Chapter 9

9

May 11, 6:55 P . M . MSK

Moscow, Russian Federation

Enveloped in smoke, Seichan plummeted through a gristmill of fiery debris. A shattered chunk of floorboard struck her shoulder. She snatched it and twisted it around, bracing it like a shield before her.

As she plunged, splintered chunks and broken rocks pelted her. Something struck her head, hard enough to squeeze her vision into a tight knot. Exposed skin got ripped and lacerated. Her body jolted as she crashed through obstacles. She fought to keep hold of her shield, but a jarring impact cracked it in half.

She toppled headlong with a scream trapped in her throat.

Through slitted eyes, she watched a smoldering pile of wreckage rushing toward her. She had two heartbeats to react. She spotted a thick rafter laying crookedly atop the mountain of debris filling the basement level.

She curled her legs under her, aiming for the beam. Her boots struck it, but her legs went out from under her. Her chest slammed hard. Momentum slid her down the rafter's length. Splinters tore through the leather of her jacket and pants. From above, rocks and fiery shards battered at her.

She finally swung off the rafter and ducked into a small covey beneath it. She gasped and coughed, covering her mouth with the crook of her arm. Smoke grew thicker with every strained breath. The rain of debris quickly diminished into occasional crashes as the last of the dyehouse's interior collapsed in on itself, hollowing out the brick building.

She stared upward.

Luckily, she and Gray had been perched on the fourth floor, with only the attic above them. If they had been any lower, they would have been buried under the debris.

Still, she was far from safe.

She unzipped her torn jacket and yanked the SIG Sauer from its shoulder holster. She tried to assess her situation, but her ears still rang from the blasts. Her vision remained watery at the edges. Lines of fire traced her body, with blood dripping everywhere.

She ignored it all.

One pain remained paramount.

Where the hell is Gray?

She dared not call out. She didn't know if Valya and her team were closing in already. Though, knowing the woman, Seichan imagined Valya had fled with the black-robed men in the limo. The blasts and smoke would quickly draw the police and the military. Valya would not want to risk being trapped and questioned.

Still, Seichan had to be cautious. Even if Valya fled, Seichan could not trust that the assassin hadn't left a handful of gunmen to ensure the blasts had killed or immobilized her targets.

Wary of this threat, Seichan crept out from under the rafter and climbed across the treacherous debris field. Her ears strained for any voices or crashes that indicated the approach of an assault team. She kept to the thickest smoke and slowly found her footing across the broken landscape.

She retaped the radio mike under her chin and pushed the earpiece deeper into place after it had been knocked loose. She tried subvocalizing to Gray, her words inaudible to her own ears.

"What's your status?" she radioed out.

She waited, still searching, still straining.

There was no answer.

To her left, she heard a tumble of disturbed rock. She halted and focused that direction. Smoke obscured the view, but a fire glowed farther back. A shadow crossed in front of that smolder—then another.

Two men.

She tucked her pistol into her waistband and drew a throwing knife from a wrist sheath.

She set off in the direction of those shadows, using the various patches of flames to track her targets. She moved slowly, cautious of other hunters. She kept tight to the piles of wreckage, ducking under and through the deadfall of debris, careful not to disturb the teetering stacks.

In the distance, sirens warbled brightly, growing steadily louder.

Her heart pounded out the seconds she had left before they arrived.

She finally closed upon two figures who skulked with rifles fixed to their shoulders. One man freed a hand and chopped it to the left of a stack of rubble. The pair split off, preparing to circle the mound.

Seichan stalked behind the first. She was within a meter when her toe kicked a broken brick, sending it skittering to the side. The gunman whipped around—just as she had expected he would when she had bumped that rock.

She lunged beneath the reach of his rifle and stabbed her blade under his jaw. She pierced his larynx and twisted hard, silencing his scream to a gurgle—then slashed across his carotid.

As he slumped, she caught his weight on her shoulder and grabbed his rifle. She rolled him quietly to the ground, then checked his weapon, a Russian AK-308 battle rifle. A suppressor tipped its barrel. She wagered the weapon was chambered with subsonic ammo to further reduce noise.

She lifted the rifle to her shoulder and continued along the path the gunman had headed. She reached the far side of the rubble pile and heard the scuffle of the other assailant. She drifted back into a billow of smoke and waited until the other man circled into view.

Once in sight, he cast her a quick glance, as if confirming his partner's presence. Seichan lifted the rifle higher, hoping he would recognize the weapon's familiar silhouette in the shroud of smoke.

