark circles outlined her puffy eyes. No amount of concealer was going to fix that. And her hair? Blond strands stuck out at awkward angles, and her face was framed by a mini blond ’fro. And to think that’s probably how she’d looked since the epic fail on the torpedo launch.
Just one more reason Brandt was probably glad he married that Maria chick. From the pictures Rebecca had seen, Maria didn’t need any makeup to look stunning. Being eight years younger didn’t hurt any. According to Lopez, Maria didn’t even own a bra. Good for her.
She splashed more water, hoping it did something for the blotchiness in her cheeks. Rebecca made sure not to get any moisture on her charging laptop though. She’d already emptied her first battery and was well into exhausting the backup. Despite all her research on the drive up to Moscow, Rebecca didn’t know much more about why Osip sent them to St. Basil’s than she did before.
Not that it didn’t have a typically colorful Russian history. Built by two architects whose names were still in dispute, the church no longer had a moat and wasn’t even owned by the Russian Orthodox Church. It had been owned by the state since Stalin, who really, really, really wanted to tear it down so he could have more room for military parades in Red Square.
Military dictators, man. Delusions of grandeur.
Stalin had been stopped though by an impassioned plea of the man assigned to demolish the church. The man had refused to harm a single tile. Stalin had him imprisoned for years, yet the man staunchly stood by his conviction and in the end saved one of the world’s greatest examples of architecture.
Which made the cathedral a stunning example of Russian architecture, and perfectly matched Osip’s dying words, yet Rebecca still had no idea why the old man had sent Amed to St. Basil’s in particular.
Moscow’s bishop was outspoken on all manner of subjects, especially his heated words that the Roman Catholics were nothing more than a splinter sect of the Russian Orthodox Church. Was it that controversial stance, one seeded all the way back to proto-Christianity, that caused Osip to send a terrorist to St. Basil’s? Or something else?
Rebecca startled as a sharp knock came at the door.
“Everything okay in there?” Brandt asked.
“Yeah,” she said as she turned off the water and wiped her hands on a wad of paper towels. “Be out in sec.”
Quickly she checked her laptop’s power bar. At the least it had inched up past the halfway mark. Tucking the device into its bag, Rebecca made one last desperate effort to get her hair under control, gave up, and opened the door.
“Figured you might want some of these,” Brandt said as he handed her a package of black licorice. “You realize you aren’t all that stealthy, right? We all know you holed up in there to charge your laptop.”
Rebecca snatched the candy out of his hand. “Like you would have let me do it if I’d asked.”
“Point taken.”
She ripped the plastic open and grabbed one of the licorice straws, nibbling on the end to make sure it wasn’t made out of some super-strong Russian variation. Luckily, it tasted like good old-fashioned licorice.
Brandt opened the passenger door for her. Still chewing on the candy, Rebecca loaded in next to Talli. The dark-skinned sniper glanced to the licorice then away.
“Want some?” Rebecca asked as she buckled up.
“No thank you,” he said, yet his eyes slid over to the package again.
She pulled a straw out. “Come on, we deserve a little something after all that.”
The sniper’s eyes flickered to Brandt, who gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Thanks,” Talli said as he took a piece of licorice. It was the most inflection she’d heard from the guy this entire time. But she didn’t blame him. Brandt had never been too thrilled by his newest team members, and after everything that had happened? Yeah, Rebecca would lie low too.
“Ready to fill us in?” Brandt asked Rebecca as Lopez gunned the car out of the gas station. “Lopez, read my lips. Speed limit.”
With an audible sigh, the corporal inched his foot off the gas.
Brandt turned to her. “So, figured out what we’re walking into yet?”
How she wished.
Brandt waited as Rebecca booted up her computer. That was not a good sign. Usually she was all Chatty Cathy while it loaded, talking and gesturing as to whatever esoteric research she’d found.
“Are we even heading to the right place?” Brandt asked.
“The right place, yes,” Rebecca answered. “The reason though, that I’m still a little sketchy on.”
Brandt adjusted his seat belt so he could face her. “Walk us through it.” She tugged her lower lip with her teeth as she scanned the screen as if one more glance would answer all of their questions. “Shaky and all.”
“Okay,” she said, taking in a breath. “We know the cathedral was built by Ivan the Terrible.” Rebecca glanced up at him with a faint smile. “So not exactly an auspicious start.”
He was glad to see her sense of humor coming back. Brilliance couldn’t be too far off.
“And in true Ivan the Terrible–style, he blinded the supposed architect of the building,” Rebecca said, quickly scrolling down. “Of course that could just be an urban myth, or should I say given the time period, an old wives’ tale, however if Ivan did want to keep something hidden...”
Brandt sighed. She was doing her best not to piss him off. She was walking around the huge elephant in the room, which wasn’t doing any of them any good.
“The actual stone slabs of the Ten Commandments?” Brandt prompted Rebecca, then glared at Lopez. “Not. A. Word.”
“Hey,” Lopez retorted, “I’m just saying that a movie that sits at number nineteen all-time box office, adjusted for inflation, had to get a few things right.”
Brandt continued his glare until Lopez focused back on the road. Then and only then did Brandt indicate for her to continue.
Rebecca shrugged. “There is also the legend of the Byzantine Libreria.”
<
br /> “And we are supposed to know what that is?”
Turning the screen around toward him, Rebecca explained. “Before Constantinople fell to the Ottomans, one of the greatest libraries known to the world was hastily removed before the city was ransacked.”
