Havoc
Author: Carolyn McCray
Date: 2012-09-28 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Thriller; Historical Fiction; Mystery; Historical; Adventure; Fiction; Action; Christian Fiction; Mystery Thriller
Description: What if the Tablets of the Ten Commandments were not sent off in the Ark. What if they contained more than the Golden Rule? Rebecca and Brandt go on their greatest adventure trying to stay one step ahead of a new viscous enemy, the Disciples of the Stone.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright © 2012 Carolyn McCray
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140

ISBN-13: 9781612185927
ISBN-10: 1612185924

To Ben.
He knows why.

CONTENTS

UPON THE MOUNT: MOUNT SINAI

CHAPTER 1: 20 KM OUTSIDE OF VARAZDIN, CROATIA

CHAPTER 2: LONDON, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 3: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 4: INTERNATIONAL WATERS, NORTH SEA

CHAPTER 5: NORTH SEA, INTERNATIONAL WATERS

CHAPTER 6: OFF THE COAST OF THE NETHERLANDS

CHAPTER 7: DOMODEVEDOVO AIRPORT, SOUTH OF MOSCOW

CHAPTER 8: PUSHCHINO, RUSSIA

CHAPTER 9: PUSHCHINO, RUSSIA

CHAPTER 10: BULATNIKOVO, RUSSIA

CHAPTER 11: MOSCOW, RUSSIA

CHAPTER 12: MOSCOW, RUSSIA

CHAPTER 13: UNDERGROUND MOSCOW

CHAPTER 14: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

CHAPTER 15: BASE OF THE ALPS, SLOVENIA

CHAPTER 16: CHALET NESTLED IN THE ALPS

CHAPTER 17: CHALET, SLOVENIA

CHAPTER 18: ALPS, SLOVENIA

CHAPTER 19: AIR OVER JORDAN

CHAPTER 20: SOWAYMA NAHIAS, JORDAN

CHAPTER 21: GID OUTPOST, JORDAN

CHAPTER 22: GID OUTPOST, JORDAN

CHAPTER 23: GOMORRAH, JORDAN

CHAPTER 24: GOMORRAH, JORDAN

CHAPTER 25: GOMORRAH, JORDAN

CHAPTER 26: GOMORRAH, JORDAN

CHAPTER 27: SKIES ABOVE THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

EPILOGUE: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Yehoshua held his breath as the clouds roiled overhead. It had been long these forty days and nights upon the mount. He’d nearly given up all hope of God fulfilling His promise.

Moshe, proving himself the prophet foretold, had somehow kept hope alive. He found berries where none should grow. A cool spring that should be dry. Brought forth heat where no flame burned. Without supplies or even a goat to milk, they had survived amongst the mountain peaks these long weeks. Moshe had said God would provide and He did, albeit in meager portions.

It was not for Yehoshua to question Moshe. The gray-haired prophet had delivered them from Egypt. Had subdued the Red Sea and had brought the Chosen People to the base of this mount. All upon God’s Word. Would Moshe’s followers have his exquisite patience though?

Before Yehoshua could ponder Aaron and the camp’s mood during their long absence, the sky set afire burning in reds and oranges. A column of flames shot down, dancing upon the barren plateau. Yehoshua shielded his face from the heat. The air itself felt on fire as it entered his chest.

Moshe however took a tentative step forward toward the column.

“No!” Yehoshua cried out, worried for his patriarch and his friend. God asked too much this time.

A noise so similar to the grinding of stone against stone to build a pyramid churned from the flames. Yet amongst the harsh groaning a wisp of a voice carried through. It sang. Promising them an eternity of faith if they just stepped forward. Who was Yehoshua to accept God’s grace? That was Moshe’s blessing.

And his curse, Yehoshua thought as he wept for a man he loved above every other except God as Moshe stepped closer to the flames. How was he not burned as the fire licked his thick wool tunic? The winds tossed his long white beard to and fro, playing with it as child might a doll’s.

Then arms wide, praying, Moshe walked into the heart of the flames.

Yehoshua fell to his knees, tears streaking his dirt-smeared cheek.

Would faith be enough to survive God’s trial by fire?

As the minutes then hours passed, Yehoshua rocked back and forth on his knees. His hands held up to the heavens in supplication. Had he anything to sacrifice, he would have, yet this journey through the mountains had left them nothing but the rags upon their backs.

The sky brewed black above them as red and oranges danced upon flames from on high. Was God angered? Had they mistaken God’s intent? Had Moshe walked into fire only to be scorched to ash?

A loud whoosh sounded just before the flames climbed their way back to the sky. They rolled and jumped and leapt higher and higher until they were no more. When Yehoshua eyes finally looked down, there was his prophet, Moshe.

Yet he did not seem the man he knew and loved. Instead fire seemed to crackle in Moshe’s eyes as his arms spread wide to carry two huge stone tablets. Yehoshua rushed over.

“Moshe!”

“His...” the prophet tried to say but faltered.

“Enough of this,” Yehoshua demanded. “Sit down. There is an eternity to tell me of the wonders within the fire.”

A slow smile spread across over Moshe’s cracked lips. “I need not tell, for you can read.”

Yehoshua had not even noticed that the large thick slabs were chiseled deep into the stone. He passed his hand over the writing. What a wondrous tale it would make.

“How did you carve so deeply without a chisel or hammer?”

“I did not,” Moshe stated. “It was God’s finger that wrote upon the slab.”

Yehoshua snatched his hand back. “God?”

Moshe seemed to have only strength for a shallow nod. Although the stones weighed heavily upon his friend, Yehoshua was no longer eager to take the burden.

“What sayeth He?” Yehoshua asked breathlessly. He so desired to know God’s heart yet did not feel his eyes were worthy of seeing God’s actual words.

“He gaveth to me and to all the people the Asereth ha-D’bharîm.”

The Ten Laws.

Yehoshua began to weep. God loved man enough to govern him. The worry that God would abandon the chosen Chosen People faded from Yehoshua’s heart.

“Do not shy away, Yehoshua,” Moshe urged. “This was meant for all men.”

Fearful his eyes would catch fire as soon as he glanced at the carvings, Yehoshua ever so slowly brought his gaze upon the stone. Once his eyes settled upon God’s words they were loath to look anywhere else.

“I am the Lord thy God.” A tremor shook through Yehoshua. The truth of these words settled into his bones. “Thou shalt have no other gods.”

Who would wish to have any other God but the one and true God? There were more laws below, however Yehoushua’s eyes were drawn to the second tablet. This slab had much smaller writing, filling the entire surface, and if Yehoshua was not mistaken, the words flowed to the other side.

“What is this?” Yehoushua asked, pointing to the flowing writing.

Moshe’s eyes lost their spark and he seemed wholly a man made of flesh and blood. His long gray beard trailed down his chest and he lowered his head.

“They too are God’s words.”

“Then why not is that not joy in your voice?”

Moshe touched the second tablet, tracing the words. “Some of these will be hard for our people to hear. To understand.”

“But if they are God’s true words, they will listen, will they not?” Yehoshua asked.

Gathering his strength, Moses hugged the slabs closely.

“With all my prayers I hope,” Moshe whispered, stepping away from the plateau to the path that led down the mountainside to the fields below. To their people.

Brandt’s shoulder slammed into a tree trunk. The air rushed from his lungs and refused to go back in. No matter. Brandt pulled a knife from his boot sheath, pivoted the blade backward, and arced up with his arm, hard. A muffled cry answered the maneuver. He shoved his assailant back while still trying to catch his breath.

For a moment, his vision swam and all he could see was Rebecca’s face. But she was safely stowed away in London doing research, and he was knee-deep in half-frozen pig slop. This lonesome corner of Croatia had seen better days. And he wouldn’t live to see another if he didn’t get his freaking head in the game.

Gulping a breath, he pushed off the tree and turned on his attacker. He blocked a punch, but the pain shot up his arm and settled into his shoulder. Damn it. Where the hell was Lopez? Or Talli? Or Brandt would even take that sorry excuse for a new point man, Harvish.

No one could replace Svengurd, of course, but seriously, this was the second ambush in two days that they’d walked into. And for a brief moment he even regretted not having Davidson up in some tree, then bile choked the back of his throat at the private’s betrayal.

No, Brandt had to work with what he had. And at the moment all he had was his knife.

As he swung around for another swipe, a flash of gold caught his eye. His wedding band. It caught him by surprise each time he saw it.

Bam. A punch to the kidney.

Forget freaking matrimony. Brandt needed to just get out of this day alive.

His boot caught the top of an ice-encrusted rock and sent him sprawling forward, just in time for him to miss a bullet to the head. Even though he landed on his injured shoulder in a soggy, rotting, leaf-covered pool of pig excrement, Brandt thanked his luck.

Gaining momentum with his legs, he caught his attacker in a scissor kick, bringing him down to muddy ground. He scrambled up, bringing the knife down, nailing the guy in the chest.

“No!” Lopez screamed, but it was too late. The well-maintained knife had sliced through his attacker’s rib cage and sunk in to the hilt.

The corporal sprinted up. “That’s Amed!”

But it couldn’t be. They were tracking his third in command, second at most. This couldn’t be Amed. Looking down into the man’s eyes, so dark they looked like the soot that smeared both of them, Brandt knew Lopez was right. He had just struck a mortal blow to the head of an al-Qaida splinter group.

Normally he would be ready to down a beer in victory, but this prick was the only one who knew the location of the biologicals that were stolen from the Russian armory. Had they been deployed? Were they safely contained or leaching into the groundwater near some metropolitan area? Only Amed knew.

Lopez tried to stanch the bleeding, but Brandt knew it was a done deal. That blade was in Amed’s left ventricle or he wasn’t as good as he thought.

“I think he’s trying to say something,” Lopez said as he knelt over the dying man.

Talli joined them, dropping his light frame to the ground. “Back away.”

While all of them knew Farsi, Talli was half Pakistani and half Iranian. The soldier knew his way around the Arabic dialects. But even with those credentials, the man shook his head, unable to make sense of Amed’s mumbling.

“Damn it,” Brandt growled and grabbed the terrorist by the collar and jerked him up so that they were nose to nose. “I know you speak English, prick. If you want to talk, talk!”

Amed laughed, causing blood-red froth to coat his lips. “I go to paradise, brother.”

What was the guy playing at? Brandt had read the man’s extremely thick Interpol file. The Iraqi-born leader was a cold-blooded, send-children-to-their-fiery-death kind of extremist. Shouldn’t he be cursing them and spitting in their eyes rather than calling him brother?

“The words are spoken. There will be no hiding.”

Brandt looked at Talli. “Is that some kind of code he’s talking about?” Off the darker man’s shake of the head, he continued, “A parable?”

Talli shook his head forcefully. “I know not of what he speaks.”

Amed gripped the knife’s hilt, shoving even deeper into his chest. “The prophet speaks. Shalom.”

The man fell back, dead. His eyes fixed upon a point over Brandt’s shoulder, an eerie smile upon his face.

“Why would a hard-core Islamic extremist use a Jewish phrase like that?” Harvish asked, as he limped up to join them.

Lopez leaned back on his heels, wiping the dead man’s blood from his hands. “I bet I know one doctor who might be well enough versed in Islam and Judaism to answer that question.”

Rebecca, of course, had come to Brandt’s mind as well.

Talli looked quizzically between them. “We are speaking about the paleoanthropologist Dr. Monroe, are we not?”

Lopez slapped Talli on the back as they all rose to their feet. “Oh yeah.” He turned to Brandt. “But is she gonna be pissed!”

“Rebecca’s a professional. She’ll help even if she’s sworn off religious controversy,” Brandt corrected.

“Dude, not that she.”

“Then she, who?” Brandt asked, confused.

“Um, Maria. Your pregnant wife, remember?”

Oh, yeah. Her.

Rebecca carefully positioned the cross-section of bone. This microscopic splinter of James’s bone was the only thing left from their near-fatal quest to find the savior’s remains. She had lost so much in that darkened smoke-filled cave. Everything, really, she just hadn’t known it yet.

Sure, Brandt and she had a whirlwind romance, then a surprise engagement at the Taj Mahal, but shortly thereafter reality crashed in. A reality by the name of Maria. It seemed a one-night stand had resulted in a pregnancy. It had happened several months before Rebecca and he had met, and she’d been sure they could get through it, but Brandt’s damned Catholic sense of honor and duty had forced him to break off their engagement and marry the mother of his child.

She caught tears at the edge of her eyes. Not wanting to, but unable to stop herself, she looked up to the second shelf above her workstation. A diamond sparkled at her. Her engagement ring. It was still where Brandt had left it. He had refused to take it back. He had said it was his final gift to her. She should have thrown it at him, screamed at him, done something besides let him walk out that door. Now she couldn’t bring herself to move the damned thing. It sat there mocking her. Reminding her of the life that could have been, that could never be.

But she couldn’t dwell on the past. Or at least not the recent past. She still had the “smart” gene to prove. And somehow through the fifteen thousand debriefings she had survived, of course lying through her teeth at each one of them, Rebecca had kept this tiny, tiny shard of James’s bone hidden.

All the preparations had been made. All the calculations done. Today was the day she would drill into the bone and extract a minute quantity of DNA from the bone marrow. Given the fragment’s extremely small size, she would have only one chance at this.

Rebecca needed her mind and hands focused. She needed to block out everything but this piece of bone and her microknife.

Taking a deep breath, Rebecca double checked her instruments, then looked through the microscope. She could see the tiny spicules of bone, interlaced before her. She knew within this tiny lattice, the DNA she needed lay hidden.

Closing her eyes, Rebecca steadied her nerves. Whether or not she was ready to have her theory proven correct or debunked, James’s bone was ready.

Slowly opening her eyes, she found a spot between two spicules that looked especially promising and moved the joystick into position. Ever so carefully, Rebecca moved the joystick forward, angling the microblade toward the position. She would have to coordinate the cut and the sterile vacuum to collect the material before it turned to dust.

She was ever so close to fulfilling her life’s work when the door burst open.

“Dr. Hottie Monroe! Are you ready for some Latin love?”

In her shock, Rebecca not only drove the microblade through the entire section, but she broke the seventy-thousand-dollar tip off as well. “No!”

Months of preparation ruined. James’s bone destroyed.

Rebecca spun around, ready to lay waste to whoever had ignored her huge sign warning anyone not to enter, but found Lopez with his arms spread wide. Behind him a figure hung back in the doorway.

Their eyes met over Lopez, locked in some kind of painful flashback. God, had Vincent’s jaw gotten even squarer? Were his eyes more crystalline than before? And his biceps. How easily she could remember them holding her.

Even though Lopez was no slouch in that department, his fierce hug felt completely hollow.

“What, you don’t have any love for an old comrade-in-arms?” Lopez asked, feigning hurt.

She punched him in the arm. “You trashed my experiment, Ricky.”

“My bad,” the corporal said, but his grin told a different story.

Two other men entered the laboratory. She didn’t know them nearly as well, but by Brandt’s constant complaining about them not living up to their predecessors she knew the shorter, darker-haired one was Talli and the redhead was Harvish.

All eyes were upon her. Well, upon her then flickering back to Brandt. Clearly they had come on some military need, despite their business casual clothes, but that didn’t change the utter awkwardness that choked the room.

“Dr. Monroe,” a voice called from the other room. “Is there a problem?”

Rebecca willed the man to stay back. She announced, “Sam, everything’s fine!”

But the younger man, his face a riddle of reconstruction scars, came around the corner. His features were so distorted that it took a moment for Brandt to recognize who stood in front of him. Lopez was quicker on the draw.

“Davidson!” Rebecca rushed to get between them as Lopez whooped, “Dude! You are alive!”

But that might not last for long, as Brandt pulled a gun from his belt and aimed at Davidson. The red laser light glowed against her previous enemy’s, now assistant’s, forehead.

Brandt growled, “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Rebecca shoved herself in front of Davidson, knocking Lopez back. The corporal looked to Davidson, then Rebecca, then to Brandt.

“Um, I think I missed something,” Lopez commented, backing out of Brandt’s line of fire.

More like a lot of something. Like a world of something.

“Get out of the way, Dr. Monroe,” Brandt ordered.

The fact the man she loved called her Dr. Monroe hurt possibly more than that damn gold ring on his finger announcing he was another woman’s. And since when did he think he could boss her around? Hadn’t he learned that lesson back in the Ecuadorian jungle?

“Not until you listen,” she retorted.

“Yeah, Sarge, I kind of have to agree with the doc, here,” Lopez stated. “What’s going on?”

Brandt glared at his second in command. “Before you go all BFF on Davidson you might want to ask why he was the mole for the Knot.”

Lopez’s head spun around, looking for Rebecca to somehow dispute Brandt’s words, but she couldn’t. They were true. Davidson had in fact been a part, an integral part, of the organization that had tried to kill them all last year.

“He’s the one that told the Knot where we were every step of the way,” Brandt pressed.

“But...” Lopez stuttered. “That’s who got Svengurd killed.”

Rebecca sympathized with Lopez. She herself had to reconcile the young, enthusiastic, and devoted Private Davidson with the insidious snake in the grass Davidson. Clearly as Lopez raised his own Gloc, the corporal was getting the picture.

“How could you?” he hissed at Davidson.

“I can only ask forgiveness,” Davidson said, although his words came out slurred due to the burn damage to his lips. If you didn’t know better you might assume he sounded like the young man had a stroke. It took a little getting used to in order to understand him fully. Especially if he was stressed. Like right now with a gun pointed at him.

Brandt’s arm was up. His finger wrapped around the trigger. “I am going to warn you one more time, Monroe. Get out of my way.”

By now the other two of Brandt’s team had taken up position around the lab. There was no backing out of the room. No escape.

“Sarge, do we have shoot-on-sight orders?” Talli asked.

“No,” Lopez answered quickly, still obviously conflicted between his previous brotherly bond with the private and this new, damning information.

