The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Part 78

"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 b.u.mped 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 pa.s.sport 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 cla.s.sified 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed the front of the church. A large bra.s.s 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.

G.o.d, she could smell him. That intoxicating mix of sweat and courage. That scent could wipe away any doubt except for that d.a.m.ned 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 circ.u.mstances. 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 part.i.tioned 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 rea.s.sure 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.

So screw the religious mystery here. The Ten Commandments? If he had to find them and shatter them all over again, he'd do it to keep the world from seeing a Rinderpest epidemic.

Still, he made the sign of the cross as he pa.s.sed under an arch decorated with a panel honoring Jesus.

No disrespect meant, Brandt thought. Hoping none was taken.

Despite her dour mood, Rebecca couldn't help but be impressed with the sanctuary she'd just entered. One dedicated to Saint Alexander Svisrky, she believed. Rebecca was a little sketchy on the details of his canonization, but he had been the heguman, or leader of infamous Trinity Monastery. Considered the heart of the Russian Orthodox Church, the monastery had withstood Tartan invaders and a sixteen-month siege by the Polish.

However it wasn't the walls' intricate carvings or delicate paintings that held her fascination, but the architecture of the place. The sanctuary was built in the fashion of a cross vault. The skill it took to create a chamber formed by four-barrel vaults was considered one of the most difficult of all. The stone used for the arches had to be perfectly cut to lay together at the arrisses. The style was so difficult to get right, in fact, that across Europe it was abandoned for the easier and therefore less grand ribbed vaulting.

Brandt joined her, following her gaze upward. "Gotta give the Russians credit. They know how to use stone."

Yes, they did. And not just for decorative purposes. Just behind the westernmost walls held the hidden staircase found not twenty years ago. What other secret pa.s.sages did this church hold?

"I heard voices this way," Harvish whispered, pointing to the southern pa.s.sageway.

Brandt nodded for them to follow the trail.

Sandwiched between Harvish and Brandt, Rebecca took care with her steps on the cool tile floor. By the men's tense jaws and careful treading, stealth was a premium. Harvish clicked off his light as candlelight spilled from one of the inner sanctuaries. It was another cross vault, although larger than the last. Harvish's back blocked most of her view, but she was pretty sure the light came from St. Basil's tomb.

The voices were clear now. A younger woman's lighter tone, which Rebecca could only a.s.sume was Bunny, and a deeper, older voice. They spoke Russian fluently. Really? Bunny knew Russian? She'd just a.s.sumed the woman would manhandle a word, then giggle...and probably flip her hair.

What in the h.e.l.l was she doing in Russia, speaking Russian?

They were about to find out as Harvish rushed into the sanctuary. "Hands up."

Bunny's squeal made it all the way out to Rebecca.

"Ostavates na meste," Brandt announced as he swept in behind the point man.

Rebecca snuck in last. While the Russian man held his hands up, a string of very forceful curses followed which contrasted his thick blue flowing robes. Somewhere in there he kept insisting he was the "episcop."

"He's the bishop of Moscow," Rebecca warned Brandt.

"Yep, I kinda got that the tenth time he told me." Brandt turned to Bunny. "Is there anyone else here?"

Bunny didn't seem to hear him as her eyes found Rebecca. The young redhead rushed across the room. "Rebecca!"

"Watch it!" Brandt warned, trying to intersect Bunny.

"No, it's okay," Rebecca said as the young woman wrapped her into a bear hug.

"Oh my G.o.d!" Bunny squealed. "They told me you died." The younger woman searched behind Rebecca. "Where's Lochum?"

Rebecca shook her head as Bunny's bright smile faded.

"Did he at least find his prize?"

That was a complicated question. One that Bunny did not have clearance for. Again, Rebecca simply shook her head. Bunny pulled her even tighter into the hug. "I'm so sorry."

And the younger woman didn't know the half of it.

"What are you doing here?" Bunny asked, pushing a pile of red curls from her face.

"Good question," Rebecca hedged. "I might ask the same of you?"

For the first time Bunny's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "At gunpoint?"

CHAPTER 12.

