Chapter 4

4

May 10, 5:33 P . M . EDT

Washington, D.C.

Following Jason Carter's warning of trouble, Gray and the others gathered inside Sigma's intelligence nest. It was down the hall from Director Crowe's office. Jason had insisted they all accompany him here, as there were details that he wanted everyone to see in person.

At the moment, the young analyst was hunched over a curved bank of monitors. Kat kept to his side. Jason had wanted to consult with her before addressing the group. The two whispered conspiratorially, using arcane jargon and cryptic acronyms.

All that Gray understood was the last question posed by Kat: "Have you been in contact with Vatican City and Italian intelligence?"

"Yes, also the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki ," Jason answered.

Gray recognized the name for Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service, their equivalent of the CIA. Considering the discussion in Painter's office, the mention of Russia's involvement in this new matter rankled his suspicions.

And what the hell does the Vatican have to do with all of this?

The director was also losing patience. "What's got you both stirred up?"

Jason looked to Kat, who nodded for the young man to take the lead. In fact, she left his side and headed to her office, likely to pursue the matter further while Jason briefed them.

"Sorry," Jason said. "I should've caught this earlier, but with all that's been going on..."

"Caught what?" Monk asked.

Jason opened a window folder that had been hovering on his screen. "This file hit our systems a few hours ago, but it got shuffled to a low priority. Sigma's data-gathering algorithm didn't recognize the sender as a priority contact."

"Where did it come from?" Painter pressed him. "Who sent it?"

"A man named Alex Borrelli, a monsignor with the Pontifical Commission of Sacred Archaeology."

Gray shared a glance with Seichan, beginning to understand the Vatican connection. In the past, Sigma had dealings with the Holy See in Rome.

Painter stepped closer to the monitor. "What did he dispatch to us?"

"Nothing that makes sense. It's just a series of photos of an old Greek text. I was able to translate the name off its leather cover. Histories by Herodotus."

Jason opened the list of attached jpegs. They showed various pages, often photographed askew. It looked like the pictures had been hastily taken on a set of dark stairs.

Most of the pics were of yellowed pages filled with Greek writing. Several passages were boxed off or underlined. There were annotations in the margins, even a drawing on the bottom of a half-page. But there were also several snapshots of what appeared to be the inside cover. It showed a gold book hovering over the sketch of a building and faded writing.

Painter studied the array of pics. "Was there any explanation about why this was sent to us? What it might mean?"

"No, nothing. It's a puzzle, maybe one the monsignor hoped we could solve."

"Why us?" Monk asked.

Seichan sighed. "Has anyone called the priest back?"

Jason nodded. "It was the first thing I did. But my inquiry revealed that Monsignor Borrelli had been killed. Along with an archivist from Moscow's Museum of Archaeology. According to Russian intelligence, the pair were accosted and murdered by muggers at the edge of Red Square. From the timeline, it appears the monsignor sent us this packet of photos during the attack."

"While it was happening?" Gray frowned. "If so, then whatever he sent must be important."

Kat returned to the group, her brow heavily furrowed. "I contacted an associate, someone I've known for years at Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service. With some wrangling and a promise of future cooperation, he forwarded me footage of the attack." She took Jason's place and tapped at the keyboard and swiped a mouse. "This is from a street camera at the edge of Red Square."

As she stepped aside, the monitor's screen filled with a black-and-white view of a street corner. The image was grainy, and the light was poor. Two figures in jumpsuits and helmets entered the frame and hurried along the edge of the square.

"The attack occurred near sunset," Kat said. "This is the only camera that caught the assault."

One of the men pointed an arm, then lurched forward, raising a palm to his chest, then collapsed to the pavement.

"Shot from behind," Gray noted.

"Igor Koskov," Kat reported. "The museum archivist."

On the screen, a clutch of hooded men in black commando gear swarmed the priest. The leader of the group accosted the man and ripped a book from his arms, likely the Greek text that had been photographed. Then the monsignor's throat was savagely cut. He fell to his hands and knees.

Gray noted him struggling, not to save himself, but to paw free a cell phone. "That must be when he dispatched the file."

"But why send it to us?" Monk asked. "How did he even have our system's encrypted number?"

Gray remembered Kat's question about contacting Vatican City. "Father Bailey must have given it to him."

" Prefetto Bailey," Kat corrected. "He was promoted to the prefect of the Vatican Apostolic Library a few months ago. I just reached out to his office and asked him to call us back."

Gray frowned.

Finnigan Bailey was an Irish Roman Catholic priest, one who had a dual PhD in ancient history and classical studies. He also served the Church in a more clandestine manner, as an operative of the Vatican's intelligenza . Few were aware that the Vatican had its own intelligence agency, its own spy network. For decades—if not centuries—it had dispatched operatives to infiltrate hate groups, secret societies, hostile countries, wherever the concerns of the Vatican were threatened.