Brandt however seemed crystal clear. “Only because she lied and reported Davidson was dead.”

Rebecca’s cheeks burned red hot. She had lied, but only in an attempt to put the ugly events to rest. What good would it have done for them to hunt down Davidson? After everything else that had happened in that cavern under Rome, what did one man matter?

“He saved us,” Rebecca explained to Brandt. “You. Me. Both of us.”

“Good for him,” he responded, grinding his jaw, looking to find a shot.

“He’s not the same man,” Rebecca pleaded. “Please, just look at him.”

Davidson cringed but held steady under the scrutiny. Ever since she’d found him in a clinic in Morocco, he’d hidden his labyrinth of scars and melted flesh behind a hoodie and glasses. Unless he was in the lab. This space had become sacred to both of them. Somewhere to hide from a world that had been unkind to them both.

“If you don’t think he’s already been punished for his crimes...” Rebecca added. This was why she hadn’t turned Davidson in herself. The man who had betrayed them no longer existed. There were just the shattered remains of a life to rebuild.

“Doesn’t work that way, Monroe,” Brandt answered through clenched teeth. “Step aside.”

Rebecca had no intention whatsoever of doing such a thing, however Davidson moved out from her shadow.

“I am ready, Rebecca,” he said with only a slight lisp. “I must answer for my crimes.”

She fought back tears as she scanned Davidson’s ruined features. He’d become a younger brother to her. A beloved younger brother. A family where none had existed before. Rebecca knew Brandt though. He wasn’t going to let this go. Not even for her. Or maybe just to spite her.

“Zip tie him,” Brandt ordered.

Lopez stepped forward, bringing out the tough plastic restraints.

“Please,” Rebecca begged, “the tissue on his hands and wrists is still too fragile to—”

The entire room shook as a blast wave knocked over beakers.

“Get down!” Brandt ordered.

Rebecca was already on her way to the floor.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fire alarms sounded as sprinklers sprayed down. Screams echoed from the hallway.

Brandt sheltered Rebecca’s body with his own, waiting for another RPG to hit the building yet none did. His body begged to stay here with Rebecca. Who could blame him? His arms wrapping around her were only protecting her. He wasn’t breaking any vows. Then his training kicked in as he released her from his embrace.

“Report,” he barked, trying to cover the huskiness that had suddenly crept into his voice.

Harvish was at the window. “The explosion looks like it was twelve doors down,”

“RPG hit, you mean?” Brandt questioned.

The redhead shook his head, spraying water. “No. The directionality of the blast is outward. That explosion happened inside the room and blew out.”

“So maybe this is an accident? A coincidence?” Talli asked.

Even if it weren’t an RPG there was absolutely nothing accidental or coincidental about Rebecca, him, and a bomb. Nothing.

“Harvish, check the hallway,” Brandt barked. “Prep for evac.”

Then he grabbed Davidson by the arm and jerked him up nice and close. “What the fuck is your game?” Rebecca tried to force herself between them, but Brandt would have none of it. “Well?”

“I have no idea what is happening,” Davidson said, trying to sound all convincing.

“No!” Rebecca urged. “He had nothing to do with it.”

Brandt kept his fists at Davidson’s collar. “I’d like some proof of that.”

“Damn it, Brandt,” Rebecca protested. “He couldn’t.” This time she was able to wedge an arm between the two men, which she then used to leverage Brandt back an inch. He’d forgotten exactly how strong the researcher could be when she wanted to. “If you would just break your death glare and listen.”

Oh how he wanted to sucker punch Davidson. Really just smash his fist into the bastard’s face. But this wasn’t about the private’s betrayal, this was about staying alive right now.

“The laboratory that was hit was my first lab,” Rebecca explained as red emergency lighting strobed the room.

“Remember?” she asked Brandt.

The incident Rebecca wanted him to recall felt like another life. Back when he and Rebecca were engaged. The tour of the London Research Institute had been a blur. Honestly he’d just nodded his head and oohed and aahed at whatever Rebecca was saying in an attempt to get them back to the hotel quickly so they could make the most of the last three days of his leave. Then Maria showed up.

That had been a bombshell, but now he needed to worry about an actual bomb.

Rebecca pressed on. “That lab didn’t have the ultracentrifuge I needed plus a bunch of other equipment that had been promised to me.”

“So,” Lopez said as his eyes narrowed. “They bombed your old office. And if Davidson were behind it, he kind of would have known which lab to blow.”

“Exactly,” Rebecca said as her head bobbed. “Yes.”

As much as Brandt wanted this to be about Davidson, it didn’t seem to be.

“Harvish, the hallway?”

Before the point man could answer, a scream sounded...from right outside their window. Brandt didn’t have to order anyone down, they were already flat on their bellies.

Another scream from not far away. “That’s sniper fire,” Davidson whispered in his weird slurred voice. “Far-sighted, accurate sniper fire.”

Damn if the bastard wasn’t correct. Lopez rose halfway up, peering through the blinds. “They’re taking out anyone trying to escape the building out the western exit.”

The exit they would have been taking had Brandt not been ragging on Davidson. He was not going to give the private credit for that either.

“Harvish, still waiting on a sit rep.”

“Just people fleeing from—” Harvish jerked back from the cracked open door. He closed it gently. “Gunmen in the hall.”

Damn it. This was an organized attack. It wouldn’t take whoever had planted that bomb long to figure out Rebecca wasn’t in that lab. Then the door-to-door search would begin.

“Options?” he asked Harvish.

“I need to check the egress...” their supposed point man wavered.

Davidson pointed to the wall to their right. “The stairwell to the garage is just on the other side.”

Brandt looked to Rebecca for confirmation. You knew your point man sucked if you were looking to a former traitor and a civilian for your exit strategy.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “The stairwell is there.”

He nodded to Lopez. “Make the blast directional and discreet.” While the corporal strategically placed the C-4, Brandt turned to Talli. “Move that cabinet over. I want our exit covered if at all possible.”

Even a few seconds could mean a successful retreat versus...well, versus a bunch of dead bodies.

“Fire in the hole,” Lopez announced.

Talli shoved the cabinet over to catch any shrapnel before Lopez lit up the C-4. The blast was exactly as ordered. Directional and discreet. But discreet enough to not be heard over the alarms and screams ten doors down? That was still a question to be answered.

“Move out,” Brandt ordered.

Harvish was the first to crawl through the hole at the base of the wall. It was a tight fit for the broad-shouldered Irishman, yet he disappeared quickly.

“All clear,” Harvish announced.

Lopez followed. Then Talli. Brandt nodded to Davidson, whose lean frame shimmied right through. Rebecca grabbed her laptop, clutching it to her chest before making her way out of the laboratory. That thing was like her security blanket. A security blanket that had gotten them out of more jams than Brandt liked to consider.

Then it was his turn to squeeze himself through the narrow hole. Once on the other side, Brandt reached through and grabbed the legs to the cabinet, pulling the object flush with the wall.

“Move it,” he ordered.

Instantly Harvish and the rest were surging ahead.

Only Rebecca hesitated. She looked up at him. Those blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. The months washed away. His marriage a dim memory as she blinked, biting her lip.

“Brandt...if this isn’t the Knot,” Rebecca asked, “then who is it?”

Even after everything they’d been through, Brandt still couldn’t lie to her.

“Hell if I know.”

Aunush stood upon the roof of the Lionel Robbins Building, the wind tousling her dark, close-cropped hair. The mission was perfection incarnate. The destruction of the researcher’s laboratory now complete. Time for a little sport.

Her sniper lay stomach down on the roof, his eye pressed against his sight. He fired again as the crack of the gun was whisked away by the wind. The slamming back of the bolt, resetting the sights, then another round. Each action jarred her bone marrow.

She brought the digital binoculars up and watched the sniper’s handiwork. The next shot pierced a woman’s heart then continued through to land in another man’s belly. Aunush brushed her calf gently against the sniper’s shoulder as a reward. If he kept shooting like this they might have to get a room.

Smoke billowed out of the London Research Institute, the ruined husk of Monroe’s laboratory. She hoped the woman was caught in the periphery of the blast so that she suffered now. Her men were only seconds away from confirming the whole group had been killed in the strike.

It pleased her no end that her target was a bastion of science. They thought themselves insulated by logic and reason. Thinking themselves better than God and His Word. Playing with God’s melody, thinking they could somehow force it to sing their own tune.

Another crack of the gun. Aunush watched as a woman’s head exploded before she dropped to the ground. Funny how even with her starched laboratory coat, the scientist’s gray matter looked no different than any other Aunush had seen.

Tiring of waiting on word of Monroe’s demise, Aunush scanned the city’s horizon from her lofty perch. From the top of the building that housed the London School of Economics, she could see nearly every bit of the famed city. Big Ben and Buckingham Palace to the west. Lincoln’s Inn Fields to the north, and of course the wide, slow River Thames to the south. She could make out the tip of the tall, white London Eye across the banks. So odd for London, a hub of culture steeped in a great and long history, to have their most visited landmark now be a silly Ferris wheel. A large, impressive feat of machinery no doubt, but a Ferris wheel nonetheless.

She scanned back to the research building as her sniper fired three shots in rapid succession, taking down five people with his efforts. Oh yes. Tonight should be very interesting.

Aunush breathed in the thick London air. To be so blessed. To have her passion and her job be one and the same.

A crackling in her ear disturbed her musing.

“Come again?” Aunush asked.

“No joy. I repeat, no joy,” her team captain stated between bursts of static.

No joy? Aunush took in another deep breath. Not to savor it but to keep herself from giving the kill order for her own men. “What exactly do you mean by no joy? Over.”

“This is not Dr. Monroe’s office. All killed are the Institute’s staff. Over.”

“Where is she then?” Aunush demanded.

“She is in the wind. Over.”

The firecracker-like shots next to her ceased. The sniper ended his reign of terror and began searching the grounds for their elusive researcher. If anyone could spot a fleeing paleo-DNA-archeologist with her American military escort it was her sniper.

Rebecca tried to get comfortable in the backseat of the SUV, then realized it was no use. The thing was made of cracked vinyl with the stuffing protruding in all the wrong places.

“Seriously, we couldn’t have stolen a Mercedes or something?” Who’d ever heard of a Vauxhall Frontera anyway?

“Sorry, darling, I had to pick a beater,” Lopez said as he glanced into the rearview mirror. Once they bounced their way out of the parking garage and onto Lincoln Inn Fields Drive heading toward she could only assume the Kingsway, the corporal continued, “Didn’t have time to deal with a complicated alarm or GPS system.”

“Sorry,” she said, realizing he had picked a car that could not be easily traced. “Never should have doubted you.”

Lopez threw a wink to her as horns blared when he gunned the Frontera into the London traffic. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

His wide smile faded as his eyes scanned to her right, taking in Davidson’s distorted face. The spark to his voice faded as Lopez asked Brandt, “Where to, boss?”

“Heathrow is too obvious,” Brandt answered. “Still head north, we’ll go to Croughton.”

Rebecca frowned. “Isn’t that a Royal Air Force base?”

When Brandt ignored her question and went back to studying the map in his hands, Davidson answered. “Yeah, but it’s leased by the US Air Force. We can hitch a ride back to the States under the radar there.”

“We might be a bit generous,” Harvish snarked.

Rebecca had never really cared one way or another about the redheaded point man. But now? Now she kind of agreed with Brandt. He was a jerk who, after his performance back at her lab, didn’t really have the skill set to back up his snotty attitude.

“We are going to let the brass figure this out,” Brandt answered, his tone seeming equally annoyed with Harvish as she was.

Rebecca guessed that was the best she could hope for from Brandt under the circumstances. It was far better than the “shoot on sight” talk of a few minutes ago.

“Croughton? Is that the RAF with the really good mess hall?” Talli asked from the seat in front of her.

“No,” Harvish answered, still glaring at poor Davidson. “You’re thinking of Lakenheath.”

Just how often were US Special Forces in and out of England? Until becoming involved with Brandt, Rebecca didn’t even know the US had a presence in England. Guess the remnants of War World II hung on for a while.

She glanced up to find Brandt watching her in the rearview mirror, and then his eyes flickered away. Was this as hard for him as it was for her? Not the whole escaping death by a hair in a speeding car thing. That they were both pretty much used to.

Or was she being stupid? Why would sharing the same car, feeling the heat of each other’s bodies be difficult for Brandt? He was married to a gorgeous wife with a baby on the way.

Brandt had the American dream right there on his ring finger.

Before tears could threaten again, Rebecca turned to Lopez. Her go-to guy when things got tense. “How long until we get to Croughton, Ricky?”

Harvish answered first though, seeming to want to make up for his performance at the lab. “It’s sixty miles, so about an hour.”

Lopez snorted. “Riigghhttt...make that thirty minutes tops.”

“But with traffic and—”

The back window shattered, sending glass shards whizzing past her. Before she could register what had just happened, Davidson threw himself over her as another bullet zinged past them, this time shattering the front windshield. Lopez swerved across two lanes of traffic and gunned them down an alley.

Grabbing the door handle, trying futilely to keep from slamming into Davidson, Rebecca noticed her hand was covered in blood. It wasn’t her blood though. It was Davidson’s.

“You’ve been hit.”

The younger man shrugged. “That second one grazed my ear.”

Okay, the bullet hadn’t just grazed it, the shot had taken off the tip of his ear. His good ear.

“So?” Davidson asked as she put pressure on the wound. “Think it’ll scar?”

This, exactly this attitude, had been why Rebecca had forgiven Davidson for all of his trespasses. Since her last run-in with the Knot she’d sworn to get a Special Forces assistant. Now she had one.

The only question being if they could survive the day.

Brandt didn’t even bother cursing as the SUV narrowly avoided running into a stack of crates.

“We need to get back into the street,” Davidson said in that weird slurred voice of his. “Take a right at the next street. A right.”

“So we can get shot at?” Talli retorted, still brushing off broken glass from his jacket.

“No,” Davidson stated. “So I can take a shot.”

Harvish snorted. “Yeah right. That sniper is holed up three blocks away.”

Brandt however didn’t snort, laugh, or otherwise demean Davidson’s skill. His moral fiber? Yes, denigrate that all you wanted, but the kid’s accuracy with a rifle? Never. Traitor he may be, but damn if Davidson’s training by the Knot did have its perks. But was Brandt really going to go off the kid’s advice?

Lopez looked to Brandt. The questions obvious. Do we trust the traitor?

“You are sure you can hit him?” Brandt asked.

Davidson shook his head. “No. But I can back him off, which is nearly as good.”

The kid was right, all to hell. A hesitant sniper had about the same accuracy as a dead sniper.

“Can’t we just keep the buildings between us and the shooter?” Harvish asked.

Lopez shook his head. “The only way to do that would be to keep to these tight streets, giving them time to get their ground forces to surround the neighborhood.”

As they raced toward the next intersection, Brandt glared at Davidson. It was hard to believe the scarred face in front of him was the same as the one who had betrayed them in Rome. Even though Davidson had been a Knot mole from the get-go, he showed absolutely no hesitation to kill members of the sect. It was how the kid had kept his cover intact for so long. Davidson was the all-American poster boy. Even if the kid was working some treacherous angle here it would still behoove him to get the team out of this jam.

And Brandt would take it.

“Talli, give him your rifle.”

“Sarge!”

“Now!” Brandt barked, not used to having to give a direct order twice.

The dark-haired man bit his tongue and hauled out what looked like a large gym bag except the fact it held the parts to one of the most deadly rifles in the world.

Davidson whistled as Harvish assembled the gun. “Nice. An M107 LRSR. Fifty caliber, right?”

The Arab only grunted his answer as he handed the loaded rifle over to Davidson.

As the kid checked the sights he continued. “Lopez, once back out into the street, you’re going to have to make it look like we really are trying to make a run for it.”

“Done.”

Davidson looked to Brandt. “And I’m going to have to wait until he takes a shot before I fire.”

Great, Brandt thought. You kind of buried the lede there.

“Everyone down then,” Brandt ordered as the car swerved right, fishtailing back onto the main thoroughfare. There was no way the sniper could miss them now.

Davidson flexed his contracted hand. That damaged forefinger only needed to pull the trigger. Would muscle memory be enough? Timing the shot, especially a shot this far away, relied upon his breath being in perfect sync with his pull. A single shudder in his inhale or a twitch of his finger could ruin a perfectly aligned shot.

Even more importantly Davidson needed to get his head into the game. How long had it been since he’d shot? Calculations whirred in his head. The current wind speed gained from a flapping Union Jack. Distance versus height. He couldn’t count on his previous notions on where the sniper was holed up. The shooter would have moved by now. Taking up a better roost to spy the car.

So Davidson had to slow his exhale. Calm his mind. Slowly scan the rooftops, trusting that the best angle Davidson had on the buildings would be the best angle the sniper would choose to shoot toward the road.

He had to force himself to breathe deeply and steadily, knowing the sniper participated in the same ritual. No matter how badly either of them wanted to take a shot, for snipers timing was king.

Then the tiny flare of a muzzle just before a loud ping as the sniper’s shot bounced off the trunk. Davidson didn’t hesitate, letting off a shot of his own.

Aunush threw herself back as a piece of concrete flew at her. That had been a shot. A sniper shot. At them. That could not be.

But the way her own sniper had rolled to cover it had to be.

She could see the thoughts nearly as plainly on the sniper’s face as if he screamed them at her. To make that shot? From a moving car? Monroe’s sniper might be as good as he was.

“We can’t lose them,” Aunush hissed as another chunk of concrete marked a spot-on shot.

The sniper clenched his jaw, turning back onto his belly, taking measure through the scope. Aunush stayed behind the small ledge, only rising high enough to peer through her binoculars.

As a shot rang out, Aunush watched as the car swerved, riding up onto the curb scattering pedestrians. Had her sniper taken out the driver?