Moscow, Russia 10:08 p.m. GMT h.e.l.l yes, at gunpoint, Brandt wanted to say but held his tongue. Probably best not to p.i.s.s off the bishop of Moscow. Or at least not more than he was already. Brandt gave a curt nod to Harvish to lower his weapon.

"Belinda," Brandt said, using the younger woman's given name. He just couldn't get "Bunny" out of his mouth. "You are supposed to be safely tucked away in the Midwest."

The young woman sighed, finally releasing Rebecca. Funny, Brandt did not remember the women being all BFFs the last time around. As a matter of fact, they'd perfected their romantic rival act to a fine art.

"After," Bunny gulped, pulling aside her shirt to reveal a network of scars that disappeared below her belt. "After Paris with a piece of shrapnel lodged so closely to my spine the doctors are afraid it's going to cut my spinal cord every time I sneeze, I kind of couldn't do suburbia, ya know?"

Unfortunately, Brandt did know. Going from crisis mode to domestic bliss wasn't as smooth a transition as it should be.

"I realized that I had to do what I love," Bunny continued. "I couldn't give up proto-Christian archeology. If I was going to die, it would be doing something that mattered...at least to me."

"That still doesn't answer why you're here, in Russia, in this cathedral," Brandt pressed.

The bishop rose, raising his hand. "Nyet. Why you storm in with guns?"

The time for delicate diplomacy was over, if there ever had been a time for it on this mission. Brandt turned to the bishop and met his righteous indignation with his own. "You were visited by a terrorist named Amed last week." While the bishop didn't answer Brandt directly, his eyes dilating as he sat down hard on the edge of St. Basil's tomb kind of confirmed Brandt's suspicions. "Why?"

The old man didn't respond. Instead, he combed his fingers through his long gray beard.

Bunny was the one who answered. "I think you know why."

"The Ten Commandments," Rebecca clarified.

"Amed came with the broken piece of tablet that Osip had translated," Bunny confirmed. "Amed threatened that unless the bishop helped him find the rest of the commandments, he would unleash his bioweapon on Russia first."

Sounded like the terrorist.

"But why did Amed think the bishop could help?" A look pa.s.sed between Bunny and the bishop. "What?" When neither answered, Brandt pressed, "I don't think I should have to mention that this mission is a bit time sensitive."

The bishop went into a litany...of curses. The guy's bright blue Russian Orthodox robes made it seem almost comical. A little hard to get worked up by a big Smurf.

"Hey, hey, hey," Brandt coaxed. "I want to get the Rinderpest off the streets as much as you do."

"Da," the bishop retorted. "But only so the Americas can h.o.a.rd it."

"Really?" Brandt countered as he leaned forward. "Because let's keep it clear that Amed stole the weaponized virus from your laboratory. From Russia's illegal stores."

The bishop glared back, clearly not used to being questioned or rebuked.

Rebecca stepped forward, speaking into the tense silence. "Let's just say that it's in all of our best interests to track down Amed's trail. No matter what games the superpowers are playing, they aren't as erratic or as dangerous as an Islamic extremist's plans." She looked to Bunny. "Right?"

Surprisingly, the younger woman turned to the bishop. "If you don't tell them, Tolst, I will."

The bishop's cheeks billowed in and out, making his beard rustle against his blue velvet robes. In the end, he finally spoke. "I doubt if you know the tale of the Lost Library."

"Of Constantinople," Brandt offered. "Yeah, yeah. Ivan the Terrible went all Lego-crazy and built a labyrinth beneath the city, but we're pretty d.a.m.n sure he hid a nice big chunk of the tablet in the church here." The older man's cheeks flared red above his beard. Kind of like a p.i.s.sed off Dumbledore. "That pretty much get us up to speed?"

By the way the man sputtered, sending spittle across the room, Brandt guessed it did.

"Yes," Bunny confirmed. "The bishop has been sorting through old doc.u.ments to narrow down the search for any hidden room while I have been trying to backtrack Amed's movements to figure out where he might have hidden the Rinderpest."

Brandt's estimation of the redhead just leapt up about a thousand percent. "And?"

She frowned. "We know he found the chunk of tablet when he was excavating a chamber for the storage of the Rinderpest. My supposition was that it must be in the Holy Land somewhere ancient Jews migrated yet accessible to a modern day jihadist."