Chapter 13

13

May 11, 10:04 P . M . MSK

Moscow, Russian Federation

Dr. Elle Stutt refused to shrink under the weight of those staring at her. Instead, she stiffened her back and sat straighter. "All this talk of lost libraries and continents... What does any of this have to do with me? Why am I here?"

She wished she was back at her apartment on Aptekarsky Island in Saint Petersburg. She had a small flat overlooking the botanical park—though most of her place's square footage was as much a garden as those manicured acres. She had a lab at the park, but that hadn't stopped her from bringing her work home. Each plant under her care—rare hybrids that she had bred—required precise lighting, humidity, and temperatures.

How much will be ruined while I'm stuck here?

Plus, she fed a stray cat who visited her balcony on a nightly basis. She had named him Nikolai—after Nikolai Vavilov, an agronomist and geneticist who had been jailed by Stalin due to a conflict in scientific belief. Vavilov died in prison, as much a victim of ignorance as Galileo.

Elle pictured the growling fury of the orange tabby.

Who will feed Nikolai now?

"If you'll bear with me," Commander Pierce said, drawing a pair of photos toward him. "I'll try to explain why I believe you were attacked."

She narrowed her eyes and rubbed a tender spot on her neck, just under the angle of her jaw, where her abductors had jabbed her with a sedative. Though freed now, she still felt trapped. The only reason she tolerated much of this—besides the personal danger—was the man seated next to her.

Even without turning, she felt Tucker's presence. There was a solidity that had a gravitational pull. He hadn't said a word during the discussion, but she knew he had absorbed it all with his quiet intensity. She also sensed the lethality behind that calmness, and it reassured her.

She realized he was much like his companions, the two shepherds. The pair sat to the side, silently alert. During the train ride here, she had noted how the three moved as one, through touch, whisper, and gesture, a coordination that was unnerving—and thrilling to witness. But their truer bond could be appreciated in quieter moments, a tenderness that was shared. The brush of fingers over ruff, the nudge of a shoulder, the contented rumble.

Tucker must have sensed the depth of her stress, the claustrophobic strain of this room of strangers. He reached over and touched the back of her hand as she clutched the edge of the mahogany table.

"Hear him out," he whispered in a graveled voice. "But just say the word, and we'll take off."

She nodded, and her grip on the table relaxed.

"Dr. Stutt," Gray said, "among the pages that were photographed in that old Greek text was a series of botanical drawings. I was hoping you might identify the specimens."

Despite her frustration, this piqued her professional curiosity.

Is this why I was drugged and grabbed?

Gray slid the photo to her.

Elle squinted at the picture. It showed a spread of two yellowed, grainy pages. The two halves contained line drawings of a cluster of plants, all with spiked stems and topped by bell-shaped lobes fringed by cilia.

As she frowned at the pictures, her heart thudded harder. "I... I believe it's a rendition of Dionaea muscipula , the Venus flytrap, an insectivorous species. But the morphology is strange."

"How so?" Gray asked.

" Dionaea muscipula is not thorned. And its thigmonastic lobes—the leaves that respond to touch—are characteristically trapezoidal. Whereas these look more bulbous, more typical to species of pitcher plants."

"Which are also carnivorous," Tucker noted.

She turned to him. "What's drawn here could be a hybrid , or maybe even an ancient precursor to the modern species."

Gray leaned over with a pained expression as he strained his injuries. He shifted a second photo toward her. "How about this specimen?"

She pulled it closer, sitting straighter.

The next picture was of another set of open pages. Only the plants drawn here were odd, unlike anything she'd seen before. They rose on tall stalks, with fleshy structures at the top. There was also a long runner that extended outward from one plant.

"Do you recognize this species?" Gray pressed her.

"No, but from the level of detail, I believe it's a real plant. The leaves, the vining, the rootlike appendages. Even its pendulous calyx and corolla... they almost look primordial, as if it's nature's first attempt at a flower. I can't make sense of it."

"Maybe," Tucker said, "but it appears like someone got around to naming it."

Elle turned to him. "What do you—?"

Tucker tapped the picture's upper left corner, where someone had inscribed a snippet of Greek. She had barely noted it, as fascinated as she had been by the sketch itself. She drew the page closer.

"I can't translate it," she admitted.

"I can." Father Bailey rose from his seat and crossed to her. He pointed at the page. "The word is sarkophágos ."

Monk frowned. "Sarcophagus? Like a tomb?"

Bailey shook his head. "I don't believe that's the intent of the artist. The derivation of sarcophagus comes from two Greek roots. Sarkós , which means ‘flesh' and phágos , or ‘eater of.'"

The priest lifted a brow toward Tucker. "So, the word's inclusion here is not the name of the species but a description of it."

Elle understood. " Sarkophágos . Eater of flesh. Whoever drew this was stating that this is another carnivorous plant. Like the other."

Gray stared at her. "Your knowledge of such species must be what drew Sychkin to coerce your cooperation."

"But to what end?" she asked.

"To help discover their origin," Bailey asserted firmly. "It's why I stated earlier that I think someone found Hyperborea—or perhaps another strange Arctic island. The mountainous sketch, those drawings of strange flora, it's as if someone were recording an account of such a place."