Rebecca covered her head as the car ran into a Vespa, throwing the scooter high into the air only to have it crash back down behind them. Lopez struggled to keep the car on the sidewalk, let alone the road. Their left rear tire blown.

“I thought you said he’d be shaken,” Brandt growled.

Next to her, Davidson reset the rifle after firing two quick shots. “What can I say, the guy’s got balls.”

The rim of the wheel sparking against the road probably wasn’t keeping their presence exactly low profile.

“Take the next right,” Davidson ordered.

Rebecca noticed a glance from Lopez to Brandt before the corporal complied. She let out a breath she’d been holding since they’d headed back into the road as the car careened down the street, blissfully flanked by high buildings.

“Do I need another plan, Davidson?” Brandt asked, doubt etched in his features.

“No,” Davidson replied, shaking out his hand. “I just need to reset.”

Brandt’s eyes narrowed, and then all doubt left his features. “We are going to exit at a roll and then have Lopez continue with Davidson.”

The men nodded as Rebecca’s eyes darted. “Who exactly is we?”

Brandt didn’t answer. Instead he continued on with his men. “Lopez, you cool with that?”

“Please,” Lopez scoffed. “I think we just invented SUV skeet shooting. I’m good.”

“Make a few laps of the neighborhood and then meet up at the Chancery tube station.”

Rebecca was having a hard time remembering exactly how hard she landed during their last “rolling stop” exit. And this time it didn’t even sound like Brandt was expecting any kind of “stop” to the “roll.”

“Sarge,” Davidson said, the damaged part of his lip trembling uncontrollably. “I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

“I’m not your sergeant, Davidson,” Brandt corrected. “And I was asking too much of any shooter.”

Rebecca wished she could reach out to the young man. Tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That for the love of all that was holy, he’d at the least slowed the sniper down, but she had to get out of the car at a “roll.” Or with Lopez at the wheel, a “speeding fling” out of the car.

“Let’s do this,” Brandt announced as he opened his side door. The other passenger doors popped open as well. As the evening chill of London swirled inside the car, Rebecca braced herself.

“Try to land on your shoulder,” Davidson suggested before turning back to his rifle, prepping for when they made the turn back into the line of fire.

Great advice. Unfortunately she’d heard it before and doubted she could take it much better this time.

As the asphalt sped past, Rebecca white-knuckle clutched her laptop just before she threw her body from the car.

Aunush ran behind her sniper as they made their way to the easternmost corner of the roof. Her ankle jangled with each step, but she refused to allow the injury incurred as they jumped from the Lionel Robbins Building to the library next door to slow her. She could show no weakness, not even a grimace, not even in front of her sniper. Especially not in front of her sniper.

He made for the edge of the roof and set up, rapidly scanning the area. By now the police’s “Panda” cars, all neon yellow and orange, had arrived. They looked more like clown cars than actual law enforcement vehicles, but they were quick and nimble in London’s tight traffic conditions, getting to the scene far faster than the heavier, more fortified Range Rovers.

Her men at the Institute had already pulled back in advance of the emergency response. They would be long gone before any tactical unit showed.

Next to her the sniper set up just as the SUV made a wide left-hand turn into the crowded street. Sparks flew as the left rear wheel scraped along the ground. The beast was wounded, but could they kill it, and all who were inside?

With a fierce grin the sniper took the first shot, taking out a rear taillight.

“Focus,” she encouraged just as the return shot hit the generator behind them.

The wait was longer this time, but had she not told her sniper to focus? Which meant patience. Much of which she did not have at the moment. Aunush watched through the binoculars as the car swerved in and around traffic, using the other cars as shifting camouflage.

The gun cracked and the SUV’s front tire blew out, sending the car into a spin. Another crack of the gun as the sniper tried to take advantage of the other sniper’s distraction. Then somehow the spin took the car around a corner, but not before a bullet zinged past her ear, singeing her dark hair.

The sniper cursed under his breath as he scanned the streets, waiting for the car to exit. Or had they decided to go to ground? Take to the streets by foot? Aunush picked up her radio and signaled her men the last known location of the car.

“Anything?” Aunush asked the sniper but knew the answer before he shook his head. If he saw anything he would be shooting at it. She held her breath as he scanned the area back and forth, sweeping his scope over the entire Lincoln’s Inn Fields area.

Finally the sniper jerked the gun upright, his dark features even darker. Aunush wanted to rail against him. Demand that he look again. Force him to continue his search, even knowing it would do no good. They would have to rely upon the ground forces, however Aunush was certain they would find only air by the time her men reached the car.

No. The failure was hers. A result of hubris. After running a mercenary crew for over seven years, honing their craft for the day this moment came, Aunush had relied too heavily upon others for intelligence gathering. She would say that she would kill those who provided the intel, but Aunush knew the men responsible were already dead. Her superiors did not take failure lightly. Theirs was the God of the rod not the spoiling.

Rather than relying upon “soft” intel, she should have insisted on “hard” sightings. Physical confirmation of the target’s presence. She would not make that mistake again.

If there was a second chance. Her eyes flickered to the sniper. Had he been given orders to punish her as well? Would she be held as accountable for Monroe escaping as those who had targeted the wrong laboratory?

Swallowing hard, Aunush turned her back on the sniper, making her way to the rooftop door. Each step she expected to hear the snap of the gun into his hands. The short pause as he set his sights and then the loud crack of the shot just before the bullet rent through her tissue. At this close distance? With that rifle? Even a belly shot would result in a closed-casket funeral.

Yet each step was followed by another’s step.

Finally she reached the door, but a hand was there first. The sniper’s hand, opening the door for her.

Breathing a very temporary sigh of relief, Aunush entered the stairwell.

Now to find their wayward researcher.

Rebecca stepped onto the subway car just as the doors closed behind her. The Brits were very serious about their Underground punctuality. Brandt pulled her closer, placing her hand on the bar, making sure she got settled before the tram pulled away from the station. Even then it jerked her sore shoulder, sending a shard of pain deep into the joint. She’d somehow managed to land on her shoulder, and what had it gotten her? Hitting the ground at thirty miles an hour hurt no matter what part of your body landed first.

Her eyes scanned the subway car. Given that this was the fourth transfer, Rebecca had lost track of where they were or where they were headed. Using Oyster cards, they had namelessly paid from one junction to the next. Some of the stations had been all glass and steel. A tribute to modern architecture. Others like this last one had been somewhat...“old fashioned” was probably the kindest term she could use.

And this particular tram was an old-school style subway car, which was showing its age. It reminded Rebecca of New York. She guessed stale urine smelled about the same no matter what continent you were on.

Davidson brushed against her as he pulled his hoodie tight over his face. Lopez and he had rejoined the team a station ago. Although Rebecca didn’t think her assistant hid his features in shame this time but instead to avoid detection. She could see by the set of his shoulders and strength in his posture that danger had strangely rallied him. For so many months the young man had been a shadow of himself. Withdrawn, indecisive, sluggish.

Fire a few sniper shots at the guy though and he was back in Rambo mode. Okay, perhaps not Rambo, but way more alive than she’d seen him since that dark cavern under the Vatican.

“We get off here,” Brandt whispered as he nodded to Lopez, who was stationed down the tram. Lopez relayed the nod to Harvish and Talli, who were one car down.

The car tugged to a stop and the doors whooshed open. Only then did Rebecca realize that this station was open-aired. They had come out from the London Underground and into the British equivalent of the suburbs.

Rebecca read their location. The Gunnersbury station. The crowd swept them down the platform, and they spilled out into the sidewalk. From there the train-goers spread off in all different directions as the sun hovered low to the west.

“Come on,” Brandt urged. “It’s not far.”

“What’s not far?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with Brandt’s long-legged pace.

“You’ll see,” was his only answer.

Rebecca didn’t bother to press the sergeant. She was well aware of Brandt’s annoyingly well-enforced “need to know” policy. Sure, she could berate him the entire way in a futile effort to feel in control, or she could appreciate the walk along the distinctly English streets. Rebecca chose the latter.

Shaking off the adrenaline, she noticed that the homes they passed were an eclectic mixture of turn-of-the-century cottages to World War II–style apartment buildings to a distinctly modern office building in the distance. As they traveled south a large park opened up to the west. She could only assume it to be Gunnersbury Park. With its two pristine mansions, eighteenth-century temple, and stone boathouse, the park had been on Rebecca’s “must see” locations during her stay in England.

Of course she had assumed that would have been to have a leisurely stay at the historic landmark, the Osbourne Hotel. Not hurrying down the street to some unknown location, worrying about a sniper every step of the way.

Streetlights flickered on as the sun dipped lower beyond the horizon. Brandt picked up the pace even more.

Rebecca gulped with each click of her heel. By now they had gotten far enough from the tube station that there were very few pedestrians. Rain threatened and most other sensible folk had retreated to their homes or pubs.

Finally Brandt urged them up the steps of an ordinary-looking terrace-style home. Once on the stoop he pulled out a small case filled with lock-picking equipment.

“Cover me,” he instructed.

Davidson immediately stepped in front of him, drawing Rebecca with him. “Just act like everything is okay,” Davidson whispered.

Rebecca arched an eyebrow at him.

“Like I said,” Davidson answered, “act.”

She couldn’t help but grin at her assistant despite their awful predicament.

Brandt felt the lock give and turned the brass doorknob. A loud beeping filled the entryway. He followed the blinking light to the keypad and entered a six-digit code. The red light went to yellow. He followed with an eight-digit code pulled from memory. No electronic files, not even a handwritten note. Nope. This location was so secure that only his unhackable brain held the necessary pass code.

The light blinked green and then held steady. They were in. Rebecca and Davidson followed close on his heels. Talli and Harvish brought up the rear, sweeping past them to check the rest of the house, making sure they were as alone as it seemed. Lopez, of course, was still out, securing an escape vehicle in case it came to that.

Rebecca did a slow spin in the center of the living room. “What is this place?”

Her mouth hung slightly open as she took in the small chandelier that hung from the ceiling bordered by ornate moldings. A large fireplace with a wide mantel stood to her right and French doors, which opened out to the garden, on her left.

This was the wonder Brandt had hoped would be on Rebecca’s face when he guided her to the home he’d meant to buy in North Carolina. He’d had his eye on a distressed but beautiful Southern-style beach home.

Now all he could give her was a British safe house. One that he wasn’t even sure was safe.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, far more gruffly than he meant to.

“For what?” she asked, still soaking in the nearly Better Homes and Gardens setting.

“To figure out what the hell is going on,” Brandt answered, again harsher than he meant.

Rebecca’s eyes refocused as she slung her laptop case from her shoulder and set it up on the small rolltop desk. “Yeah right. Priorities.”

Talli came down the stairs. “All clear.”

“You swept for all listening devices?” Brandt asked, hating to have to ask.

“Yep. There aren’t any audio or video signals emanating from the house.”

Brandt nodded. He would have to take his teammate at his word.

Harvish entered from the kitchen. “We’re alone.”

“All right you two set up in defensive positions.”

The other men gave a curt nod and moved off, giving them some privacy.

“Where do you want me?” Davidson asked.

“Front and center,” Brandt said, not sorry about his harsh tone. Davidson might have helped them get out a tight spot back at the lab and again in the car, but that did not mean Brandt trusted the private any more than he might a viper that just happened to slither out of a trap.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Back to that ‘what the hell is happening’ thing?”

“Yeah, that,” Brandt said before turning back to her. “Have you noticed anyone tailing you? Scoping out the lab?”

“No,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “And I’m not all that certain I was the only target.”

Brandt clenched his jaw. That thought had occurred to him as well. They could have taken Rebecca out at any time. Clearly they had the means. Perhaps not the best intelligence gathering in the world, but the firepower? That they had in spades.

Since he didn’t believe in coincidences, Brandt felt that Rebecca was correct. The attack had been triggered by Brandt’s arrival. Which chewed at his belly. He had let Rebecca down in so many ways and now to be the source of the danger? His gut would have to wait on punishing them though. He had to first get them out of danger.

“So what were you coming to me for?” Rebecca asked.

Brandt’s eyes flashed to Davidson. As much as he wanted to keep the traitor close, did he want him overhearing this conversation?

Rebecca sighed. “Brandt, he might be able to help. For everything that happened...” She stopped, clearly not wanting to detail what that “everything” meant. “Davidson is as fluent in ancient religions as I. And I am assuming that is why you came all the way to London? Certainly this wasn’t a social call.”

Her tone turned a little bitter at the last. Could he blame her though?

“No,” Brandt answered. “I came because a well-known Islamic extremist went all Jewish on me.”

Okay, that she wasn’t expecting. She cocked her head, trying to understand exactly what Brandt was saying. “You mean a jihadist used Jewish terminology? Not in derision?”

“Not in the least.”

Brandt then relayed the exact conversation of Amed, the dying extremist. She sat down at her computer, typing in the phrases the man used. Unfortunately the phrase “the Word” popped up about a gazillion different search entries.

“We need to find out where he stashed the bioweapons like yesterday,” Brandt urged.

But the sergeant, of all people, should know solving religious mysteries wasn’t a quick process.

“Did you say the weapons were stolen from Russia?” Davidson asked.

Rebecca could feel Brandt’s hackles go up. She couldn’t find fault with the sergeant though. That’s how she felt the first few weeks after she brought Davidson back to London. Everything he said she turned over in her head. Testing, probing, waiting to see if anything Davidson uttered was false or untrue. To date though his pledge had held. The Knot’s influence seemed gone.

“Yeah,” Brandt finally answered. “On the outskirts of Moscow to be specific.”

She met Davidson’s eyes. If there was one man who could turn an Islamic extremist into someone who would say “Shalom” as his last word on earth, it was Osip Gershon. But the man, an extremist in his own way, hadn’t been heard of in over a decade.

“Want to clue me in?” Brandt asked as the silence stretched on.

“Sorry,” Rebecca murmured, pulling up the website for the International Jewish Community of Moscow. The glass-faced building stood tall amongst the Russian capital’s skyline. To think within a communist country such a large Jewish complex could exist. It truly was a testament to the fortitude of the Jewish culture. “One of the men instrumental in breaking ground on this center was Osip Gershon, a Jewish scholar.”

“So?” Brandt asked, seeming not in the mood for a long hierarchy lesson.

Rebecca switched the screen over to a page regarding a maligned sect of Judaism. “Well, once it was revealed that Osip was a Karaite, he pretty much was scrubbed from any record of the Moscow Jewish community.”

Brandt sat down next to her. “You lost me. What is a Karaite Jew?”

“Davidson, do you want to handle that one?” she asked. Brandt seemed none too happy about it, but she had to show Brandt that his old private still had value. That sending Davidson back to America to face trial and then execution for treason wasn’t just cruel, it was stupid.

Timidity crept back into Davidson’s features. His shoulders slumped and he listed to one side. The verve the man had acquired under stress faded, leaving only the broken, scarred private.

“Well, Sam?” she pressed.

At first he stumbled, his words slurred to the point it was hard to understand them. “Karaites are Jewish scholars who embraced...Wait,” he said, clearing his throat. When he didn’t follow up, Rebecca went to fill in the silence, but the private held up his hand.

Davidson gulped, trying to push down the thick saliva that threatened to choke out his words. “We need to go back to biblical times.” Swallowing, he restarted. “Until the Second Temple was destroyed by Romans, largely the Jewish faith was an oral one. One told through rabbis through the ages with very little to no written word beyond the Torah itself.”

He had to take a breath not just to let his punished lungs gather oxygen but for him to regroup. For months Rebecca had tried to convince him not to squander the knowledge the Knot had given him. Instead, she insisted he could somehow right the many wrongs of his past by putting that knowledge to good use. He had not believed it. How could he?

But now standing in front of Brandt? Knowing that Lopez was out scouring the streets for the fastest set of wheels he could get his hands on, Davidson felt a flicker of hope. If there was ever a time for Rebecca’s theorem to be put to the test, it was now.

“Once the Second Temple was destroyed, the rabbis had to admit they needed some form of written document to be sent out to the Jewish communities that had been forced from Judea.”

Rebecca nodded encouragingly as his voice cracked. He hadn’t used it so much since...well, since he was truly a private in the United States Army.

“Let’s fast-forward to the eighth century when Islam spread across the Holy Land,” she prompted.

“Yes,” Davidson answered, “many Jews at the time took to the Arabic philosophy and incorporated it into their own faith.”

Brandt frowned though. “Are you saying there are Jewish Islamists?”

“Yes and no,” Rebecca answered, typing away at her laptop. Davidson was glad for the distraction. He had all the knowledge in his head, but he was so used to walling it off that his words, already slurred by his disfiguration, just wouldn’t come out right.

So much for salvation through oration.

Rebecca could tell Davidson was flagging. No wonder with Brandt’s patent-pending death glare boring into him. Luckily she knew exactly where Davidson was taking this.

“The Karaites still held Jewish tenets, however they found the Islamic concept of Mu’tazilah applied to their religion as well.”

“Again,” Brandt stated, “not quite following.”

Scrolling back, Rebecca found the passage she was looking for. “Mu’tazilah allowed philosophers to apply logic and principle to scripture. That even ‘perfect’ texts could be examined for God’s deeper meaning. No word of God was immune to man’s inquiry.”

Davidson found his voice again. “At first this was applied against the teachings of the rabbis, then spread to the examination of the Torah.”

“Okay,” Brandt said, “still not getting it. What is so shocking about studying different interpretations of the Bible?”

“Um,” Rebecca stalled, knowing how Brandt loved both the Old and the New Testament, “it isn’t so much the Karaites studying the Bible as them deciding that the Jewish establishment had been lying to its followers for millennia.”

Brandt frowned. The last time they had investigated a religious conspiracy they had barely made it out with their lives. Rebecca and Davidson still bore the secret of that night. She glanced over to the private, whose features seemed heavier than a moment before. The patchwork of scars more purple.