The man nodded and turned away.

She swiveled her weapon toward him, aimed her sights at the back of his head, and squeezed off a single shot. It sounded no louder than a soft sneeze. The crash of his body into a wood pile made far more noise.

Hearing that, Seichan retreated under an overhang formed by a broken section of wall. Furtive footfalls approached her position, drawn by the clatter of wood—but hopefully not the silenced rifle shot.

Another gunman appeared out of the gloom, circling wide, focused on that stack of wood. The hunter froze momentarily when he spotted the sprawled body of his teammate.

The pause was long enough.

Seichan fired from her shelter and dropped the man next to his mate.

She waited another three breaths for anyone else to appear. The sirens now screeched, maybe a block or two away. She heard the thump-thump of a helicopter's approach. Like her, any remaining hunters would need to evacuate before the authorities closed in.

With time running short, she slipped out of her shelter. A sharp intake of breath on her left was the only warning. She ducked and rolled. Rounds strafed overhead. She swung her rifle to return fire, but another gunman crashed toward her from the opposite direction.

The pair must have lain in wait, letting their teammate draw her out.

No way to get them both.

Still, she had to try.

She fired low at the first man, peppering him center mass in his chest. As he crumpled to the ground, she rolled to the other side—but the second man had his weapon leveled at her.

Too late...

Then a pistol cracked and the man's head snapped back, carrying his body with it. She turned and spotted a familiar figure hobbling her way, limping hard on an ankle, his face a mask of blood.

"Think that's all of them," Gray said.

She gained her feet and rushed over to him. She didn't know whether to punch him or hug him. "Why didn't you radio back?" she scolded harshly. "I thought... I don't know what I thought."

But she did.

I thought you were dead.

"I heard your message." He ran his fingers down his neck. "But lost my throat mike. So I kept hidden, then heard the firefight and closed in."

She hooked an arm around his waist to help him stay upright. "We need to get out of here."

He nodded as sirens roared up to the outskirts of the monastery's ruins. "Out of the frying pan..."

"Into the line of fire," she finished for him.

7:10 P . M .

Gray reached the window they had climbed through earlier. He had to shoulder aside a heavy beam that had fallen across it to make room. The effort left him trembling. He wiped blood from an eye. His body was lacerated, bruised, and battered.

Behind them, coming from the direction of the church, a bullhorn bellowed with Russian commands as the local authorities started a sweep of the monastery's ruins. The burning dyehouse would undoubtedly be their first priority.

We must be gone by then.

But the police weren't the only threat. Flames spread behind him, building into a bonfire at his back.

He peered out the window. The sun was nearly down. The open grounds between the dyehouse and the fortress wall were heavily shadowed. He had hoped to use the cover of smoke to aid their escape, but the wind blowing off the river had swept the area free, leaving only a slight pall across the weedy yard. Still, the steady breeze was driving a thick wall of smoke toward the church, where a majority of the police gathered.

"Stay low," he whispered. "We'll break for the tower."

The plan was to exit the way they came in.

"We'll be exposed once we're on the scaffolding," Seichan warned. "If anyone looks that way..."

He understood, but they had no choice. They were pinned down in this corner of the monastery.

Seichan lifted her stolen assault rifle. "I can try to lure the authorities away, draw them off, allowing you the time to scale over and reach the motorcycle. I'll rendezvous back at the embassy."

"And if you're caught?"

"I'm a known terrorist," she reminded him. "Not even a U.S. citizen, despite the forged papers that Sigma drafted up. So they aren't likely to tie me to Sigma."

"Seichan—"

She tapped him on the chest. "You can't be captured."

"Screw that," he countered firmly. "We stick together."

Brooking no further argument, he climbed out of the window and reached an arm back to help her. She ignored his hand and deftly rolled out next to him.

He pointed to the tower. "If we move quickly, we should make it. The others should be momentarily blinded by the smoke blowing their way."

Knowing such protection would not last long, Gray set off across the shadowy yard. Every step shot fire up his left leg. By now, his ankle had swollen tight inside his boot. Sweat ran thickly over his body, burning his wounds. Within ten yards, his run became a stumbling hobble.

Still, no alarm was raised behind them.

A glance back revealed a thick wall of churning smoke, filling the depths of the monastery ruins. Past the pall, the flashing lights of cruisers and fire engines glowed.

So far, so good...

