Chapter 29

29

May 12, 11:37 A . M . MSK

Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius, Russian Federation

Seichan stood at the headwaters of a raging cataract and despaired.

No...

Steps away, a huge flume of water pounded out of a trapdoor in the staircase's roof and formed a heavy torrent tumbling down into the depths. A backwash of cold spray wet her face and soaked her clerical dress.

Several minutes ago, she had crossed through the maze of a wine cellar beneath the Ringing Tower, following a rough description that Monk had given her. As she reached the secret door that Gray had opened, she heard the birth of a waterfall deeper down. It had roared like a buried dragon. Fearing the worst, she had rushed headlong until she came face to face with the monstrous flood.

Poised before it now, she leaned forward on her toes, weighing whether to throw herself into the maelstrom and hope for the best. But she recognized that she would either drown or be battered to death before she ever reached the staircase's bottom.

She fell back onto her heels, knowing she could not risk it. But it was not only about protecting her own life.

Jack can't lose both of us .

Still, she stood there for several breaths, inwardly cursing, refusing to accept what roared in front of her, what it meant.

Unable to take it anymore, she flung herself around and fled up the steps.

She prayed that either Gray had already left or that he had some other plan.

She clung to that hope as she ascended the rest of the stairs and crossed the wine cellar. Still, her breathing choked into gasps. Her legs went leaden.

Hope had never been kind to her, proving false all too often.

Please, not this time...

She reached the stairs that rose out of the cellars and hauled herself up the steps to the tower's entry hall. As she did, she heard raised voices—sharp shouts and crisp orders—coming from outside.

She shifted to the tower's exit, careful to stay hidden in the shadows. Outside, a group of soldiers—a dozen or so—headed through the gardens surrounding the theological school. The men wore combat gear and carried assault weapons. Someone in the lead pointed toward the Ringing Tower.

Seichan rolled out of view, a question foremost in her mind.

Why are they coming here?

Had whatever triggered the flooding sounded an alert, drawing the armed men? Or had Sigma's group been exposed?

She expected it was the second explanation.

For the past half day, she had tamped down her paranoia about a mole in their midst. After the embassy attack, no one seemed aware that Sigma had traveled into Sergiyev Posad. Her suspicion of the two members of the Russian Orthodox Church—Yelagin and Anna—had dimmed. Likewise with Yuri, who had saved her life only hours ago.

As soldiers pounded across the cobbles toward the tower, she regretted such trust.

I should've known better.

While hope had failed her many times, paranoia seldom did.

She rushed across the entry hall. The tower had no back door—at least not on this level. She slipped under a velvet rope that closed off the stairs leading up. She was careful not to touch it, to leave it swinging, lest some soldier should notice it.

She escaped up the steps, climbing to the tower's third level.

Voices echoed up from below, along with the tramp of many boots.

She fled from them, over to one of the open windows that circled this tier. They were old arrow slits used to target attackers. She squeezed sideways through one, then got stuck. Struggling only wedged her tighter.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the voices drawing closer, coming up the steps.

Calm down.

A large part of her anxiety had nothing to do with the approaching soldiers. Fear for Gray and the others kept her tense, stiffening her honed flexibility.

She forced herself to stop struggling, to exhale slowly, to narrow her chest. As she did, her body slid through the opening. She let herself fall. Twisting in midair, she landed in a crouch atop the roof of the Lavra's towering wall. She balanced herself on the thin ridge in the middle, then took off.

The damp tiles underfoot were treacherous and slippery.

Fearing a fall, she kicked off the drab sandals that completed her disguise as a nun and ran barefooted. She gained speed. Still, she waited for a shout to rise behind her, for gunfire to pursue her. She could only imagine what a bystander below might make of her flight. She must look like a huge black crow sweeping atop the wall.

As she ran, she let the winds blow the apostolnik from her shoulders. It fluttered away, like a scrap of shadow. Her hair fanned wide. Despite the danger, she felt far freer, able to cast aside her fears for Gray.

She reached the next tower and easily scaled through another arrow slit, vanishing away from sight. Once inside, she sent a plea to Gray—willing to give hope one last chance.

Come back to me.