But for all his doubt, Brandt ultimately was the most pragmatic person Rebecca knew. “And you think this Osip and my Amed crossed paths in Moscow.”

Rebecca brought up a search of documents containing both Osip’s name and the phrase “The Word.” While they were over a decade old, it did prove his area of research had honed in upon the concept.

“It’s rumored that Osip left Moscow to revive an old shtetl in Pushchino, but it closed down. The only address I can find is in some state housing.”

Brandt turned his full attention to her. “Pushchino? Are you certain?”

Rebecca wasn’t quite sure why the sergeant was so amped up. Pushchino was a small town just south of Moscow. “Yes. The village had a high Jewish population until Catherine the Great’s decree of the Pale that forced mass emigration to western Russia...Why?”

“We believe that the Pushchino biological storehouse is where Amed stole the bioweapons.”

The gravity of the situation hit Rebecca. It was all well and good to have theorems and postulating historical relevance. It was quite another to find out your obscure Jewish scholar may have something to do with the theft of weapons of mass destruction.

“What did he steal?” Davidson asked.

Brandt pulled up short answering. And not just because it was Davidson asking. There were “need to know” facts and then really, really “need to know” facts. Not even the rest of the team knew the biologicals that Amed had stolen.

“Let me guess,” Rebecca said. “Rinderpest.”

“How the hell—”

Rebecca pointed to her screen. “Dude, it’s right here in a WikiLeaks document. Russia has been accused of hording and weaponizing Rinderpest at Pushchino. And the US knows it because they were doing the same thing in the nineties.”

Sometimes Rebecca was a bit too smart for her own good. The other problem? She knew it.

“Plus it makes a great terrorist weapon,” Rebecca continued. “Even though the Rinderpest virus doesn’t kill people, it kills virtually all the livestock it comes into contact with. So it destroys entire communities, even countries from the inside out. Rioting, starvation, anarchy.”

Like he said. Too smart. Although she didn’t have all the information. The Russians had supposedly broadened Rinderpest’s range of hosts. Modifying the virus to be more like its cousin the measles with the ability to infect humans. Primarily the young and the old.

If anyone infected a country in the Middle East with this? Israel? Syria? World War III would not just be possible but probable.

“So was I close?” Rebecca asked.

“Close enough,” Brandt responded.

Rebecca was about to push it when Talli stuck his head in the room. “We’ve got company.”

Brandt stood up, indicating Rebecca and Davidson get behind him. Raising his weapon, he watched Talli and Harvish get into position to aim at the front door. A key clanged in the lock as the doorknob turned.

“Hold your fire,” Brandt whispered as the door opened.

A man and a woman walked in, both in pressed suits. The man however wore a grin as an accessory. “Well if it isn’t Sergeant Vincent Brandt,” the man said in a heavy Scottish accent.

Brandt lowered his weapon. “A good day to you too, Agent Vanderwalt.”

The two shook hands until Vanderwalt pulled Brandt into a bear hug. So very un-British-like. Brandt didn’t resist though. It was nice to see a trustworthy face in all of this.

Vanderwalt’s partner though took out her phone, acting as if she just got a message.

“Put it down,” Brandt said. “I’m onto your tricks.”

The agent tried to look all innocent as Brandt turned to Talli. “Check for bugs again.”

The sensor blinked red over and over again.

Brandt smiled. “Come on. Like M-I-Five is going to give a foreign operative, even an American foreign operative, the credentials to a safe house and not have heavy surveillance?”

“Ah,” Vanderwalt breathed out, his hands spread open in defeat. “We had to try.”

“Yes,” Brandt replied, “yes, you did.”

Brandt made sure though that Vanderwalt not only gave the order to the female agent to disable the bugs, but that Talli double-checked that fact. Sure Vanderwalt was trustworthy, yet he was still a British agent. Brandt couldn’t fault Walt for doing his job. However, Brandt had his own job to do.

Rebecca watched the two men’s bromance reunion with a skeptical eye. She’d never seen Brandt so affectionate with anyone else but her...and supposedly some random chick named Maria, before.

But there Brandt was patting Vanderwalt’s back, beaming away. Rebecca hadn’t even heard Vanderwalt’s name until just now. For a man she thought she knew inside and out, Rebecca had barely scratched the surface of Brandt.

“Dr. Rebecca Monroe?” Vanderwalt asked as he extended a hand in her direction.

Taking the agent’s hand, Rebecca shook it. “That would be me.”

Vanderwalt’s smile revealed a set of crooked yet endearing teeth. “Well, Brandt, there are two bones I must pick with you, chap.”

“And those would be?” Brandt asked.

“First, you did not tell me how absolutely lovely a creature your wife-to-be was...”

Heat rose in Rebecca’s cheeks. Yet one more person to inform that Brandt and her great sweeping love affair had ended like a used-up firework. Dead and burned out, swept away with the trash. The humiliation never would end, would it?

“Yah,” Brandt said, stumbling for the words. “About that—”

“But the second,” Vanderwalt continued, “is the fact the American government assured us that the threat of the Knot was over and the Institute was at no risk housing Dr. Monroe,” he inclined his head toward Rebecca. “No offense, Doctor.”

Rebecca went to answer, but Brandt overrode her. “That’s the thing, Walt, it wasn’t the Knot.”

“Exactly who else but the Knot would bomb Dr. Monroe’s office?” the female agent asked, still seeming a bit put off that Brandt had caught her red-handed earlier.

Brandt didn’t seem to notice the woman’s brusque manner or more than likely didn’t care as he explained to the agents that the lab bombed had not been Rebecca’s.

“What?” Walt said. “We still have Monroe in laboratory one fifty-eight.”

“That was my old lab,” Rebecca corrected. “Since I wasn’t faculty and they converted one fifty-eight into a student practice lab the Institute never...” Rebecca meant to say “reclassified me,” but the words couldn’t make it past her suddenly swollen throat.

To think those students, probably working on Saturday to catch up on their lab assignments, had died in her stead. Just like the tribe in Ecuador or the plane passengers in France last year. So many dead because she lived.

Brandt and the MI-5 officer didn’t seem to notice her distress as they went on to discuss who might have launched such an attack. Her research was controversial. Searching for the “smart” or “God” gene had gotten her kicked out of nearly every research facility in America. Hence why she had come to London. Where there would be dozens of British funerals because they happened to be working in a laboratory labeled as Dr. Monroe’s.

A touch on the shoulder came from an unexpected source. Davidson. Or was it so unexpected? If one person in this room knew what it felt like to have death upon your shoulders it was this young man.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered.

Rebecca wiped away a tear that clung to the edge of her eye. “Okay, now I know how lame that sounds from this side,” she whispered back.

The tiny corner of Davidson’s lip that wasn’t damaged, tugged upward. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

God, she hoped so.

Out of the corner of his eye, Brandt watched Rebecca and Davidson’s whispered exchange. The two had become close during their last mission, but now? Damn. They were over there making a dozen pinkie-promises or something.

“We’ve checked the chatter from the usual ultraconservative suspects that would take issue with Dr. Monroe’s subject matter,” Walt said, bringing Brandt back to the matter at hand. Like who the hell was trying to kill them.

“Maybe we are looking at this backward,” Talli suggested. “Maybe they knew our team was headed to London and guessed where we would be headed after Amed. Maybe we were the targets and the Institute was just collateral damage.”

That was Talli for you. Coming to the party a little late and with only half the food you asked him to pick up.

Walt looked to Brandt. “Clearly something about Amed triggered the attack, but Rebecca holds some key knowledge, so they struck at us all at the Institute.”

“The classic two birds, one stone solution,” Walt said. “MI-5 will be following up on this act of terrorism.”

“Of course.” Brandt not arguing to take part in the investigation. Why would he? Even though MI-5 and even Scotland Yard would be all over the bombsite, if the organizers of that attack were as slick as they seemed, they wouldn’t have left behind any evidence. Brandt’s team had their own leads to follow up.

The MI-5 officer raised an eyebrow at Brandt’s easy capitulation. “So you aren’t going to argue that we should get you off British soil as quickly as possible?”

“Not at all,” Brandt stated with a fierce grin.

Walt cocked his head, scanning Brandt’s features, clearly trying to figure out his angle. “Well with such eager anticipation, we will escort you to one of our RAF bases and get you winging home.”

“Actually,” Brandt stated, “we’re going to be heading east rather than west.”

Now Walt full-on squinted at Brandt. “East? Following a clue from Amed?”

“Let’s just say I’m in the mood to hit the docks.”

“You are planning on boating to Europe?” Walt asked, the surprise clear in his voice.

“Actually I was thinking of something a little more under the radar,” Brandt said, relishing just a little bit the confused look on his old friend’s face.

The female agent took a step forward. “And exactly why would we help you do anything? You brought terror to the heart of London. And given all evidence, Amed’s bioweapon is not a British concern.”

Brandt was about to speak up, but Walt beat him to it. “We have a very special relationship with our American counterparts,” he hurried on over his partner, “that I believe predates your tenure.”

The woman hardly seemed satisfied with Walt’s answer. However she did not seem quite so brave enough to speak out in front of this crowd. Which was just as well. Beyond their two country’s bonds, Walt and Brandt had forged a friendship during one of those missions that “never happened.” Once you scrounge the countryside eating bugs and nasty tasting fish with someone for nearly two weeks on the Tumen River, desperately trying to keep out from the under eye of the Chinese and North Korean border patrols, you kind of developed a fondness for them.

A fondness that allowed Walt to take Brandt on his word.

“Where to then?” Walt asked.

As a honk came from curb, Brandt grabbed his belongings. “We’ve got transportation, so we just need—”

“We didn’t arrange any car.” The female agent moved a curtain aside to look out at the street.

However, Walt smiled. “Lopez?”

Brandt nodded, urging his group toward the door. “I just need you to put in all the paperwork as if we were being transferred to an RAF base for transport to the States.”

“Throw them off your tracks, chap?” Walt said, heading to the door. “Done.”

However, the female agent blocked their exit. “Before you go, I must ask who is in attendance with you. In particular the man standing next to Dr. Monroe.”

Brandt could feel Rebecca tense behind him.

“Obviously I can’t run facial recognition on him,” the agent continued.

Rebecca stepped forward, trying by sheer force of will to drain her face of the magenta that had risen to her cheeks. She did not want to sound desperate, even if she was.

“He is my research assistant.”

The agent went back to her tablet. “We don’t have anyone on the Institute’s payroll matching his general description.”

Okay, Rebecca usually tried to have solidarity with her gender, but this chick was making it hard. Rebecca tried to keep her tone firm yet still respectful. She wasn’t sure she accomplished either. “That is because I pay him from my own research funds.”

“And why would you do that?” the agent asked, studying Davidson like he was a lab rat rather than Rebecca’s assistant.

“That is a valid question,” Walt said. “We do need to know if he is a person of interest in this case.”

Rebecca stifled a gulp. The two British agents were trained to smell deception, and panic must be wafting off of her like sweat on a hot Ecuadorian night. She looked to Brandt, begging, truly begging with her eyes for him to intervene. Davidson wasn’t just wanted by the US government. Even presumed dead he had been flagged by Interpol, Mossad, and of course MI-6, Walt’s sister agency. It had only been through Davidson’s horrible disfigurement that he hadn’t been found out...until now.

Brandt sighed heavily. “Fine.”

Whatever happened from here Rebecca swore to hold it together. To not act rashly or shrill or all the other things she wanted to act right about now.

“The kid’s an off-the-books CI,” Brandt said. “And he’s coming with us.”

Walt scanned everyone’s face, especially hers. Rebecca didn’t have to act relieved that their “secret” was out in the open. She was relieved. Enough her knees threatened to stop holding her legs up. If Brandt wanted Davidson dead, he could have easily turned the man in to MI-5 and been able to say his hands were clean of Davidson’s blood.

“You are sure he had nothing to do with the bombing?” Walt pressed Brandt.

“Again, if he was, he probably would have bombed the correct lab.” A honk came from outside. “And you know Lopez.”

“He’ll head on to Dover without you?” Walt asked with a grin.

“Nice try,” Brandt replied, putting his hand out to shake. “Our exit strategy to the east is ‘need to know.’”

Again the Brit pulled Brandt into a bro-hug, patting him on the back. When did Brandt approve of so much PDA?

“I’ll make sure all eyes are on the north.”

Walt urged his partner out of their way and opened the front door. Brandt stood on the stoop as everyone filed out of the house. As Rebecca passed he whispered none too kindly, “This isn’t over.”

Rebecca knew that tone. It was the tone he’d used when he told her he had fathered a child before meeting her. The tone he used when he said he had to break off the engagement. The tone he’d used when he told her he had to marry Maria.

She could only hope Davidson fared better with that tone than her heart had.

Aunush entered the dark chamber unafraid. If the sniper had not killed her on the roof, this summons did not mean her death. Only an accounting of her failure. Perhaps there would be pain. Perhaps flogging, but afterward...life. Precious time to correct her error. Time to find the whore and her men and wipe them from her sight.

The marble felt cold against her bare feet as Aunush made her way across the large chamber to a figure outlined in torchlight. A figure who sat upon a simple stone bench in the fashion of Moshe. Just as Moshe was no king, neither was her leader. But who needed a throne when one held such power? Even though her master’s figure was obscured in black cloak, the strength of the rod shone from dark eyes. A single word from the master and the world would shake.

Aunush came to the edge of the dais and knelt down. Her fingertips reached out tentatively to the leather boot tips peeking out from the edge of her master’s robe. When she was not whipped for such impertinence, Aunush brushed her fingers along the worn leather, appreciating the tough yet supple nature of the boot. She felt the tight stitches anchoring the leather to the sole. Aunush felt toes curl within the boot as she stroked along the sides and then swept her fingers up and over the arch.

A moan arose from the figure.

Any fear of recrimination slithered away as Aunush lowered her torso so that her mouth was just inches from the boot. She breathed out across the leather, dampening the surface with the moisture from her exhale. Many complained she had risen so quickly and so high in the ranks not from her devotion to Moshe’s legacy or her skill in the field but for her attention to the boot.

Could they not see all and one were the same? God had made her this way. Immune to shame or guilt. A perfect vehicle in which to carry out His wishes. Was it her fault she had been born with a taste for exquisite Italian leather?

Her tongue curled around the tip of one boot, while her hand caressed the instep of the other. While Aunush wished to be on Monroe’s heel as quickly as possible, she also would not mind some time here. Reestablishing her presence. Rooting her importance in the mind of the master.

And who knew. Given enough time perhaps they would get to the heel.

If Rebecca had thought the beater SUV was bad, she was not prepared for their transportation to Europe. Davidson, just trying to get his elbow out from Lopez’s back, jostled Rebecca, nearly dumping her laptop on the floor.

“We wouldn’t be this cramped,” Lopez said, “if they’d just let me on the bridge.”

“It’s a submarine,” Harvish replied, rolling his eyes. “Like they’re going to let you drive a sub.”

Lopez jostled them all as he turned to face the person sullying his reputation. “I will have you know that I am certified as both a throttleman and a planesman, who steers the sub, not drives the sub.” The corporal sat back with a sad sigh. “They’re going what, twenty? Twenty-five knots? I so could have gotten at least thirty out of this Los Angeles class, baby.”

Rebecca didn’t doubt it, however the captain of the sub had been pretty clear that he wanted Lopez to stay put down here with them. Which meant the six of them were crammed inside one of the forward torpedo shoots, sitting on a jumble of crates. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but come on. Rebecca had to keep reminding herself that oxygen was being pumped to them every second. That a computer was tasked with keeping the oxygen level at a steady 22 percent and the carbon dioxide scrubbed out.

Listening to the air whistle through the steel grate above their heads, Rebecca closed her eyes, trying to imagine they were on some tropical beach listening to the island breezes. Far from danger. Far from any submarine. However, the distinctly metallic smell in the air kind of took away from the vacation vibe she was hoping for. And the occasional clang of a seaman’s steps above them forced her eyes open again.

She went to reposition herself and got a splinter for her troubles. Between sucking on the wound, Rebecca grumbled, “What are all these crates doing here anyway?”

“They must have been headed for a long, silent mission,” Davidson said, indicating the label on the crates. “A sub needs to pack on enough food for the duration of the trip, which can be months.”

Again, seeing that they were sitting on a whole bunch of canned green beans and Spam, Rebecca was glad they were only catching a ride on the sub across the North Sea.

She wasn’t the only one unsettled.

“I probably passed the Valsalva maneuver better than anyone on board,” Lopez lamented. “SEIE suit test? Flying colors. I’m certified on fast-attack subs, submersibles, even the 688i subs.”

“Oh, and what?” Harvish harangued. “Bet you’ve got the code to launch the nuclear missiles too?”

Lopez snorted. “Dude, that is a ballistic-class submarine that holds the Trident missiles. This is a fast-attack sub. Jesus, learn the difference.”

Before Harvish could respond, Brandt weighed in. “Lopez, why don’t you put your earbuds in and chill until we arrive? It’s going to be a long night.”

“But the midrats are supposed to be pizza and meatloaf.”

“Midnight rations,” Brandt clarified as Rebecca raised an eyebrow at Lopez’s statement. So he was keeping an eye on her from the front of the torpedo tube.

“Leftovers basically,” Davidson confirmed.

Even though meatloaf and pizza together did not sound at all appetizing, Rebecca’s stomach rumbled. Food of any stripe would be appreciated. Clearly they hadn’t had time to stop for dinner on their mad rush from London to the sleepy town of Southend-on-Sea. At least not the way Lopez drove. Then the sailing out on a CIA-fronted fishing boat with rough seas to meet the submarine twelve miles out in international waters.

It wasn’t until moments like this, long after the rush and panic of the escape, that Rebecca’s hands tremored a bit and her stomach complained.

“I could use some food too,” Rebecca added.