As he faced back around, a gray-black helicopter—a military aircraft—swept over the southern wall to his left, coming from the direction of the children's park on the far side. It crested over the dyehouse with a throaty roar.

Seichan cursed—and not just because they were exposed in the open yard. The rotorwash of the aircraft's blades was quickly blowing away the obscuring smoke. The cluster of parked vehicles and trucks came into clear view—along with a row of uniformed men stalking toward the dyehouse.

While Gray and Seichan hadn't been spotted yet, it would not take long. They'd never make it to the tower's scaffolding, let alone scale over the wall.

Seichan shoved him forward, nearly toppling him over. "Run! Get to the motorcycle!"

She pivoted away from his side and headed toward the southern wall, drawing her stolen rifle to her shoulder. She clearly intended to circle behind the dyehouse and come out the far side, to draw attention away from him.

Gray hesitated, but only for a breath. With his bum ankle, he could never keep up with her. And she had been right before.

I can't be caught .

With a grimace, he set off for the tower.

7:14 P . M .

Seichan reached the alleyway between the dyehouse and the expanse of the southern wall. As she ran down its length, she clutched her rifle hard, wishing it was Valya's neck.

A moment ago, when the smoke had washed away, she had noted the black limo was no longer parked behind the church.

Valya must've taken off with the others.

Seichan understood. There was little reason for the woman to stay. If the blast didn't kill her targets, her gunmen still had a chance to capture them while they were stunned or injured. Seichan also knew Valya would want to prolong their suffering and, if possible, kill them herself. It was likely why she hadn't imploded the entire building on top of them. Plus, if all else failed, Valya had another way of damaging Sigma: by delivering her enemy into the hands of Russian authorities.

Despite her fury, Seichan had to appreciate such shrewdness. Knowing the woman, Valya must have planted charges across all the surrounding outbuildings, then hid inside the church, like a spider in a web, waiting for them to stumble into one of her snares.

Such measures spoke to Valya's growing paranoia, especially as the woman couldn't have been certain that Sigma would come to Russia or stalk one of her operatives in Saint Petersburg.

Yet, that hadn't stopped Valya from taking such a precaution—a safeguard that was about to prove costly to Seichan. Cornered now, she had little choice but to sacrifice herself.

As she ran along the far side of the dyehouse, she pictured her son Jack: his babbling attempts at his first words, his purpled face when he was frustrated, his bottomless joy at the simplest things in life.

She wasn't just making this sacrifice for Gray, but also for Jack, to make sure he still had a father.

Seichan had never truly known her own, and her mother had been ripped from her when she was a child. She remembered the hollow agony of that loss, of being orphaned, and would do anything to keep that pain from Jack.

She reached the end of the alley and paused. Once she stepped out, she would be in plain view of the men crossing the grounds.

And not just them .

Overhead, the helicopter circled into view as it passed over the grounds again. She couldn't let it swing toward the riverside wall, where Gray must have reached the tower by now.

She tightened her jaw and sprinted out into the open. She aimed her rifle high and fired at the aircraft. She focused on the tail assembly, the helicopter's most vulnerable spot. Its tail rotor was critical for stability.

Unfortunately, it was a small target, especially for a shooter on the run. However, her main objective wasn't to down the aircraft, but to distract it. She had already removed her rifle's suppressor. The weapon chattered loudly as she fired. Rounds pinged off the helo's undercarriage.

Then a sharper gunshot echoed behind her. A round sparked off the tail. The rotor remained undamaged, but the aircraft spun wildly.

She looked over her shoulder, knowing where the shot had come from, who had fired it.

Gray...

He must've reached the tower. She remembered him telling her the story behind the fortification, how an arrow shot from an upper window had killed a marauding khan centuries ago.

Gray must be trying to beat that sharpshooter's record.

Another round fired from his position, shattering into the chopper's windscreen. The aircraft bobbled, coming dangerously close to the rampart of the southern wall before veering off.

Praying the gunfire was mistaken as her own, Seichan ducked her head and sprinted away.

By now, the teams on the ground had also spotted her.

Bullhorns roared with orders.

Men shouted.

Rounds pattered around her, but the shadows, her speed, and the angry hornet in the sky all confounded their aim. The teams were fifty meters off and closing in fast.

She swung her rifle and strafed back at them. Earlier, she had stripped a spare magazine from one of the dead gunmen, but the additional ammunition offered her little comfort. She would soon run out.

