Chapter 21

21

May 12, 8:44 A . M . MSK

Sergiyev Posad, Russian Federation

Kowalski cringed as an alarm blared throughout the mansion. The sound ate into his skull—which still felt cracked after being battered inside the trash bin last night. It had left him bruised all over. His neck still had a throbbing kink to it.

He grimaced and rose from his cell's cot. He did his best to shrug off his aches and pains.

Eh, I've had worse hangovers.

Knowing something was wrong, he stepped over to the metal door. A tiny, barred window allowed him to peek out into the next room. When he had been hauled down here in the wee hours of the morning, along with Elle and Marco, he had done his best to get his bearings. He had noted a boiler room, running with copper pipes, then they had descended another level, to some subbasement dungeon, maybe part of a secret S&M club.

The latter was suggested by the handcuffs hanging from chains bolted to the wall.

At least, I hope it's a sex club.

Out in the hallway, a broad-shouldered man in a black suit guarded the steps that led up to the boiler level. The bulge under his jacket left no question that he was armed. The siren finally cut off, replaced by muffled gunfire echoing from above.

A trio of figures came rushing down. Two were cloaked and cassocked: a thin man with a prominent black beard and a hulking scar-faced giant.

The third was well known.

Valya Mikhailov scowled, her pale face darkening with anger. She carried her left arm in a sling, her shoulder heavily bandaged.

Someone must've tagged her.

Kowalski could guess who. Prior to the attack on the embassy, he remembered spotting Seichan slipping off and heading to the neighboring apartment building.

Once in the room, Valya grabbed the arm of the older robed figure. "Sychkin, I warned you. You should've let me bring in more of my team."

"No need." The man spoke with a calm assurance. "We're barricaded down here. My security team will deal with the intruders. Plus, we have a contingency plan already in place."

Another five men, all dressed in dark suits, rushed down the steps behind them. They were accompanied by a tall, muscular woman in motorcycle leathers. Her dark hair was drawn back in a ponytail. A thin scar ran across one cheek, from hairline to chin.

Sychkin turned to the cassocked giant, speaking in clipped Russian. Kowalski heard the name Yerik , and though he couldn't follow the rest, it was clear the man was being ordered to move the prisoners.

Yerik turned to the men and signed to them—which was weird, as the giant had clearly understood his boss, so he wasn't deaf. Maybe mute? No matter, the crew clearly understood, likely having worked with Yerik in the mansion. Pistols were pulled from holsters, and a pair of guards strode toward the next cell. The grating slide of a bar could be heard as the neighboring door was unlocked.

A threatening growl followed.

I feel the same, Marco.

The guards disappeared as they entered the cell. Angry voices were raised, both male and female. A moment later, Elle was led out at gunpoint. She had Marco leashed next to her. Someone had secured a locked muzzle around his snout. Still, the dog frothed and snarled.

Elle kept him close, glaring all around. She looked in rough shape after her ride in the rocket-blasted trash bin. A dark bruise shadowed her chin, and she had multiple bloody scabs marring her face.

Sychkin stepped closer, but not too close. He eyed Marco warily. He withdrew an old book from a satchel hanging over his shoulder. The leatherbound text was covered in flaking gold. Kowalski recognized it from the video of the assault on Red Square, the source of all this mayhem.

As Sychkin opened it and flipped through its pages, he challenged Valya Mikhailov. "What of the other prisoner?"

Valya's eyes swung toward Kowalski's cell. He didn't bother shying from her intent stare. "He was supposed to be bait."

Kowalski inwardly shrugged.

I've been called worse .

Valya stared upward. "But it seems he will no longer be necessary." She turned to the woman decked in leather. "Nadira, before we leave, we should get rid of our extra baggage."

Kowalski scowled.

Okay, that hurt.

Particularly knowing what it meant.

The two approached his door. Nadira pulled out a black pistol, a Russian MP-446 Viking. The weapon typically came with ten to eighteen rounds, not that they'd need that many. Especially as Valya drew forth a steel dagger with a carved black handle.

Kowalski backed up a step.

This ain't going to be pretty .

8:47 a.m.

Tucker crouched between the mansion's six-car garage and the brick wall of the alley. Yuri had taken up a post on the other side of the building. Tucker cradled his pistol between his hands. Two guards lay sprawled across the cobbles in a spreading pool of blood beside the two parked Mercedes SUVs.

He spotted no one else.

Moments ago, when the sirens had blared inside the house, Tucker had ducked down the alley, scaled the wall, and dropped into this sheltered position. Yuri had followed, but Tucker had to leave Kane in the alley with an order to keep hidden. With the mansion's grounds fenced and gated, there had been no time to haul his four-legged partner into this fray.

Without him, Tucker felt half-blind, stripped of his best weapon.

But he had no choice.

"All clear," he radioed Yuri.