“The XO should be coming by to check in soon,” Brandt stated flatly. “We’ll see what they can scrounge for us. No guarantees though.”

With that he turned his shoulder away from her, hunkering down like a giant in a human’s bed. If only she could shed her fear, hunger, and longing as easily as Brandt.

Brandt tried to push the world around him to the deep, dark recesses of his mind. He had a mission to plan. Details to resolve. Strategies to develop.

How was it then with six people crammed into this space he could hear each and every one of Rebecca’s breaths? Her soft groan as she tried to find a more comfortable position. Even her stomach growling was as clear as if his head lay upon her belly. Not that he would ever be doing that in the future.

He never should have involved Rebecca in this damned mission. Brandt could have sought out some other expert in ancient Jewish, Christian, and Islamic faiths with intense field experience fighting extremists. Oh wait, there weren’t any others. Or was that just what he convinced himself, giving him permission to go to London?

No. For all his faults, seeking Rebecca’s counsel in this case was not one of them. The single biggest lesson they had learned after battling the Knot was...once religious mysteries were opened, they did not close on their own. Blood had to be spilt into the maw to close it again.

His other faults though? Those did damn Rebecca.

A single stupid night, months and months before the paleo-DNA-archeologist had burst on the scene, Brandt had made the biggest damned error of his life. It hadn’t felt like it at the time. After surviving a mission that had gone ten ways bad, ending up in arms of a beautiful woman had felt pretty good. How many other soldiers had a one-night stand with nothing but pleasant memories to show for it?

Not Brandt and his super swimmers apparently.

Spinning the gold band around his finger, he wondered for the fourteen thousandth time if he’d done the right thing. Yet each time he tortured himself through convoluted logic he always came down to the same realization. He was going to be a father.

A father.

That still did not jibe with his career, with his life, with his love.

But there it was. Fatherhood on the horizon. A not-so-distant horizon.

Okay, was there anything he could think about on this damned boat that didn’t put him in a worse mood?

“Did you hear that?” Lopez asked.

Brandt sat up. What in the hell could the corporal hear that put that sense of impending danger in his voice? They were on an attack sub for God’s sake.

Harvish snorted. “Lopez’s probably just hearing the sound of pizza dough thrown—”

“Shh!” Lopez hissed as he climbed forward through the bodies, inching past Brandt to get to the torpedo hatch. The corporal leaned his ear against the metal, listening intently. Finally he removed his ear. “There’s another sub in the vicinity.”

“Did I hear something about pizza?” the XO asked as he made his way to the tube, ducking to avoid a water pipe.

Harvish threw a thumb toward Lopez. “Nah, Lopez just thinks he’s the sub whisperer.”

“I am telling you that is the vibration of another sub,” the corporal said. “A Chinese sub if I am not mistaken. Ming class.”

“I can assure you that—” The XO stopped as the MC27 phone blinked red. The XO picked it up, listened carefully, and then hung the phone up with care. “It appears there is another sub in the vicinity. A Chinese sub.”

Lopez whacked Harvish across the back of the head. “Told ya.”

“It isn’t that uncommon in these waters,” the XO explained. “We are all trolling for information, especially on the Russians since the theft.”

“Why would the Chinese be intent on that?” Brandt asked.

The XO shrugged. “Don’t know, but we were briefed to be ready in case we bumped into them.”

“May I add something?” Rebecca asked, sounding far more timid than usual. Guess being in a torpedo tube did that to a girl.

Brandt nodded for her to continue.

“While thought of as a manufactured good export country, much of China is still very agrarian.”

The XO looked at the researcher much like Brandt must’ve when he first met Rebecca. “Which means?”

“Oh,” Rebecca said, seeming to catch herself. “The Chinese now have over three million dairy cows. A sizable chunk of their internally generated GDP depends on those livestock and their products.”

“My, my, sergeant,” the XO stated, bordering on condescending, “you have your very own portable encyclopedia.”

Brandt was going to rise to her defense, but realized he didn’t need to as Rebecca continued.

“No. I Googled it back in London. Rinderpest started in China. It set back their livestock development centuries. They were also the first to call for eradication of the disease even before the African outbreak in 1982.”

The XO inclined his head. “So sorry. Sergeant, let me correct myself. You have an excellent researcher on your hands.”

And apparently a really pushy corporal as well.

“Don’t you think it’s weird the Chinese would send a Ming class on such a sensitive patrol?” Lopez asked. “The thing is as loud as a motorboat.”

“Why the Chinese do anything the Chinese do is a mystery to us all,” the XO answered. “It was probably the only vessel in the area. With less than a hundred subs, they’ve got to make do.”

“But to push past your wake like that?” Lopez challenged. “It’s like they’re screaming, ‘Look over here, look over here.’”

The XO no longer seemed charmed by their presence, if he ever had been. Brandt could feel the man’s pain. Lopez was the one with the encyclopedic knowledge of anything that was rated by how fast it could go.

“And your point would be?” the XO exhaled.

“The Chinese have been known to show off a noisy sub to cover a quieter, later-class sub like a Yuan or even Shang to slip by unnoticed.” Lopez turned to Brandt.

The XO tried to wave away the notion, however Brandt noticed that the navy man’s shoulders had gone up and his jaw was about ten times tighter than it had been before. That wasn’t just annoyance with the corporal. No, it appeared the corporal was onto something.

“Well?” Brandt asked the XO.

When the man didn’t speak up, Lopez filled in the details. “That’s what the whole 2009 Impeccable incident was all about. The Chinese tried to act like some ‘fishing trawlers’ got carried away practically attacking our ship, but we all know they did it because the Chinese were doing secret testing on the nuke-carrying Shang subs and wanted our surveillance ship out of there pronto.”

At this point the XO didn’t even bother to deny it. “We are, in fact, looking for a second shadow vessel.”

“Thank you! Finally!” Lopez said, smacking Harvish on the back of the head again.

“But what exactly does that mean for us?” Brandt asked.

The XO shrugged. “Nothing. We’ve got a lot of water to cover. I doubt they are going to follow us all the way to the Netherlands.” He angled back the way he came. “I’ll send down some midrats, but after you grub I’d suggest you rack up and get some shut-eye. We won’t be in position for another seven hours.”

How Brandt wished he could just roll over and sleep. But with an unknown enemy in England and now the Chinese shadowing their submarine?

Forget about it.

Aunush caressed the wooden heel of the boot. By now her body curved around the master’s feet, surrounding the boots. Claiming the boots as her own.

The heel came up an inch and she put her pinkie beneath it. The master stepped down. Not enough to cause injury but enough to hurt. Her groan of pain was met by the master’s moan of desire. Passion beat from the master’s form, enveloping Aunush.

If this was how the master felt after a stinging setback, Aunush might just have to fail a bit more often.

The door to the chamber was flung wide open. No knock. No warning. How crass. As the young acolyte rushed forward, Aunush did not untangle herself from the master. No, this Disciple needed to know the import of what he just interrupted.

The boy stumbled forward, a look of shock etched into the young features as Aunush drew a tongue across the upper leather of the boot. The Disciple’s eyes jerked away, staring instead at the ground as he relayed his most urgent news.

“Initial reports have been confirmed, Master,” he puffed. “An import/export cargo plane has been requisitioned by a Central Intelligence Agency front company from Heide Denmark to Moscow. They have arranged passage for six.”

Ah. Dr. Monroe and her band of merry men headed east. Could the news not have waited a few more moments though?

“The rabbis believe that the researcher seeks—”

“Yes,” Aunush said as she rose. “We know who she seeks.”

Osip, clearly. The man should have been killed years ago. Spouting off about alternative interpretations of the Torah. Keeping controversy alive when it should have been extinguished years ago.

Stepping off the dais, Aunush bowed before the master. “I will not fail again.”

But if she did, Aunush wondered if she would be so welcomed back.

Not waiting for that answer, Aunush turned to the boy. “What are you waiting for? Please your master.”

The child’s eyes dilated as he took an unconscious step back. As if the master would ever covet one such as him. Aunush turned the boy by the shoulders and urged him from the room.

“Do not think yourself so worthy.”

Rebecca’s aches and pains awoke fully before she did. Despite lying upon a row of splintery crates, her mind wished to stay in that lulling glow between sleep and the “real world.” Her body though? Her body wanted to catalog each and every bump and scrape. Take her chin for instance. That abrasion probably had enough microscopic pavement in it to build a whole new road.

Male voices tugged her away from sleep and even away from her myriad of minor injuries. She recognized one voice in particular—Brandt. And he sounded none too thrilled. And if Brandt wasn’t happy, that usually meant more sorrow for her.

Opening her eyes, she found all the men crowded in the narrow hallway outside the torpedo bay. Lopez’s eyes crackled with an argument he obviously was forced to contain. Talli stood to the left, his hand secured on a conduit overhead, standing on his tiptoes trying to see over the taller Harvish. In the back of the group, Davidson hovered near the mouth of the torpedo bay, hood up and over his face, clearly trying to hear but equally clearly trying to stay out of the fray.

That left the prize fight between Brandt and the XO.

Sitting up, Rebecca glanced to her watch. Had she really slept for over six hours? No wonder she had a kink in her spine that started at her neck and didn’t stop until her pelvis. She’d never been one for camping. And camping inside a torpedo bay? That was pretty much at the bottom of her list.

As she rubbed her shoulders, Rebecca tried to catch up on the conversation.

“It just isn’t possible,” the XO said, shaking his head to amplify his surety.

“Then how exactly are we supposed to rendezvous with the trawler?”

“That is not my problem,” the XO stated, then nodded to Lopez. “Your man, himself, confirms our suspicions that we are being tailed by a Shang-class Chinese sub.”

“But—” Lopez tried to retort, however Brandt held up a hand to silence his corporal.

Scooting over, making sure to avoid splinters, Rebecca sat next to Davidson. As Brandt engaged in a stare-down with the XO, she whispered to her assistant, “What’s going on?”

Davidson’s eyes flickered over to her, and then he leaned down to keep the conversation between the two of them. “We can’t surface with another sub in the vicinity, and we only have a half an hour window to catch our ride from international waters to Denmark.”

Ah. Hence the argument.

“We are on a highly sensitive classified mission,” Brandt stated.

“As are we,” the XO countered. “Which has been delayed to act as some kind of North Sea Special Forces taxi service. We can’t risk the lack of maneuverability surfacing creates.”

“Because what?” Harvish demanded. “They’re going to take a potshot at us?”

Brandt glared, clearly pissed that his point man had piped up. Equally clear that was the question Brandt wanted answered.

The XO turned to leave. “With a Chinese nuclear armed submarine in the vicinity, we do not take anything for granted.”

The man was about to walk away. There wasn’t a whole lot that the sergeant could do about it, which you could tell by the set of Brandt’s jaw. They were so far outside his scope of authority. A pang of sympathy took Rebecca off guard. Guess her heart was far more forgiving than she gave it credit for.

“But I’ve got a solution,” Lopez pleaded. When all eyes turned to him, he put his hands up in surrender. “I mean, no one is going to like my solution, but I have one.”

“Fine.” Brandt gave a curt nod to the corporal. “What is it?”

Lopez indicated to the torpedo bay. “Shoot us out.”

“Excuse me?” Rebecca blurted, although none seemed to notice—they were too intent on the corporal.

“Come on,” Lopez said, his words directed at the XO. “We wouldn’t even have to slow down. You just flood the tubes, open the hatch, and whoosh we’re out of your hair.”

Harvish and Talli scoffed, but Rebecca knew Lopez too well. He meant every word of it. And by the way Brandt’s eyes crinkled around the edges, the sergeant was seriously considering Lopez’s plan.

“Is it doable?” Brandt asked the XO despite Rebecca’s desperate psychic attempt to wipe the memory of the plan from his mind.

The XO hemmed a bit. “We’ve only done personnel placement through the tubes at a dead stop with trained SEALS who—”

“Oh man,” Lopez protested. “Those are just semantics. We are chasing down a nasty bioweapon. We are all down with the risk.”

“And what about those two?” the XO asked, indicating to Davidson and Rebecca.

While Davidson nodded his agreement, Rebecca sat there like a very startled deer in some rather large headlights.

Brandt turned to Rebecca. The plan was crazy. It came from Lopez, so of course it was crazy. However, it was the one and only way they were going to make their rendezvous window for the Netherlands. And if they didn’t hit their window, they could forget about the cargo plane to Moscow. Getting to Russia quickly and quietly required them to get off this sub. Now.

Yet he could not be angry that Rebecca’s eyes were wide with fear and her head shook back and forth.

She swallowed heavily before answering. “If we don’t get off now, what is the backup plan?”

To anyone else, Brandt would have shut them down, telling them there was no other plan, but to Rebecca he couldn’t. Instead he let the XO answer.

“You would need to ride with us to Sweden. We’d pull into Karlskrona’s naval yard complaining of rudder issues. That would give us cover to unload you six and replace the rations you consumed.”

Brandt watched as Rebecca’s eyes flickered from face to face. You could see her thinking it through, trying to find some way, any way to avoid Lopez’s plan. Brandt knew because he had just swung through the same mental jungle gym.

“You don’t have to go,” Brandt offered. “We could hit Russia, interface with this Osip Gershon, and have you catch up.”

Rebecca cocked her head to the side though, shedding the fear and replacing it with confidence. “Please. Like even Davidson would know what questions to ask Osip. Plus, none of you have ever met him before. The guy is a hard-core recluse, suspicious because he has to be.”

Brandt couldn’t help but grin. “So that means you’re on board with Lopez’s plan?”

She sighed, realizing her own arguments forced her to sign on the dotted line.

“I suppose.”

“Great!” Lopez said as he clapped his hands once. “And just one more tiny, tiny detail.”

Brandt braced himself. There was nothing ever tiny about any detail Lopez held back. “Yes?”

Lopez turned to the XO. “To really sell this and have us escape unnoticed...”

The second in command seemed as concerned as Brandt felt. “Go on.”

“We’re gonna have to kind of ‘bump’ the other sub,” Lopez hurried on. “You know, just to throw off their radar and have them all worried about their hull rather than us.”

Brandt watched as a series of emotions crossed the XO’s face. Disbelief, disgust, and denial passed over his features.

However it was Rebecca who spoke their collective feeling.

“Oy.”

Rebecca tried to grab the zipper on the back of her “membrane” dry suit, but had no luck.

“I’ll get it,” Davidson said as he snagged his own zipper and pulled it up before repeating the procedure on Rebecca. Seriously, even after being nearly burned alive resulting in severe tendon contracture, the kid was still more flexible than her.

And boy was that a benefit in this situation. Rebecca squirmed as she tried to get her undersuit to stop lumping in all the wrong places. Clearly the polyester, microfiber, thermal insulating jumpsuit was not cut for a woman. And now with the skintight vulcanized rubber dry suit on top of the undersuit? It was like trying to breathe with a tire wrapped around her chest. And her hips? The polyester was stretched thin over her curves.

“Just a few more,” Davidson reported as he zipped up another of her four zippers. To keep the water out yet let your body in, the suit had more zippers than an Alexander Wang outfit.

Not that she was necessarily in any hurry to get ready. Being shot out of a torpedo tube strangely was not on her bucket list. The men though, while initially reluctant, now were in what could only be described as the “pumping themselves up” mood. There was some whooping and serious chest-bumping going on between Lopez and Harvish.

Rebecca’s instinct was to go all-quiet knowing there was a nuclear submarine lurking, however the XO had advised exactly the opposite. They wanted the Chinese to be lulled into the sense that the sub had no idea it was being followed. Hence the whooping.

“All right,” Brandt grumbled. “Equipment check.”

The sergeant went down each of the men, double-checking various pieces of equipment.

“Talli,” Brandt frowned. “What is the drill?”

“Breathing. Water. Really. Ain’t. Fun,” the dark-skinned man reported.

Brandt’s frown deepened. “Actually, the B is for buoyancy compensator, which did you even bother to check yours?” Tugging on the point man’s harness, Brandt realigned a small regulator. “That angle of that thing was going to cause it to stick.”

He then moved on to Lopez, who pointed to his buoyancy compensator. “I learned it as ‘Blonde Women Really Are Fun.’” The corporal winked at Rebecca.

It really wasn’t funny, but somehow Lopez made her smile back.

The sergeant though was having none of it. “Then soldier, how about you tell me why you have twice the number of ‘women’ around your waist?”

Lopez pointed to the weight belt. “I wanted to bring up the rear, so I didn’t want to pop up too quickly.” Off of Brandt’s glare the corporal kicked at the steel mesh deck with his flipper. “Fine. I really wanted to hang back to see the Chinese sub.”

For a moment Rebecca thought that Brandt would let loose on the corporal. Instead Brandt nodded. “Recon only, Lopez. Once you get a look, you surface. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Lopez replied, beaming.

Brandt moved on to Davidson. You could tell he wanted to find something wrong with the younger man’s equipment, but Davidson rattled off the predive checklist.

“Buoyancy compensator checked for leaks. Weights secured. Releases totally six fastened and tugged. Air, full and all the way opened, then taken back half a turn. Flashlights with fully charged batteries. Ready for final check, sir.”

Rebecca noticed that Brandt didn’t fuss this time at the sir. But after that performance, hopefully the sergeant could remember why he’d trusted Davidson in the first place.

With a grunt of approval, Brandt moved on to Harvish.

“Well I learned it as,” the point man said, “Bangkok. Women. Really. Are. Fellas.”

If Harvish thought that was going to score points with Brandt, he was so sorely mistaken.

“That’s enough,” Brandt barked. “Tighten those buckles and turn your oxygen down. We don’t want you hyperbaric.”

The point man gulped, suddenly fascinated more by his equipment than impressing his teammates. Brandt shook his head before moving on to Rebecca. Without speaking he readjusted her buoyancy compensator.