As Elle studied the sketches, she found herself no longer wanting to bolt from the room, to return to her apartment.

I'm sure Nikolai can fend for himself a little longer .

She stared across the table. "If these plants exist, if they're out there somewhere, I wish to be included in the search."

Gray gave her a small nod. "I believe that's what Sychkin wanted you to do, too—willingly or not."

Tucker raised the most important question. "Where do we even begin to look?"

Elle noted his use of the word we , as if he intended to accompany them. While a trickle of apprehension persisted, she found the tightness in her chest easing, making the room less claustrophobic.

Gray answered Tucker's question. "We start by finding the Golden Library. If Bailey's suspicions are correct, it must hold some clue to this continent's location."

Bailey looked none too happy to have his theories accepted—and for good reason. "While we suspect the library is hidden somewhere at the Trinity Lavra in Sergiyev Posad, the complex is vast. How do we even begin a search? Especially without being discovered."

"And keep in mind," Sister Anna reminded them, "we're not the only ones hunting in that spot. Someone is already excavating there, claiming to be searching for the earliest copy of the Tikhvin Icon."

"That's got to be Sychkin," Gray said.

No one argued with him.

"So where do we begin?" Monk asked. "What's our plan?"

The answer rose from behind them. "I may be able to help."

Elle turned to discover that one of the panels of the room opened into a side room. Past a young man's thin shoulders, she spotted a chamber full of computer monitors and other electronic equipment. Likely the embassy's communication hub.

Gray made an introduction. "For those who haven't met him yet, this is Jason Carter, our counterintelligence operative."

Elle frowned. It was a long title for such a small figure.

"I've been working on the photo of the illuminated frontispiece," he said. "We've all been under the assumption that the faded writing surrounding the drawings might be an encrypted code that would lead to the Golden Library's location."

Monk's eyes went wide. "You've broken that code."

Jason scowled and shook his head. "In less than an hour? I appreciate your confidence, but I'm not a miracle worker."

"If Kat were here..." Monk grumbled.

Gray waved to Jason. "Go on. What have you learned?"

Jason headed over to the row of monitors glowing on the wall. "There's been some astounding breakthroughs in bringing forth faded writing from old manuscripts. Using fluoroscopy and x-ray spectrometry."

Bailey nodded. "The iron gall in old ink glows a velvety black under UV light. I've used this technique to return ancient writings back to life."

"I tried that, but it didn't help much. Especially as it's a photo."

Bailey frowned, clearly disappointed.

Jason continued, "I then tried digitizing the page and employing an AI program, one that could detect micro-differences in ink. It only helped a little bit more. But what it did reveal was that there was something drawn behind the sketch of the church. It was faintly discernible through the church's outlines."

"A drawing behind a drawing," Bailey said.

Jason jabbed a finger at him with boyish exuberance. "Exactly. It reminded me of a recent discovery of a self-portrait of Van Gogh that was hidden beneath another of his paintings. It was discovered when an X-ray was taken of it, revealing Van Gogh's ghostly face buried behind paint and glue."

Sister Anna nodded. "Old masters often reused their canvases like that."

"Though, in this case," he said, "maybe someone was trying to hide the most significant clues to their code. To look deeper, I used the same AI program as before, only incorporating a digital technique that mirrors X-rays."

Jason cast Monk a glare. "And yes, Kat helped me."

"Of course she did."

Gray stepped forward. "Enough with how it happened. What did you discover?"

"Let me show you." He raised a clicker in his hand and pointed to one of the monitors. "Using this technique, I was able to digitally fade out both the gilded book and the sketch of the church."

On the screen, the footage from the burning monastery vanished and was replaced with a photo of a yellowed page.

Elle stood with the others and drew closer. If she squinted, she could just make out the phantom image of a splayed book and an outline of a cathedral. They looked like they were hovering over the page. Past them, in the center of the photo, the image of a large compass glowed. Scribbles of writing surrounded it, a combination of Nordic runes, old Latin, and even scientific nomenclature.

Monk whistled his appreciation and clapped Jason on the shoulder. "Kat did really good."

Jason frowned and shook out of his grip. "I don't know what any of this means, but on the way to Sergiyev Posad, we can try deciphering it."

"It's a start," Gray admitted. "Let's just hope our enemies haven't also figured this out."

Bishop Yelagin faced the table. "Once we're in Sergiyev Posad, I should be able to get a small group onto the grounds of the Trinity Lavra without raising attention."

Sister Anna added her support. "I know several of the nuns at the convent in Sergiyev Posad. Friends, who have no love for Archpriest Sychkin. They can offer additional cover for your group—as few people take heed of us."

"You'll need to be discreet with your friends," Gray warned her.

She gave a bow of her head.

Gray faced the group. "Then we should all get moving before anyone—"

It was too late.

An explosive blast shook the building.

Elle ducked, and Tucker shifted over to shadow her. Dust filtered from the ceiling. Gunfire erupted overhead—at first a few shots, then a furious barrage.

Tucker whistled to his dogs, who burst in his direction.

He then faced her. "Time to go."