He scanned the large list of items the library supposedly contained. “And it was moved to Russia?”
“Yes,” Rebecca confirmed. “The sultan’s daughter was married to Ivan the Third...”
“Let me guess, the mother of Ivan the Terrible?”
Rebecca nodded. “Everyone wanted a piece of that library. The Vatican. The pope. So Ivan hid it in Moscow. Then his son, well, his son, Ivan the Terrible got really paranoid and built a sprawling network of tunnels down there and then killed the construction crew to keep the library’s whereabouts safe.”
“Tunnels?” Lopez perked up. “Did you say an elaborate interlocking set of cavernous tunnels under Moscow?”
“Really?” Rebecca asked. “Out of all of that, you just heard tunnel?”
Lopez’s smile broadened. “Hey, there are not a lot of opportunities to practice cave surfing, and as long as we have to be in Russia we might as well have some fun.”
Brandt turned his glare up to an eleven, finally convincing Lopez to watch the road. Their inaugural “cave surfing” event last year had not been fun. The last thing from it. His hipbone still felt bruised. Plus that incident marked his and Rebecca’s first, horribly awkward, aborted kiss.
Did she remember?
From the deep red filling her cheeks, she did in fact remember that moment in Budapest.
Rebecca looked at anything but Brandt’s eyes. The embarrassment of that stupid, sophomoric kiss still burned her with shame. Now though? Knowing what she did? How little time they would have together? Rebecca would have laid a lip-lock on Brandt and not let him go.
Unfortunately, the worst thing that could happen to them was not a momentary lapse of judgment. Nope, life had a lot more in store for them after Budapest.
“Sorry, Ricky.” Rebecca tried to sound upbeat but failed miserably. “I don’t think the commandments would be down there.”
“Come on,” Lopez said, “can’t you give a guy a little room to hope?”
“Why then would Ivan build the cathedral? I think the tunnels were a ruse. Keep everyone looking under Moscow rather than right across from the Kremlin.”
Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “But why wouldn’t he put the tablets down in the labyrinth? It looks like to date no one has found the secret chamber holding the library.”
Finally a question she felt comfortable answering. “From everything I know about Ivan, he was not the type to just bury the tablets. He would have wanted them close. Which meant somewhere he could access without arousing suspicion.”
“Like a confessional booth?” Harvish asked from her left.
She turned to the point man. “No. Orthodox churches don’t have confessional booths, per se.”
“Bummer,” Harvish answered.
Succinct but true. It would be nice if just once a religious mystery would be uncovered that easily.
“So it looks like we’re going to have to go and just take a look around,” Brandt stated.
“Well...” Rebecca said as Brandt arched his eyebrow. “The Orthodox Church, given its name, is well, way more Orthodox than the Catholic Church.”
“How so?” the sergeant asked.
“Their religion is much more aligned with Jewish traditions than the Vatican.” She hurried on as Brandt frowned. “Such as beginning holiday celebrations at sunset rather than sunrise. They use incense in a deep and intricate way. Nor do they have a pope. It is considered that each person has equal access to God.”
“And that helps us how?”
Rebecca matched Brandt’s frown. “The cathedral is officially property of the Russian government, and only one ceremony is allowed in the church during the high feast of the Intercession of the Theotokos, which occurs in October.”
“But it’s May,” Talli added, chewing on his licorice.
“Exactly,” Rebecca said, calling up another web page. “Then why did the bishop of Moscow, Tolst, ask for permission to begin preparing for the feast a good four months early?”
Brandt tilted his head. “Nice try. But even for you that’s a bit of a stretch. They may start preparations this early every year.”
“Really?” Rebecca questioned. “Because according to church requests they normally start prepping for the feast in August.” Rebecca felt Brandt studying her features. He still didn’t seem convinced. “How about the fact Tolst asked for such early permission the day after Amed visited Osip?”
The frown on Brandt’s face reversed itself into a tight grin. “Well, sounds like at the least we have someone to question.”
Rebecca knew it was irrational and probably a sign of some form of mental illness, however being able to impress Brandt even just a little made her heart soar. Too bad it was going to take way more than coaxing a grin out of Brandt to retrace Amed’s footsteps to find a stash of weaponized Rinderpest.
Brandt shifted his weight in the SUV’s seat. What should have been a simple trip through Moscow in the late evening had turned into a slow crawl through a myriad of traffic jams, accidents, and night club–bound partiers who’d started partying a little early.
And the closer they drew to Krasnaya Ploshchad, the Red Square, the worse the traffic had become.
“What the hell is going on?” Brandt asked to no one in particular. This crowd wasn’t just any crowd either. Uniforms dotted the mass of pedestrians streaming into Red Square. Not only Russian dress blacks either. From what Brandt could make out there were French, British, and even Americans in the revelers.
“What day is it?” he asked. With all the travel he was afraid his dates could be off.
“May ninth,” Harvish answered. “Why?”
“It’s freaking V-Day,” Brandt groaned. Of all the days to have to get into Red Square, quickly and quietly.
Rebecca sat forward, looking out the SUV’s windshield. “The day the Allies accepted Germany’s surrender?”
“That would be the one,” Brandt answered, debating if they should abort the mission. Find a place to hole up and strike out tomorrow when the vast majority of these people would be home with a hangover.
“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.
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.
Betrayed 02 - Havoc Page 14