“Sorry,” Rebecca said, trying to cover for both her embarrassment and how her body still reacted as Brandt moved in close, releasing and reattaching several buckles. “I didn’t learn the predive routine at all.” She hurried on as he tucked a strap into her waist belt. The action brought back way too many memories. “I’ve never even scuba dived before.”

Finishing his inspection, he looked into her eyes. “I know.”

Of course he knew. He’d wanted to take her the time they were hiding out in Sri Lanka, but a monsoon hit. They’d spent the entire five days huddled inside their beach hut. Alas, that had always been their luck. Until even that incredibly bad luck ran out.

He looked like he might say more, then turned back to the men. “Let’s gas up.”

Wait. What the hell was gassing up?

Davidson fumbled a bit as he hooked a small air compressor to Rebecca’s suit.

“What’s that going to do?” she asked wide-eyed.

“The membrane suit has no real insulating capacity, so we need to put some air in there,” he answered.

“Air in where exactly?”

“Between your undersuit and dry suit.”

Rebecca put her gloved hand on his, stopping him from completing the seal. “Davidson, I guarantee you that I have no room between my undersuit and dry suit for anything. Not even air.”

“It’s just a few millimeters,” Davidson reassured her, finishing the seal.

Her fingers dug into his despite the neoprene between them. “Not even a few millimeters.”

“You’ll be fine.” However Rebecca looked anything but fine as he started piping in the air. “Breathe,” he reminded her.

“Easy for you to say,” Rebecca snapped, then gave an apologetic grin. “Good thing I wasn’t wearing a Wonderbra today.”

Davidson wished he could grin back, however his one good lip was turned away from her. Could she see the amusement in his eyes? Then she flicked him with her gloved finger. He guessed she did. How with the maze of scars and melted tissue he didn’t know. After the third reconstructive surgery, he had given up looking in the mirror.

Not because he’d become so ugly, but because each angry red line across his face reminded him of the deaths he had caused. He had been so certain the Knot’s path was the true and certain one. He had never stopped to see that betraying those around you might not be God’s way.

God though had seen fit to save Davidson. Not just from the fire but from the Knot’s grasp. Despite his fear, Davidson now saw the path before him illuminated. God had given him a chance to redeem himself. He could never bring back the people who had died because of him. Could though the scales somehow be righted if he saved even another life? Then another after that?

He was truly thankful for Rebecca to take him in. Shelter him in her laboratory. Coaxing him back into the world. However, his blood had never sung in the lab like it had when he fired that rifle. His place was here. Fighting alongside Brandt.

Now if he could just convince the sergeant of that.

Brandt moved out of the way, his inflated suit creaking as the XO approached.

“All right,” the commander said. “The captain has given his seal of approval. We are good to launch.”

Why wouldn’t the captain agree? It got Brandt and his team off the captain’s sub. Something the captain clearly wanted from the get-go. As a matter of fact, shooting them out a torpedo tube probably had been high on the captain’s list. Brandt was glad to oblige.

“You all looked suited up, so let me just give you a little food for thought,” the XO said, then walked along in front of them. “Once out the torpedo doors, you are on your own. We cannot and will not come about no matter what happens.”

No great surprise there. Brandt nodded for the man to continue.

“The breech door will close and lock you inside the tube. Then the tube will be flooded with water from our tanks. This water is relatively warm at sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. With your suits it’ll seem balmy.”

Probably the last time they would feel that way on this mission, Brandt guessed.

“Then the muzzle doors will open. Once we effectively ‘make contact’ with the Chinese sub...” The XO paused long enough to send a scathing glare at Lopez. “We will activate the water ram, pretty much hurling you out of the tube at twelve Gs.”

Brandt’s eyes wandered to Rebecca, who was looking paler by the second. He wanted to comfort her that given Lopez’s driving they’d probably experienced at least eight Gs, however the XO did not seem too keen on holding up the show for one woman.

“The Gs aren’t the problem though,” the XO continued. “It is the temperature shock. The water out there is a hair below forty-three degrees Fahrenheit. That cold water is going to hit you like a fat girl’s slap.”

“The dive reflex,” Davidson added, clearly trying to score some freaking brownie points. Only by raising Svengurd from the grave could Davidson ever hope to redeem himself in Brandt’s eyes.

The XO nodded, not knowing or not caring about the tension between Brandt and Davidson. “That’s right. In this cold of water our mammalian instincts kick in and all of our blood gets shunted from our skin, limbs, and gut, forcing it to our core—our heart and brains. Remember to trust your suits. They will warm you...eventually.”

Rebecca’s face drained of color as she stood awkwardly, looking like it took everything she had not to tip over backward from the weight of her oxygen tanks. Seldom had he seen her appear so utterly vulnerable. She was being thrown into the deep water, literally, and she knew it.

“So don’t be surprised if you briefly lose feeling in your extremities and your heartbeat flutters or even temporarily stops. It is just water shock.”

“Just,” Harvish snorted, however he quickly looked contrite as the XO’s glare shifted from Lopez to the point man.

“Outside the port, you’ve got to strike upward as soon as you can. We’re moving at twenty-five knots, and if you aren’t out of our wake by the time we pass, you could get sucked into our propeller’s cavitation.”

The XO stared Harvish down, almost seeming to challenge the point man to joke about that. Not even Harvish attempted humor in being sliced to death by your own sub.

“After you’ve cleared the sub, you’ve got a fifteen-minute window to get to the surface and warm up, otherwise...well, deaths have occurred in untrained, out of shape divers...” The XO looked to Davidson and then Rebecca. “Within five minutes.”

Great. That’s all Brandt needed. Rebecca all the more freaked out.

“Got it,” Brandt replied. The XO moved off to prep the ship for their little “bump” maneuver.

“Besides,” Harvish mumbled, apparently trying to get himself out of the hole he dug by using a spade, “it’s less than a hundred feet up. Less than even a recreational deep dive.”

The XO turned on his heel. Aiming his full disdain on the point man. “Out here? In the blue? We don’t take anything for granted. I’d advise you do the same.”

“We will,” Brandt assured the man while for the eighteenth hundredth time wondering why in the hell the Den had assigned him Harvish. “We’re ready to ship out on your mark.”

“It’s my mark then,” the XO said. “Load up.”

Rebecca stood amongst the men as the XO closed the breech door. The clang of the metal lock sent a shiver down each and every vertebra. They were really doing this. She was really doing this.

Trying to shift her feet nearly tipped her over as she caught the edge of her fin. Davidson steadied her. Just call her a walrus at a waltz.

“We’re going to be radio silent,” Davidson reminded her as water rushed in from ports on the side of the tube. “Let’s get your face mask cinched down.”

He turned a knob at the base of her face mask until he was satisfied. Water swirled around their knees as Davidson pulled his mask over his own face.

Even though every square inch of her body was covered either in dry suit or mask, Rebecca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stark naked. Exposed. And if that was how she felt in this tight torpedo tube, how was she going to feel outside? Out in the ocean?

Forget needing water to go into shock. Rebecca feared her body was way ahead of the curve.

Then the water rose to her hips, giving her a bit of buoyancy. Soon the water lifted her as it rose to their chests. She fought panic as the water level climbed to her neck. Against all good reason, Rebecca tilted her chin up trying to keep her face above the water line for as long as possible.

Davidson tapped her faceplate and mouthed, “Breathe.”

Not so much because she felt calmer, but more because the water sloshed over her head, Rebecca trusted her face mask and took in a breath. Air, sweet air rushed to her lungs. Now that she was completely submerged, Rebecca felt the panic abate. And the XO had been right. The water was a bit balmy. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then the outer door to the torpedo tube opened. And since they were going a good twenty knots, the ocean water pushed in against them, shoving them all back toward the breech door. Her arm lashed out, trying to right herself.

A strong hand caught her under the elbow and brought her level with him.

Brandt. Not even the plastic between them could dull the blue in his eyes. Their bodies were crushed together as the ocean demanded entry into their little tube. The rest of the men were plastered against the breech door.

The submarine turned abruptly to port, decelerating rapidly. The Chinese sub must have been close because it was only a few more moments before a loud, high metal-on-metal screeching set her teeth on edge. Before she could even process the notion that they had in fact just “bumped” the Chinese submarine, a whirring grew until the sound filled not just her head but her marrow.

Then the “water ram” did just that. An enormous surge of water flooded the compartment. Every bone rattled as the force of the water shoved them forward. Arms wrapped around her, keeping her close as they streaked past the doors.

Just as quickly as the water ram started, it stopped. They hung there as the submarine continued its turn.

Cold crushed her in its grip as Brandt released her.

Rebecca wanted to scream, but couldn’t get the air out of her lungs. She wanted to flail, but couldn’t move. She wanted to live, but couldn’t get her heart to beat.

Brandt forced himself to suck in a breath. Hitting the North Sea’s cold water had been like a kick to the chest. Luckily, Brandt had survived enough kicks to the chest to know this one really wasn’t that bad.

Rebecca, on the other hand, was floating downward, her arms out to her sides like a paralyzed mannequin. He kicked hard, catching up to her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Brandt swam toward the surface. Talli, Davidson, and Harvish bringing up the rear. All heading toward the early morning light of the surface. The only one lingering was Lopez.

Bringing their faceplates together, Brandt took a huge breath, then let it out, forcing bubbles to surround them. Still kicking he locked eyes with Rebecca. He breathed in and then out. She shook her head, her lips pressed together. Panic etched in the edges. Brandt took another breath and let it out with force.

You can do this, Rebecca. Forget the cold. Forget everything but my breathing.

In a wrenching, painful effort, she took a breath. Her teeth chattered as her whole body shivered against him. He too had to forget everything but his breathing. Her proximity, even in the North Sea, even with her panicked, threatened to undo his vows.

Another breath and some of the tension loosened from her features. A third breath was almost normal. Still she didn’t seem able to help him get her to the surface. He found the valve to her buoyancy compensator and blasted more air into the vest. They gained speed, passing Lopez, who gave a thumbs-up as their submarine pulled away.

They had avoided the cavitation. They were clear. Now just to get her onto the trawler and—

A glint of silver diverted his attention. What the hell? They were well out into international waters. Then another glint, then another. Something metal caught the morning sun. Above them the other men scattered to the side as dozens of such glints splashed into the water.

No, Brandt thought, but his wishing it not to be did not make the hooks go away.

To keep their cover, even CIA-managed fishing boats still had to...fish. And clearly this boat, expecting a submarine to surface, was biding its time doing just that, long-line fishing. Sending out a string of hooks behind them as they slowly moved through the water.

Rebecca patted his shoulder. The question on her tear-streaked face clear. “What’s happening?”

Before he could begin to pantomime the answer, one of those damned silver glints caught hold of Rebecca’s buoyancy vest, digging into the rubber. Her eyes dilated as she struggled against the tug. Brandt shook his head sharply. That was the last thing they needed her doing. If that hook cut the tubing...

It wasn’t Rebecca’s movement though but the boat’s sudden acceleration that tore the sharp hook through her vest. Air bubbled from the breach. Brandt struggled to keep hold of her as another set of hooks sliced through the water, catching the membrane of her dry suit.

His hand lashed out, grabbing the lines attached to the hooks, trying desperately to keep the tension off the thin suit. Maybe, just maybe, if they got lucky he could allow the boat to drag them to the surface.

At first only tiny bubbles escaped from tiny nicks in the fabric, then they burst from the suit, tears zigzagging their way across her body. Forget forward motion. Forget surfacing. Brandt was struggling to keep her from sinking. His frigid hands betrayed him as Rebecca slipped from his grasp.

With absolutely no buoyancy, Rebecca plunged in the dark water. He’d never get to her in time by just swimming. He didn’t even have time to unfasten all the belts and locks. Pulling a knife from his belt, Brandt slashed his vest and weight belt off, then sliced his dry suit.

Instantly he too dropped like a rock.

Now to save Rebecca before they both froze to death.

Gasping, Rebecca struggled to keep breathing. Forty-three degrees should have been nothing to a girl raised in Michigan. But forty-three degrees in water? It was like an ice bath. Her fingers fumbled trying to unhook her damned weight belt as the water went from a bright clear blue to a darker navy.

Water rushed into the tears of her dry suit, plummeting her temperature. If she didn’t find a way to get some weight off of her...forget five minutes, she’d be crushed within seconds.

Fear fueled her muscles. She found the strap to the weights, but it was tucked in tightly to her belt. Really? Seriously? That predive checklist was killing her. Literally. Then a figure engulfed her. They were still sinking, but they were together.

Brandt’s hands coursed over her body, finding the weight belt. A blade cut the strap. Still they sank though. No matter how hard they both kicked, they made no headway. And she honestly didn’t know how much longer she could continue to swim. Her legs felt like two huge thunder thighs popsicles. Brandt must have realized the same thing.

Holding her with one hand, he used the other hand to take the knife and cut off his oxygen tank.

“No!” she cried, but it was already done.

The action did cut their drag though. They actually started swimming in the right direction. The direction of light. Of life.

Then she felt something under her flipper. What in the heck could be under her flipper?

She risked a glance down to find a wide, black vessel passing beneath them. The Chinese submarine. Her flipper touched the cold metal, dragging along the hull. Brandt put his hand on her thigh, quieting her kicking as he too stopped swimming. They settled onto the surface of the sub, sliding along its length.

Following Brandt’s lead, Rebecca crouched down. He held up his fingers. Three. Two. One. Together they launched off the submarine. The action propelling them upward. Finally.

And a good thing too. Brandt’s cheeks blotched as his body ran out of oxygen.

They were going to make it to the surface quickly. They had to.

Wait. Were they moving sideways? In the water it was so damned hard to tell. As Brandt’s eyes got larger, Rebecca realized she wasn’t imagining things. The Chinese sub must have passed under them, catching them in its propeller’s cavitation. With more and more force they were drawn to the spinning propeller that slashed through the water.

And she could feel Brandt getting weaker and weaker. Realizing that she was never going to get them out of this mess, she used the last of her strength to release her face mask.

Splotches of light danced in front of her as the cold shocked her eyes. Her faceplate floated between her and Brandt. As darkness edged into her vision, bringing her vision down to a near pinpoint, she locked eyes with the man she had thought she was going to marry.

At least her last sight would be a handsome one.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Brandt snatched Rebecca’s face mask, switching it out with his own. Taking in five quick breaths, he reoxygenated his lungs, kicking, swimming, fighting the drag of the cavitation. But those damn blades just kept whirling, pulling them into their deadly range.

Rebecca hung limp in his arms, her face an ashen white.

No. It wasn’t ending like this, damn it.

Gulping precious oxygen, he redoubled his efforts. Fuck the cold. Fuck the fact he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. Fuck the Chinese submarine.

No matter the strain he put on his ligaments, nearly tearing them, the cavitation was winning. He only slowed the inevitable. Still he couldn’t give up. Brandt twisted in the water so that he faced the submarine. He’d still be kicking when the propellers chewed into him. Which looked like it was only two seconds off.

Then a hand was at the back of his dry suit. Then another.

Rapidly they backed out of the cavitation until it felt like a switch cut off and the propeller’s twirl no longer ruled his life. He looked over his shoulder to find Lopez towing them upward at faster and faster speeds.

He removed the face mask, fitting it back onto Rebecca’s face and then clearing the water out. Brandt shook her, trying to get her to take a breath. Taking his knuckles, he rubbed her chest as Lopez dragged them closer and closer to the surface.

Still she didn’t breathe. He put his ear against her chest. A heartbeat then no other. That was okay, Brandt tried to reassure himself. Hypothermia sometimes was your best friend. It preserved brain tissue. It held the body in a type of suspended animation. It actually saved lives.

Right?

Damn right.

Davidson searched the surface of the rolling ocean as his hand stanched the bleeding from his arm. One of the fishhooks dug in deep enough to taste flesh. The pain was the last thing on his mind though. Brandt and Rebecca definitely should have been up by now. Lopez, on the other hand, he wasn’t worried about. The corporal had probably hitched a ride on the Chinese sub all the way back to Beijing.

“There!” Talli yelled, pointing starboard. Three figures bobbed to the surface.

The captain of the boat must have heard as he turned the boat, gunning the engines toward the swimmers. No, not all of them were swimming. One’s head lolled to the side.

Davidson scrambled down the deck to the stairs that led to the water. Harvish and Talli weren’t far behind as the boat pulled up to the figures.

Brandt half lifted Rebecca out of the water. “She’s not breathing,” he chattered. Not sounding too well himself.

“We’ve got to get her below deck,” Davidson urged as the wind whipped from an approaching storm. He took Rebecca’s shoulders. Talli grabbed her feet, and they were off. Backing down the steps toward the crew’s quarters, Davidson watched her still features through her faceplate. Her face so white that it seemed someone had applied pancake makeup. And her lips? A grayish blue.

He noticed the multiple tears to the membrane dry suit. The hooks must have compromised her suit. Which accounted for the hypothermia, but the severe shock? That had to have come from somewhere else.

When they got to the cot, Davidson laid her down on her side so he could unhook her equipment. He tossed the buoyancy jacket to the side but kept the oxygen tank nearby and the face mask on.

“Rebecca,” he urged, rubbing her sternum. “You’ve got to breathe.”

“She’s not even shivering,” Talli commented.

The Arab was right. Not a good sign. Despite the fact Davidson knew her to be an extremely modest person—Rebecca considered a V-necked T-shirt a bit too revealing—he began pulling the remnants of the dry suit and undersuit off.

“Get some more blankets,” he instructed Talli. Then he turned to Harvish. “See if they don’t have some heat packs.”

Both men hurried off to perform their tasks, which were vital, however Davidson had an ulterior motive. They should not see Rebecca like this. He tried to look away as much as possible as he stripped her down to her brassiere and panties. Thank goodness she was not a thong kind of girl.

Rapidly he covered her with the thin blanket he had available. Davidson rubbed up and down her arms and legs, trying to get her circulation restarted. He felt for a pulse. Each heartbeat spaced over the course of ten seconds. Still she wasn’t breathing. He removed the mask, pinched her nose, and gave her a breath. Her chest rose and fell.