Gray's history with this organization went back twelve years, when he'd first met Monsignor Vigor Verona, a former member of the intelligenza , an honorable man who would go on to save Gray's life and whose niece had once captured his heart. Both were now gone, sacrificing themselves to save the world. Before his death, Monsignor Verona has been the prefect of the Vatican library.

"So, Bailey continues to follow in Vigor's footsteps," Gray commented. "Even into those dusty archives."

"He's been of great help to us in the past," Kat reminded Gray. "And he may be able to give us some insight into all of this."

Monk turned to her. "Does your contact in Russian intelligence know anything about the attackers?"

"Not yet. Moscow has dozens of organized crime groups running black markets and trafficking enterprises. At this point, it could be anyone."

"No," Seichan said, drawing everyone's attention. "Run the footage again."

Kat nodded and rewound the clip. Seichan elbowed closer and leaned her nose to the screen. Again, the murders unfolded in black-and-white.

"Stop it there," Seichan said, getting Kat to pause as the monsignor's throat was sliced with a sweep of the assailant's arm. "I recognize that move."

Seichan stepped back and pantomimed pivoting on her left toe and sweeping her right arm out. She twisted her wrist at the last moment to deal a deadly and unexpected blow.

Once done, she stared down the group. "I was taught that same maneuver. But another was far more skilled."

Gray's stomach gave a sickening lurch.

Seichan pointed to the screen. "That's Valya Mikhailov."

7:28 P . M .

Seichan resented the doubt in all their faces. "It's her."

"Why would Valya's group be involved in a mugging?" Monk asked, clearly ready to dismiss this possibility.

Only Kat seemed willing to consider it. "If Seichan's right, this would confirm my earlier supposition about Valya's location. No doubt, the attack upon us would have been costly to her organization. The planning, the preparation, the execution."

Monk scoffed. "So she's refilling her coffers by committing petty larceny, by stealing an old book? That doesn't sound like her."

"Unless the book was important," Gray argued, coming around to Seichan's side. "The monsignor went to great effort to send that file. Something significant must be tied to it. And Kat's right. Valya is a mercenary. I wager some group with deep pockets—someone who could afford her services—hired her to interrogate Monsignor Borrelli and secure the book."

Monk looked unconvinced. "But to commit this murder out in the open, on the street, in view of a camera. That also doesn't sound like her. She's far more calculating."

"Unless she was feeling overconfident," Kat said. "Emboldened by being on her home turf."

Seichan frowned. "Or it's a trap."

Everyone turned her way.

"Maybe she wants to lure us out there." Seichan nodded to Kat. "To her own home turf, as you stated."

"Where we'd be at a significant disadvantage." Monk finally looked swayed to Seichan's side. "But do we fall for this bait?"

Kat sighed. "There's much we don't—"

A chime interrupted her, coming from a neighboring console as an encrypted call hit their systems.

Kat turned to Painter. "It's a video conference request from Father Bailey."

Painter nodded. "We might all as well listen in."

Kat completed the connection and tapped to accept the call.

A moment later, the familiar countenance of Finn Bailey filled the monitor. The priest sat behind a desk. Dark shelves climbed behind him, full of dusty volumes, suggesting he was calling from the depths of the Vatican Archives. He looked grim, a departure from his usual amused manner. He swiped aside a fall of black hair, a match to his priestly frock, to show a serious cast to his bright green eyes.

"Looks like you've got the band back together," he said with a thick Irish brogue, eyeing the group gathered at Kat's shoulder. His attempt at joviality was belied by a sorrowful expression.

He took a deep breath and continued. "First of all, thank you, Captain Bryant, for sharing what Monsignor Borrelli dispatched to you. While the Holy See has been informed of the murders, no one knew the monsignor had sent off this message, that collection of photographs."

"We were hoping you might offer some clarity," Kat said.

"I'll do my best. Monsignor Borrelli was one of my professors. In fact, Alex was my academic adviser for my classical studies dissertation." Bailey cast his eyes down. "He was also a dear friend. His loss will be mourned by many."

Painter shifted forward. "Can you tell us what Monsignor Borrelli was doing in Moscow?"

"He was there at my request," Bailey explained with a pained expression. "The Russian Orthodox Church is seeking the return of hundreds of books from our archives, volumes with questionable provenance. Alex had been dispatched to diplomatically sort the matter."

Seichan looked to the other screen, which still showed the paused image of the priest's throat being slashed. "He died wearing coveralls and a work helmet," she said. "That doesn't look like someone returning from a diplomatic dinner."