Tucker ran into the open, using the bulky vehicles for cover, then ducked behind one of them. So far, no one had sniped at him. All attention must be inside, where a fierce firefight was underway, echoing out to them.

Seichan was offering him plenty of distraction.

But will it do us any good?

Yuri ran low and dropped behind the second Mercedes. "What now?" he called over, not bothering with the radio or speaking in Russian.

Tucker eyed the set of steps leading to a cellar or basement. If the others were being held prisoner, it would be down there. "Cover me. I'm going to strike for the basement door."

" Da . Go. I got you."

Tucker dashed for those steps. He was halfway across when automatic gunfire burst from above. Rounds sparked off the brick cobbles. Already committed to this course, he sped faster.

Behind him, Yuri returned fire from his hiding spot. Glass shattered overhead, showering shards across his path. Tucker raced through the sharp rain, hit the stairs, and slammed into the door. Momentarily out of range of the snipers, he looked back.

More gunfire erupted from other spots across the back of the mansion, pinning Yuri down.

"Keep them busy as best you can," Tucker radioed.

He tried the door. It was locked. No surprise there. Having anticipated this, he crawled out of the stairwell and skulked along the mansion's foundation. He reached a row of basement windows. Fearing those closest were likely to be watched, he continued until he spied a dark, enclosed space with bright copper piping.

Boiler room...

Good enough.

The basement window was only a couple feet tall. He smashed his elbow through its glass, then used the butt of his pistol to clear the frame of shards. He then belly-slid headfirst into the overheated room.

Once inside, he rolled into a crouch, keeping his pistol pointed toward the door. He waited a few breaths, long enough to reload and to make sure no one had heard his entry.

Satisfied, he headed to the door and pressed his ear. He heard no shouts, no furtive whispers. He reached for the handle—then stopped.

The gunfight continued above, accompanied by cries and barked orders. As he paused, footsteps ran past the door outside. It sounded like five or six men. Archpriest Sychkin must have a small army bivouacked inside the mansion.

Tucker lowered his hand.

One extra person wasn't going to be enough here—not to pull Seichan's butt out of this fire and certainly not to rescue the others.

Earlier, as the sirens blared, Seichan had successfully distracted most of the forces inside, allowing Tucker and Yuri to get into position.

But now the enemy had regrouped, redoubling their effort, putting Seichan in greater danger. Recognizing that, Tucker knew what he had to do.

Return the favor.

To aid Seichan—to help all of them—they were going to need a diversion.

A big one.

He swung around and faced the boiler.

That'll do.

8:50 A . M .

Seichan ran low along a hall on the third floor. It was heavily carpeted, the walls richly paneled, hung with paintings of Old World masters. Not that she had time to appreciate the opulence or art.

She carried an AK-15 that she had confiscated. By now, she had nearly emptied the weapon and run through her SIG's two magazines. A deep graze on her thigh bled through the habit she wore.

Ten minutes before, after ducking into the mansion, she had spotted the hulking form of Yerik Raz as he vanished behind a guarded door at the end of the long hallway. She had hoped to make short work of the two guards posted there and pursue him, but the archpriest's forces proved more stubborn and in far greater numbers than she had anticipated.

Overwhelmed, she had been forced into a game of cat-and-mouse across the sprawling wings of the mansion. At times it was a rolling firefight—others, a stealthy hunt.

During one of the lulls, she had heard a fierce gunfight break out across the rear of the mansion. Knowing it had to be aimed at Tucker, she headed there now, to assist him and hopefully combine their forces.

At the end of the hall, a door had been left ajar. She used the toe of her sandal to ease it wider—enough to spot a gunman poised by an open bedroom window, an assault rifle at his shoulder. She also spotted the spare magazines near his knee.

Definitely need those.

She headed over, moving silently. Gunfire erupted from other rooms along this side of the house. She dared not draw attention to this one. A single gunshot might be lost amid the flurry of blasts, but she couldn't take that chance.

She had her rifle slung over her shoulder and carried her new weapon in both hands. She reached the man and dropped the twisted length of her apostolnik—the clerical cloth that had draped her head—over his face and snagged his neck. She spun on a heel, drawing the rope tight, and yanked the man across her back, using his weight to choke him out. He gurgled and thrashed.

Once he went slack, she lowered his body to the floor. She gathered the additional magazines and glanced outside. She spotted Yuri sprinting toward the side of the house. The large man vanished out of sight.

Seichan searched the parking lot below, but there was no sign of Tucker.

Voices rose behind her, along with a pound of boots.

She swung around. A cadre of men rushed toward her. Whether they were reinforcements or she had been spotted on a camera, the end result was the same. Shouts rose. Men flattened against the walls or ducked into side rooms.

She leaped away, shoulder-rolling across the bed, as gunfire burst into the room.

She landed low, near a marble-topped nightstand, and tipped it over. She sheltered behind it and pointed her rifle at the door. She could hold them off for a time, but not forever.

This was made even clearer as a grenade bounced through the doorway.