Talli returned, handing him a short stack of just two other blankets. “This is all they had.”

For a CIA-run conveyance out in the North Sea, they certainly were not ready for deep-sea injuries.

Brandt burst in the room, already stripped down to his boxers, his whole body shuddering as shivering overlaying shivering. His features were etched with worry.

“How is she?”

Davidson answered by giving Rebecca another breath.

Brandt lowered himself beside the cot. This could not be happening. Harvish brought some heat packs, all two-by-two inches of them. They were meant to heat chilled hands, not a hypothermic body.

Davidson alternated between breathing for Rebecca and placing the face mask to fast-flow some oxygen to her. Next to him Harvish ripped open the tiny packs, shaking them to activate their heat. The point man went to reach for the covers, but Brandt blocked him.

“We’ve got to get them to her sink points.”

“I’ve got it.”

Given the sink points were the armpits and groin, he thought he should be the one to do it. Lifting the covers, he was struck by how very white her skin was. Normally Rebecca was all peaches and cream, but now? Bone white. The white you saw on the battlefield. A white normally accomplished only by death.

Damn it, he couldn’t think like that. She was just cold. That was all. Cold.

Hands shaking, Brandt tucked the heat packs against her skin, then tucked the covers over her. “Don’t they have a space heater of some sort?”

“Already on it,” Lopez said as he entered, setting down a small heater.

The corporal torqued the dial to maximum. Hot air pounded from the machine. It felt like the summer sun beating against his skin.

“Bring it closer to her,” Brandt urged as his own shivering subsided.

Lopez obeyed, then frowned. “She’s still not breathing?”

Damn it, no, Brandt wanted to shout, but it wasn’t Lopez’s fault. It was his own. He never should have let Rebecca turn over her mask. Never.

Still in his intact dry suit, Lopez broke off one of the gauge wires. “May I?”

Not knowing what else to do, Brandt moved out of the corporal’s way. He didn’t like the way Lopez removed Rebecca’s faceplate, but again, what else could they do. Lopez took the wire. Then embedded the sharp end right into the tip of her nose.

“What the—”

But Rebecca took a huge breath. A breath that lifted her off the cot. Lopez pulled the wire out, and Rebecca’s breathing returned to normal. He then replaced the face mask.

Off of everyone’s stare Lopez explained. “It’s acupuncture. That point stimulates the lung meridian.”

“Lung meridian?” Brandt asked.

“What? You only thought I knew how to make things go fast?”

“Well, yeah, kinda,” Harvish answered, for which he got slugged in the arm by Lopez.

Brandt smoothed Rebecca’s wet hair away from her neck. Yes, she had a heartbeat. Yes, she was breathing again, but no, she wasn’t shivering yet. She wasn’t self-heating.

“Move out of the way,” Brandt prompted, lifting the covers again. The cot creaked its complaint as he sat beside Rebecca. She needed his heat. His muscles had been working overtime. Heat radiated from him. Might as well share the wealth.

Covering them with the layers of blankets, he pulled Rebecca up against him.

“You do realize any of us could have done that?” Lopez teased.

Of course they could. But he wanted to be right here when she awoke. Because she was going to wake, damn it.

“All right, enough gawking,” Brandt stated. “Lopez, get this tub making best speed to the coast.” Off of the corporal’s raised eyebrow Brandt specified. “And I do mean best speed.”

Lopez darted out of the room. The pounding of his footsteps echoed off the hallway.

“Harvish.” Brandt turned his attention to the point man. “Get some grub. We all need to bump our sugar levels up.”

The redhead nodded before rushing out of the room. Harvish didn’t quite seem to understand you couldn’t just copy Lopez’s action and get into Brandt’s good stead. At the least though he was doing actually doing something useful.

“Talli,” Brandt continued. “Gather what’s left of our equipment. Once we make land, we’ll have to haul ass to make our rendezvous.”

The dark-haired man nodded crisply. Then moved on with a sense of urgency without the frenetic energy of Harvish.

“And myself?” Davidson asked.

Brandt studied the scarred man. Before Rome he’d loved Davidson like a younger brother. Perhaps too much. He had relied on his youthful sense of optimism to counter Brandt’s own darker view of the world. Which of course Davidson’s betrayal only reinforced. Yet the face before him wasn’t the same. Those eyes no longer held a sense of puppy dog exuberance. But what had replaced it?

“Stay within my eye line.”

“Of course, but may I make a suggestion?”

Brandt stiffened. Here we go.

“I would recommend you keep Rebecca’s face mask on for at least twenty minutes. It takes that long for full body oxygen stores to be replenished. It will help with her recovery time.”

As Davidson placed the mask on Rebecca, Brandt didn’t argue, even though he really wanted to. He liked the feeling of her cheek against his chest. That was the man though not the sergeant, so the mask went back on.

He would just have to be content to hold her. Which after his and Maria’s wedding, Brandt never thought he’d see Rebecca again. So he would take moment. And fucking treasure it.

Rebecca snuggled down. She’d been dreaming of strange things. Like Brandt married to someone else and even more odd, submarines. Weird, right? How the mind could play tricks on you. Because under her cheek she could feel Brandt’s heartbeat. Everything was fine.

Except she was cold. Really cold. Brandt must have gotten some time off and they headed to the mountains. Just one more thing she’d never done that Brandt wanted to show her. Skiing.

Clearly they weren’t on the slopes though as her hand snaked up his chest. Time for a little different type of recreation. She slid her leg over his, tugging it tightly to her.

“Whoa there, filly.”

But she didn’t want to whoa at all. How long had it been since they’d been together? It felt like months, but how could that be? She kissed his chest, ignoring the hands trying to push her away. How unlike Brandt to act hard to get.

“Boss? Yo! Brandt,” the voice called out.

Wait. That wasn’t Brandt’s voice.

Rebecca’s eyes snapped open. The skin under her hand was far too dark for Brandt. And there was a large port-wine stain over his sternum. Definitely not Brandt.

She jerked upright, shaking her head and trying to fling the dream from her mind.

“Take it easy,” the man said. No, not man. Lopez. “You’ve had a rough time.”

Gathering the blanket to her nearly naked body she hissed, “What are you doing?”

Lopez held his hands up to either side of him. “Just keeping you warm, I swear to God.” He then glanced about. “It was Brandt’s idea, I swear.” He then shouted. “Boss!”

Rebecca clutched the edge of the blanket, trying to make sense of it all. She was on some kind of cargo plane. The thing was crammed with shipping boxes and oversized freight packages.

Then Brandt was there. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” Lopez said. “I think the doc’s brain is still trying to reboot from its cold storage.”

“Rebecca,” Brandt asked as he rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she sobbed. Not because she couldn’t remember but because she did. That damned gold band on his finger. He was married to another woman. And they had in fact been launched out of a torpedo.

Brandt tried to put his arms around her, but Rebecca shied away, drawing the blanket even more tightly to her form.

“I’ll be fine. I just need a few moments,” she pleaded. His eyes searched hers. Worry clear in his expression. Then that wall came down over his features. The military man’s best friend. His game face.

He backed away. “Good. We’ll be landing in a few minutes.” Brandt glanced to Lopez. “Get a shirt on.”

Rebecca waited until Brandt headed back to the cockpit before turning on Lopez. “And clothes. Do I have clothes?”

The corporal scrambled to get the shirt over his head. “Well, not exactly your clothes, but we got you something.”

At this point she couldn’t care less if it were a burlap sack with a string belt. She needed something on beyond her bra and panties. Horrified didn’t even begin to describe how she felt as Lopez tossed her some clothes and then held up a blanket for what limited privacy one could have on a cargo plane.

As she tugged on the khaki pants, Rebecca hissed, “We will never speak of this. Ever.”

“Right there, sister, right there,” Lopez answered.

Taking in a breath, Rebecca more slowly tugged on the dark green T-shirt. “And please tell me you are wearing your firearm.”

“Like you said,” Lopez said, “never ever speak of this again.”

Oh God. If that wasn’t a gun...

Brandt glanced over his shoulder, trying to pay attention to what Talli was talking about and trying to make sure Rebecca was recovering. Something had spooked her. Something more than her brain misfiring.

“Sarge?”

Brandt tore his gaze away from Rebecca and refocused on Talli. “Yes?”

“I was just saying that I’m worried that I don’t have a perch.”

It took a second for Brandt to realize what Talli was talking about. He glanced to the tablet in Talli’s hand. It showed Osip’s apartment. Or at least his apartment building. The apartment blocks were straight out of the Communist housing book. Tall, unadorned, and utilitarian buildings stacked tightly next to each other. Which might not have been a bad thing since they could set up a position in the next in the adjacent apartment complex. However, Osip’s building was the last in the complex, and his apartment overlooked a large meadow that ended at a very thick forest. To the side was no better as the river ran right by his complex.

Which made it very picturesque and all, but hell for a sniper.

Davidson pointed to a stand of leafless trees on the other side of the meadow. “You should be able to set up in one of those.”

“Right?” Talli said. “Even if I could make that shot, those pine tree branches could never hold—”

“They are spruces,” Davidson corrected. “And this picture was taken in winter. Spruces are deciduous. At this time of year they will be fully leafed, providing great cover, and their top third branches can support up to a couple hundred pounds, but even if they couldn’t you could spread your weight by stabilizing against two branches.”

Talli’s cheeks flared red. The guy clearly thought Davidson was after his job. Which maybe the kid was, however he also wasn’t wrong. The question became, though, could Talli get the job done if needed? If a sniper didn’t have the confidence he could take the shot, the man couldn’t hit the shot.

“Talli, you’ll set up in this office building across the street,” Brandt said as he pointed out the structure. “You’ll cover the main entrance and exits.”

“But—” Davidson tried to inject.

“And that is my final word.”

Davidson obviously wanted to say more. Way more, however the kid buttoned it up. Which was the smartest move for him. Just because Brandt let him take a few shots from the car to an active sniper did not mean Davidson was a part of the team. To give a traitor a sniper gun and perch him up in a tree where he could take every one of them out? No way. No how.

Lopez walked up, putting on his jacket. “What did I miss?”

“No, the question is,” Harvish teased, “what did we miss? Huh? Under those blankets?”

Brandt saw red. Literally. He could see the veins at the back of his retina pulse. The words “that is my fiancée you are talking about” nearly slipped from his lips. She wasn’t though, was she? Harvish was just being the dawg they all knew he was, not knowing the incredibly delicate ground he tread. But still...

“Dude,” Lopez exclaimed. “You are talking about a renowned researcher and friend. Stow it.”

Harvish mumbled some kind of weak apology that Brandt barely heard.

Blood still boiling, Brandt needed to get away from his point man before he said something he, well more Harvish, would regret.

“Lopez, firm up the transportation logistics,” Brandt said before turning away.

“You got it, Sarge.”

Given that they were on such a crowded cargo plane, there was really only one place he could go to get away from his men. Rarely did duty and desire line up so conveniently.

“Rebecca?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Brandt pushed the lid of her laptop down an inch. So much for burying herself in research. She’d thought she would have five hours of time to devote to knowing everything Osip. If they were landing soon, that meant she would have only about an hour. Her and her stupid hypothermia.

“Is everything all right?” Brandt asked.

“I’m just behind,” she said, pushing the laptop lid back up.

Even though he didn’t say anything, the sergeant just kept standing there. His tactical “wait them out” maneuver. Sighing, Rebecca lowered the laptop lid until it closed.

“I’m fine,” she explained, hoping it was true. “Lopez checked all my reflexes. There’s no residual damage from the submersion.”

“Then what is it?” he asked. “Did something happen between Lopez and you?”

“No,” Rebecca protested, probably a bit too much. More calmly she answered, “He was fine. Great really. My core temp is already back up to ninety-eight point four degrees. Two more tenths and I’m all set.”

That sounded super logical, didn’t it? That would satisfy Brandt, right?

“I...” Brandt stumbled a bit, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “I know how you hate...you know feeling...not being fully dressed.”

Oh God. He was not really going there. Not now. Not with her cheeks ready to turn magenta.

“I wanted to be the only one...” Brandt said, his voice low. “But you were unconscious for so long, and I had to—”

“Damn it,” Rebecca insisted. “Let it go.”

Brandt bristled in front of her. “It’s my job to make sure your head is in the game. Which means I need to know what the hell is wrong.”

Rebecca glanced down at his wedding ring. “We can’t fix what’s wrong, Brandt.”

His hand made a fist before it disappeared into his pocket.

“So just let it go.”

He looked like he might argue, but blissfully the speakers sparked to life.

“Prepare for landing,” the pilot announced. “Since we don’t have jump seats, we’d suggest hanging onto one of the secured crates to stabilize yourself.”

Rebecca tucked her laptop into her bag. She tried to get out of possibly one of the most awkward conversations which, of course, was occurring directly after the most awkward conversation with the corporal.

“I’m surprised Lopez isn’t flying the plane.”

Brandt didn’t exactly chuckle, however his frown did ease. “Trust me. He would be if he could, but what he did to the CIA’s boat? Not very likely.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just say it’s going to be in dry dock for a while getting outfitted with a new motor.”

Yep. That was Lopez at his best.

“So you’re sure you’re ready?” Brandt asked.

“Hey,” she said, trying her best to reassure him. “I’m so on Team: Just Say No to Rinderpest it’s not even funny.”

“Ha!” Lopez laughed as he joined them. “We’ve got to get T-shirts made up.” He handed them some Velcro straps. “But on a more serious note, you’d better lash yourself to something. I don’t think these pilots could land shit in a can.”

Aunush dug her toes into the thick, plush carpet of the private jet. A little luxury in a life usually lived in dingy safe houses and abandoned barns. Many would call her a mercenary, only mercenaries had no allegiances. She had a singular purpose. Killing for hire was simply a perk of her job.

Around her, others stirred as the rest of the men prepared for landing. Her sniper had no need to prepare. He was always ready for action. The only way you could discern the man was not a machine was the way his eyes stood at half-mast as his head tilted back a few degrees to rest upon his seat.

How long had they fought together? Those years had felt rich and full. What else could they expect? The Disciples’ secret had been secured for centuries. The chance to defend their linage a distant memory. Generations of Disciples had gone into mercenary work. Always being prepared for the day one such as Monroe became too intrigued by the Torah.

A tiny thrill coursed through her body, feeling almost as satisfying as the sniper’s hands upon her body.

“May I inquire as to why we are landing at Kaluga rather than Tula, Aunush?”

Aunush slid her eyes over to inspect the man, Nannan, who stood in front of her. He was not one of her men, clearly, or he would not have asked such a question. However, Nannan was a Watcher of the Word. Yet spending so many years down in the secret chambers had not done much for his sense of tactical strategies.

“Tula would be the obvious choice,” she answered as she donned her socks.

Aunush stroked her hand over the arch of her foot, straightening her sock but also remembering her time with the master. Nannan felt himself above her. This she knew. Why would he not? He was of the Word and she nothing more than a lowly soldier. Her kind had been disdained for so many years as nothing more than swords with no cause.

Now though? Now that Nannan’s precious Word was in harm’s way? Now he needed one such as her.

When she didn’t continue, Nannan seemed confused. “It being the obvious choice is exactly my point.”

“As it is mine as well,” Aunush stated as she laced up her boots, relishing Nannan’s frustration.

“But it is over an hour farther from Pushchino than Tula.”

Aunush looked up to Nannan. “Do you know exactly how many satellites track each and every aircraft around the globe since nine-eleven?” Clearly he did not. “And do you know how many CIA computers are dedicated to determining probabilities of terrorist attacks based on their flight pattern?”

Nannan shook his head, having the good sense to not meet her eye.

“I guarantee you that after our attack in London, one small sliver of that intelligence pool is now solely focused on Pushchino. Calculating if any force is converging on the town. They are monitoring Tula like a hawk awaiting for any mouse to lift its head.”

“In addition,” her second in command Abraham stated, “Grabtsevo Airport is privately held. We have flown in under Volkswagen’s company credentials. The flight apparently arises from their South African plant with a refueling stop in Portugal.”

Aunush nodded to her man as she buckled herself in for the landing. “Exactly. They will not suspect our approach until we are upon them.”

She smiled as Nannan’s face drained of color.

Rebecca sat cramped amongst tractor parts. It was absolute black within the crate. The sound though? Ugh. The forklift moving the crate from the plane’s cargo bay to the tarmac rumbled loudly. Only adding to the nearly earsplitting sound was about three tons of metal parts rattling around her.

Lopez crouched right next to her, but she couldn’t even make out his form.

“You can stroke my cheek or something if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Ricky!” Rebecca protested, smacking at what she hoped was his shoulder.

Chuckling filled the dark space. “I’m just offering.”

“What happened to never ever?” she demanded.

“Come on, you have to admit it was funny.”

Yes, it was kind of humorous and did take some of the shame and embarrassment out of the incident, but that did not mean she had to admit it. Not at all.

She was about to ask where they’d landed when the forklift sputtered to a stop. Shouts in Russian carried through the thick wood into the crate. Rebecca strained to make out the men’s discussion, however her Russian was a bit rusty. Just about everything she understood were phrases like otebis, piz’duk, and hui. While considered “colorful” language, they were not exactly illuminating.

“What’s going on?” Rebecca whispered to Lopez.

“They’re just arranging to transport these crates to a railcar. From there we head straight to Pushchino.”

“Aren’t there any kind of customs?”

“It’s all electronic now. The CIA has made sure the freight company is on the Russians’ ‘trusted’ carrier status. Then the crates are just scanned by an automated fluoroscope.”

Rebecca frowned. “Wouldn’t that reveal us?”

“Why do you think we’re surrounded by all this metal?”