Bailey nodded. "True. Alex had been invited to accompany a team of archaeologists to explore the tunnels beneath Moscow. A week ago, some students discovered a cache of ancient books held in old steel chests and hidden away in a vault."

"Were they valuable?" Gray asked. "Worth killing over?"

"That's what Alex had hoped to determine." Bailey's eyes winced. "But that's not what had most excited my friend about this chance discovery."

"What do you mean?" Kat pressed him.

"I had a conversation with Alex yesterday. He had hoped that those chests might be part of a long-lost archive, one of inestimable value, a collection known as the Golden Library."

Noting their confused expressions, Bailey filled in the history of a Byzantine collection of ancient volumes that had been lost during the reign of Ivan the Terrible. "Treasure hunters and academics have been searching for that library ever since," he finished.

"And what of the vault?" Gray asked. "Was Monsignor Borrelli able to confirm his hopes?"

"We don't know. Russian authorities tracked down one of the students who had discovered the site and went down to look. They found the place collapsed by a huge rockfall. They're just beginning to organize a recovery effort. But it's believed the rest of the exploratory team died down there."

"Then maybe it was a simple heist," Monk said. "Someone heard about what had been discovered and sought to secure it for themselves."

Seichan frowned, still staring at the dead man on the other screen. "The monsignor went through considerable pain and effort to dispatch those photos. It was a desperate last act. He must have believed they were important."

"I reviewed the photos," Bailey said. "Whether true or not, I suspect Alex believed they offered a clue to the Golden Library's location. He needed the information to get to someone who could help find the treasure before those thieves reached it first."

"But Monsignor Borrelli sent those photos to us ," Kat said. "Not the Vatican. Why?"

"I can't say for certain. Before he left, I had given him your encrypted address. In case he ran into an emergency."

Seichan scowled at the frozen footage. "I would say being murdered classifies as an emergency."

Gray shook his head. "I'm not buying that explanation. In that moment of desperation, the monsignor acted reflexively. The fact that he sent this file to us , an unknown group, suggests he must have distrusted sending it to Vatican City."

"But why?" Monk asked.

"Maybe he feared that someone in the Vatican had tipped off his attackers. Or at least, in that dying moment, he didn't know who he could trust." Gray stared at Bailey. "Except for a former student who had given him a failsafe number."

"A student who sent him to his death," Bailey reminded them with a somber sigh.

Seichan straightened. "Then what do we do? If all of this is true, we can't let Valya get hold of that treasure."

Bailey stiffened at her words. "Valya? As in, Valya Mikhailov?"

Seichan shrugged, remembering it wasn't only Sigma who had crossed swords with the former assassin. Bailey—in his past dealing with Sigma—had also run afoul of the woman and her cohorts.

Painter lifted a hand. "We suspect she may be involved. Not only with the attack on Red Square but the bombing here."

Painter sketchily briefed Bailey about their earlier discussion.

"Then I may be of help," Bailey said. "I'm scheduled to head to Moscow to retrieve Alex's body. I'm sure I can arrange for a few extra hands to accompany me. The Holy See has already informed Russia that it intends to do its own investigation. And, as prefect, I have the authority to nominate individuals to be temporary nuncios , emergency Vatican ambassadors. Such cover should help insulate those individuals from overzealous inquiries by Russian authorities."

"In other words," Monk said, "you want us to be spies for the Vatican."

Bailey shrugged, a slight twinkle returning to his eye. "I'm willing to vouch for your skills."

Gray turned to Painter. "Such a cover could help us get into Russia without raising as many red flags."

"Let's hope that's true," the director noted.

After some further discussion, details were settled between the two groups, and the call ended.

Painter faced the others. "We'll need to move swiftly. Ambassadorship or not, we can't count on the protection of the Vatican lasting long. But luckily, I've already established some groundwork out there."

Gray frowned. "In Russia?"

"Like I warned earlier, I've not been entirely forthright about every aspect of this investigation. With Valya at the top of our suspect list and Kat's belief she was holed up in Russia, I put boots on the ground out there."

"You sent someone?" Gray looked offended that he'd not been included. "Who?"

Seichan stared around the group, noting one conspicuous absence. In fact, she hadn't heard anything from the man in days. He had gone quiet—which was not like the guy at all.

Monk realized the same. "Where's Kowalski?"

Painter simply folded his arms.

Gray looked even more perturbed. "You sent Kowalski?"

"As muscle and firepower."

Seichan had to concede those two points. It perfectly described the man's skill set.

"But there's another who went with him," Painter added. "Someone who has helped us in the past with a Russian matter. He still has a meaningful contact there, an oligarch who owes him his life. I thought it was time to call in that debt."

Gray frowned. "Who are you talking about? Who did you send?"

Painter grinned. "I guess I should clarify. I not only put boots on the ground—but also paws ."