A loud crash beyond the running men drew her attention. An armored van with a red shield emblazoned on it crashed through the church gate and headed straight across the grounds, bouncing over berms and curbs. She recognized the emblem. It was a unit of the Russian OMON—the Otryad Mobi?ny Osobogo Naznacheniya —the Federation's equivalent of a SWAT team.

Screw this.

She faced forward and concentrated on reaching shelter. The nearest outbuilding was the monastery's old refectory. She raced toward it. The red-brick structure was encased in scaffolding, but it was rusted and missing planks, as if a restoration attempt had been long abandoned.

Still, any port in a storm.

The refectory spread outward in two wings, each three stories high. Inside, there should be plenty of places to hide, to prolong this cat-and-mouse hunt, and possibly offer her a way to escape.

With that goal in mind, she sped toward the refuge.

As she neared it, a series of explosions erupted. Glass blew from the refectory's windows, accompanied by black smoke and flickers of flames. The blasts deafened her, but not enough to keep her from hearing the other detonations, erupting in all directions.

Stunned, she spun in a circle.

All the outbuildings had become dull torches, lit by fires inside, casting up thickening columns of smoke.

Seichan understood.

Valya...

Just as Seichan had suspected, the woman had planted charges across all the structures. But were the bombs timed to explode after Valya left? Or is she spying from afar and spotted me trying to reach a hiding spot?

With no way of knowing, Seichan turned and headed toward the southern wall. She had already studied the monastery's layout and noted there was a small archway that led through the wall and out into the neighboring park. Unfortunately, it was gated shut. She didn't know if the barricade was locked or not—but she had no other exit strategy.

She ran through beachheads of smoke. The helicopter had retreated higher, driven skyward by the blasts. The pilot must be assessing the situation, wary of the rapidly changing conditions below.

Likewise, the men on the ground milled in confusion.

Only one hunter remained on target.

The OMON van never slowed, bouncing and rattling straight toward her.

She sprinted faster, praying the gate was unbarred. She had no time to pick a lock or blast her way out.

Behind her, the van roared, sounding like a battering ram on wheels.

She flung her arm back and fired blindly toward the vehicle. She didn't bother conserving ammo and strafed on full auto. Rounds ricocheted off glass and pinged metal, but the van continued to hurl toward her.

Ahead, a gust of wind cleared the smoke, enough for her to spot the narrow archway and its barred gate. A heavy padlocked chain secured it.

No...

She swung her rifle toward it, but she had already emptied the weapon at the van. Gasping, she expelled the spent magazine and fought in another.

Frustration growled out of her.

Never make it in time .

Then a trio of sharp bangs cut through her complaint.

Ahead of her, the chain slithered to the ground. The old gate swung partly open.

She sped the last of the distance.

The van, only two meters back, roared at her.

She hit the gate with her shoulder and spun through it without slowing.

Behind her, the van crashed into the archway, as its wheelbase proved too wide for the narrow opening.

Seichan continued running—toward the IMZ Ural motorcycle. It idled on a brick pathway of the child's playground. Gray fired his SIG past her shoulder, discouraging anyone in the van from trying to exit.

But the vehicle wasn't the only threat.

Seichan leaped headlong into the sidecar, twisting at the last moment to land on her back in the seat. She lifted her rifle high.

The helicopter sped over the wall in pursuit.

Seichan took her time, aimed the rifle's sights to the rear of the aircraft, and fired a barrage of rounds into the tail assembly. The rotors exploded. The chopper spun wildly, tilting sideways. Its rotors chewed through the treetops. Then the helicopter rolled and slammed into the wall, bursting into a fireball.

Seichan lowered her rifle and turned to Gray. "Somebody had to finish what you started."

He shrugged. "I was short on time. Figured you'd try to make it to this side gate if you could."

"You shouldn't have stayed."

He gave her a stern look. "Don't think you're getting out of our wedding that easily."

Gray turned his attention forward. He already had the cycle moving, racing through the park. He stuck to the shelter of the park's trees. But with the sun setting and smoke rolling like a wave into the park, such cover wasn't necessary.

They burst out of the park's gate and headed away from the confusion on the far side of the monastery. They quickly buried themselves into the evening's rush-hour traffic and continued across the city.

Seichan looked back at the distant column of smoke. "At least now we know Valya is definitely involved in all of this."

Gray hunched over his handlebars. "And maybe the Orthodox Church, too."

Seichan frowned. She remembered how Monsignor Borrelli had sent those photos to Sigma—and not to the Vatican.

"Let's hope it's just the Russian Church," she mumbled.