Ah. Of course. The metal of the tractor parts would seriously scatter any X-rays, masking their presence. After a few more moments of fairly lengthy Russian cursing, their crate lurched as another, much larger forklift picked them up.

It was a short trip to the railcars. They must be at the Domodevedovo Airport. It was known as the largest cargo airport in the world. She and Lochum had used it several times. Basically if you shipped anything west from Russia, China, or even India, it usually went through Domodevedovo. Even more importantly Domodevedovo was south of Moscow. By landing here rather than the more common Sheremetyevo Airport, they had saved four hours trying to get through the major metropolitan traffic jam that was Moscow. Forget New York traffic. Moscow was New York tenfold.

The few times she had been to the Russian capital you might as well walk wherever you wanted to go. And if somewhere you wanted to go was farther than you wanted to walk? Well, get used to the disappointment.

The forklift’s motor ground away as it lifted the crate into the train. One more jolt and the crate clanged to the metal floor of the railcar.

“Now what?” Rebecca asked.

Lopez shifted beside her. “Now we wait until the train heads out for fifteen minutes, then we pop the hood on this baby and stretch our legs.” He paused briefly. “So...I’ve got a couple of ideas about what we could do—”

Rebecca punched Lopez, in again what she hoped was his shoulder.

Brandt’s watch vibrated. As the train clacked along, he and Davidson took crowbars to the crate’s lid. Standing on the tractor’s compressor, Brandt got the torque he needed to pop the nails out. Davidson did the same on the other corner. Once out they were still in the pitch black of the railcar though.

“Rebecca?” he called out softly. “Lopez?” He flipped the light on his gun on, sweeping the beam across the other crates. “Anyone?”

Davidson climbed out, knocking against the other crates “Harvish? Talli?”

No one answered. Did something happen to them?

Taking the crowbar, Brandt worked on the crate next to them. Davidson wasn’t a whole lot of help though. “Put your back into it,” he urged. Worried that the others had somehow run out of oxygen.

“Sarge,” Davidson said. “These others aren’t our crates from our shipment.”

“What do you mean?” Brandt asked, feeling his pulse rise. This was not happening. Rebecca should be right here. He never should have let her out of his sight. Screw what it looked like, he should have taken the crate with her.

They finally got the lid off as Davidson noted, “These aren’t even tractor parts.”

Damn it, the kid was right. They were looking down at a huge shipment of teddy bears from China.

“I think we got put in a different car,” Davidson commented.

“No shit,” Brandt said, heading to the railcar door. He tugged on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Clearly locked from the outside.

Brandt pulled out a small block of C-4 and a detonator.

“This is a pretty confined space,” Davidson noted.

Again, no shit.

“I’m just going to blow the lock.” Hopefully. Lopez was the blowing-crap-up expert. “Get back.”

He smeared the Silly Putty–like explosive where the lock should be, then plunged the detonator into the C-4. Hustling back behind a stack of crates, Brandt laid down the wick. Once certain that Davidson was secured, he lit the wick. It snapped a bright red and then settled down to a steady orange, sending tiny sparks as the flame made its way up the wick. Within seconds the blast cap blew a nice little hole in the metal door. His ears were going to ring for a while, otherwise no harm done.

Brandt rushed over and tried to put his hand through, but he had been too conservative on the C-4. He went to smear more, but Davidson stopped him.

“Let me,” he insisted, snaking his thinner arm through the hole and unlatching the lock. Davidson then slid the door open.

Blinking back the sudden brightness, the countryside rolled past them. If he didn’t know better, Brandt would have thought he was in the American Midwest. Rolling waves of amber grain and all. He grabbed hold of the handle and swung his body halfway out the car, searching up and down the long line of cars for any sign of the others.

Wind whipping around him, Brandt swung back into the car. “We’re going to have to do a car by car search to find them.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“Why the fuck not?” Brandt growled. Tired of having to explain himself to not just a man outside his unit but a traitor as well.

Davidson pointed to their crate. A large “Destination: Moscow” was stamped on the side.

“That doesn’t mean—”

Taking away any hope that the stamp was a mistake, Davidson pointed past the countryside to a large splotch on the horizon. Moscow.

They were heading in exactly the opposite direction of Pushchino with absolutely no idea if the others were safe or not.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Rebecca bit her lip. “Where are they then?” she asked Lopez.

“Best guess?” he answered as he shut the railcar door. “Brandt and Davidson are on another train.” Lopez nodded to Talli. “Stay on the door. Monitor and report if anything changes.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked. This didn’t make any sense. There were three crates destined for Pushchino. Why did only two make this train?

“I can’t. Like I said, best guess.” He turned to the point man. “Harvish, get prepped. We may have to make a quick exit.”

She didn’t like this side of Lopez. The business-first, serious, worried Lopez. She greatly preferred the cad, player, hotdogging Lopez. His sense of adventure had always made whatever situation they were in more tolerable. If Lopez wasn’t worried, everything must be okay. What did it say when that very same Lopez had concern drawn on his features?

“Could they have been captured?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“Not likely.”

Rebecca tried to keep her voice from becoming shrill. “Why? I mean—”

Lopez turned to her. His eyes bright under the soft glow from the flashlights. “Because the Russians would be stopping every freaking train out of Domodevedovo. They kind of take an American strike team on their soil rather poorly.”

She wasn’t quite sure whether to take that as a positive or not. “Can’t you try to raise them on the radio?”

“Darlin’,” Lopez said with a sigh. “We are in Russia. Not near Russia. Not out in the freaking Siberian plains. We are within a stone’s throw of Moscow. We are radio silent until we leave the Motherland’s borders.”

Her eyes scanned his face. She knew the corporal’s hands were tied. Special ops had very specific regulations. Ones that couldn’t be broken, even for Brandt. And now the feel-good Lopez had to be in charge. Enforcing those rules.

He put his hands on her arms. “The rally point is Pushchino. He’ll find his way there.”

Struggling against tears, Rebecca bit her lip again, but this only made Lopez chuckle.

“Enough of that, woman,” he said. “Out of all of us, you should be the least worried.”

“What do you mean?”

“Duh. Like Brandt isn’t going to go walk through hell’s fire to find you. Seriously. Chill out.”

With that Lopez turned back to the men.

Was the corporal right? Had Brandt changed so little in the last few months? Would it be Brandt’s priority to think of her rather than his pregnant wife? Could she cling to that tiny hope?

Brandt gritted his teeth, readying himself for the jump from the train. The damn thing had to be going at least fifty miles an hour. He glanced over to Davidson.

“You don’t have to do this,” Brandt yelled over the wind. “You can get off when it pulls into the next station.”

“Yeah, right,” Davidson said with a slight grin, or at least Brandt thought the expression was a grin. With all those scars it was hard to tell. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

Really? Because right about now with his sore shoulder from London and cramped quadriceps from the torpedo launch, Brandt was pretty much ready for a twenty-four-hour period that did not require him to exit a vehicle moving at high speeds.

But that was not this day.

Brandt held up three fingers, ticking each one down until it came time to fling themselves from the train. Without hesitation, Brandt swung his pack in front of him and pushed off the train car. He got lucky—the pack hit first, and the ground next to the track was a nice soft grass. Better than the asphalt of London.

Davidson didn’t look much worse for the wear as he rose. Neither spoke. They knew what they needed to do. Gathering up their packs, they made their way east. A small darkening on the horizon marked a town. A town with cars. One hopefully that they could quietly and easily steal.

They needed to get on the road and head south. ASAP.

Damn, he missed Lopez right about now.

Rebecca clutched the door handle as Lopez used the emergency brake to make a sharp left at what must have been thirty miles an hour. Tires screeched as even the Marussia F2 SUV complained. Harvish and Talli, in the backseat, did not complain. If anything the point man egged Lopez on.

“I know,” Rebecca said, “that we want to get to the apartment building as soon as—”

She stifled a scream as Lopez cut in and out of traffic, missing a large truck carrying hay by about a millimeter.

“Did I not tell you this thing cornered nearly as well as a Porsche?” Lopez asked and then stepped on the gas. Apparently trying out the entire 420 horsepower of the engine.

Maybe it was just best to close her eyes. But that was how she hit her head on the window a few minutes ago. If you couldn’t see what Lopez was doing, it was hard to protect your body from the G-forces he generated.

Like right now. Lopez slammed on the brakes and down-shifted, all while cutting across three lanes of traffic, pulling them to a gut-wrenching stop.

Somehow Lopez was able to talk rather than try and gag back the bile that had been forced to his throat by the seat belt dug into his belly.

“Harvish, you and I are going to escort Dr. Monroe up to Osip’s apartment. Talli, you are going to set up in your perch.”

Rebecca hit a button that swung the passenger side door open. She had to push off the hard leather seat to get out of the SUV. Clearly Russia had a different definition of luxury than America or Germany. This thing had been built like a tank. An incredibly fast tank. A fact Lopez had taken full advantage of. She leaned against the top of the car for support as her stomach tried to settle itself back into her belly.

“What about the car?” Talli asked.

Lopez frowned. Normally Lopez would have stayed with the car, moving to an inconspicuous yet nearby location, ready for any getaway they needed. Now, however, in Brandt’s absence, Lopez was in charge. He no longer could stay with his precious car.

With a sigh, the corporal tossed the keys to Talli. “Park it far enough away it doesn’t draw attention to us...” Which four people piling out of such a rare car was already doing. Lopez grabbed his gear as he continued. “But close enough we can grab it if we need a quick getaway.”

Rebecca frowned. If that was how Lopez drove that car without anyone chasing them, she could only imagine what he would do if they were in trouble. On second thought, she did not want to imagine it. Not with her stomach still complaining about its intimate interaction with the seat belt.

Swinging her laptop case over her shoulder, Rebecca took a look around. She really hadn’t seen much of Pushchino on the ride here given the blur factor. It had been all gray buildings and green farmland. The blur had been kind to the town. Now looking more closely it looked mostly sad. Tired. Even in spring the Russians walked with their heads down, leaning forward as if a frigid winter wind still blew.

Only the Marussia “luxury” SUV drew their attention up from the pavement. Rebecca was glad when it pulled away from the curb and left them in obscurity. Pedestrians came and went on the busy street. The street was lined with identical buildings. Block-shaped and eight stories tall, it honestly looked like someone had set up two parallel rows of dominoes. Each building was indistinguishable from the others.

It had been the Communists’ attempt to squelch individuality. Conformity had been more valued than creativity. Like she said. It made her feel sad. Russia had such a rich architectural history. And to have it turned into this?

No wonder the people seemed depressed. She was getting bummed just thinking about living in these “ditto” digs. No wonder Osip had chosen the last building on the block. At the least his apartment overlooked the greenbelt.

For a man who had traveled the world, helping to build the largest Jewish center in Russia, only to be ostracized from Moscow must have been a blow. Then to have his shtetl, his sanctuary fail? He must have come here to lick his wounds.

“Ready?” Lopez asked as he escorted her to the apartment building entrance.

To what? To accept the fact Brandt and Davidson were MIA? To trick a defeated old man into telling them where a stash of weaponized Rinderpest was located?

“As I ever will be.”

Brandt swerved the motorcycle, or at least what passed for a motorcycle in Russia, around an old Moskvich. For fuel efficiency, the Chinese had their bicycles. America had its Priuses. Russia had these barely-more-than-a-lawnmower motorcycles. But damn they could rev up. Even with their heavy packs strapped onto the backs of the stolen motorcycles, they were still crushing the ninety-mile-an-hour speed limit. Lopez would be proud. Well, at least a little bit.

He glanced over his shoulder as Davidson completed his swerve, joining Brandt right on his six. The kid was hanging in there. When they had found the bikes Brandt had been hesitant. Could Davidson’s damaged hand take the punishment a motorcycle could deliver? Davidson insisted it could.

Given that the motorcycles were by far more maneuverable than any car they could boost, here they were.

Brandt didn’t have to look to his watch to know how close they were. If you added the time he and Davidson had traveled in the wrong direction on the train, plus the time to hike to the nearest town, then take into account their increased speed of the motorcycles over the train, they were about fifteen minutes behind Rebecca and the rest.

Up ahead brake lights flashed as cars slowed. What the hell?

Fear of a roadblock flared, but then the cause of the traffic jam became apparent. A combine harvester. Yes, a combine. It plugged along at probably twenty miles an hour. And since it was towing an extra wide set of plows, no cars could get around the blockage.

Channeling Lopez, Brandt gunned his motorcycle, taking it off the expressway and into the loose gravel. Rocks popped under the tires, shooting out in a spray all around him. His teeth chattered as the struts could protect him only so much from the punishment.

Once past the tractor, Brandt muscled his way back onto the expressway with only a few seconds lost. He looked over his shoulder to find Davidson with the biggest shit-eating grin a pair of wrecked lips could form. Brandt had to stop himself from smiling back.

Damn it. This was how he got sucked in the last time. Davidson’s easy manner and infectious optimism.

Not this time. Davidson was a means to an end. As long as he served the team he stayed. If he didn’t serve the team? Well, Davidson wouldn’t be grinning anymore.

With the open road stretching out before him and only the rural countryside to either side, Brandt shoved aside his misgivings. His sole purpose had to be getting to Pushchino without delay.

How much trouble could the team get into in fifteen minutes anyway?

Remembering India, Budapest, and Rome, Brandt hit the gas.

Screw the speed limit.

Rebecca readjusted her case as she mounted the last step to the eighth floor. Another Communist plot. No elevators to make sure their workers stayed in shape. Which during subzero winters was probably a good way to warm the blood. But in May at 90 percent humidity? Not so much.

Lopez held up his hand. Rebecca stopped within the stairwell as Harvish checked the hallway. A stark bulb glowed above them. To say this building had no decorative touches was like saying Lopez kind of had a lead foot. Gray paint peeled off the walls, and the concrete steps had large chunks broken off after decades of hauling furniture up and down them.

As they waited, Rebecca took a peek down the hall. It looked exactly like the seven other halls they had passed. Threadbare rugs with dark gray doors. The only difference between the apartments were the numbers on the door. And over half of those were really just the outline where the number used to be.

For such a large complex the building was eerily quiet. On their travels up the eight floors they hadn’t passed a single person. There had been one baby wail a few floors down and the occasional squawk from a television set. Which wasn’t that surprising. Russia’s unemployment rate was extremely low. Rebecca guessed that was one of the perks of communism. If there weren’t enough jobs, the government would make one for you.

Down the hallway, Harvish waved them forward. They joined him at apartment 829.

She looked to Lopez, who nodded. They might as well get this over with. Rebecca knocked twice. However no answer came.

“Maybe he’s out?” she asked, although that seemed unlikely. The man was in his late seventies. Not even the Russians considered Osip an “able-bodied worker.”

Harvish pulled out a handheld thermal scanner. He pointed it to the door. The screen showed a rather wide, bright yellow and red figure straight ahead. It looked like Osip sat at a small kitchen table.

Rebecca knocked again, this time harder. Maybe Osip had trouble hearing? On the screen the figure cocked his head to the door, however he did not answer. She tried again, but this time he turned his head back toward the window.

“Osip,” Rebecca said, trying not to attract attention from any neighbors left at home. “It is Dr. Rebecca Monroe.”

That got his head to swivel in the direction of the door. Still he didn’t get up.

“I was Archibald Lochum’s research student. We all had dinner at the Institute of Archeologist’s award ceremony in ninety-five? Oxford?”

The glowing figure rose slowly, then shuffled a few steps toward the door but stopped.

“Be more specific,” Lopez urged. “Tell him something no one else could know. Jog his memory.”

Rebecca tried her best, however that had been a pretty boring and routine ceremony. Archeologists weren’t exactly known for their off-the-hook parties. But wait, there was one detail...

“They overcooked Archibald’s Yorkshire pudding,” Rebecca stated. “And he sent it back three times?”

Lopez raised an eyebrow. Okay so it didn’t sound like that big a detail, yet had you been there, and had to listen to Lochum grouse for two hours, the night was etched in your mind. Clearly Osip felt the same way as he made his way to the door.

The sound of locks being opened filled the deserted hallway. Finally the door cracked a few millimeters. Rebecca could barely make out the plump face as Osip. The years had not been kind to him. The last she’d him he was a bit “stocky” as Lochum put it yet still had a vitality to him. Now he looked as gray and worn as the walls.

Osip muttered something in Russian. Even if she understood Russian, Rebecca doubted she could have understood what he said.

“Osip, I don’t speak Russian, remember?” Rebecca prompted. “Please let me come in.”

A few doors down the click of metal sounded. A neighbor getting nosy.

“Please.”

With a humph Osip closed the door. Harvish tightened his grip on his gun, but Rebecca put a hand up. She could hear the chain lock slide against the guide. The door opened to reveal a rather short, squat, and sweating old man. He stood in what appeared to be a pair of boxers he’d worn for the last few days and a white wife-beater that he’d possibly worn for more than a week given the red and brown stains across the front.

His long beard and unkempt hair did little to enhance the image. A decade ago he would not have been considered any Tom Cruise by any means, but he was dapper. It was almost difficult to reconcile the troll-like man in front of her with the revered biblical scholar of old.

And what Rebecca could see into the small apartment, it looked in no better shape than Osip. If anything it looked like a ream of paper had gotten really, really mad at the old man and thrown a tantrum across the floor. Dirty clothes, dirtier than the ones Osip had on, lay strewn on furniture, and the stack of dishes went well above the lip of the sink.

No wonder the place smelled vaguely of borscht.

The only objects not in total disarray were Osip’s books. Those were still neatly stacked on bookshelves or carefully opened on the table by the window.

“Step aside,” Harvish said, pushing his way past the old man.

Osip cursed in Russian, spit flying. As Rebecca put a hand on Osip’s arm to comfort him, she shot a glare to Harvish. Like the point man couldn’t have added a “may I?” It was going to be hard enough to convince Osip to help, antagonizing the old man was not going to make it any easier.

“Please, let’s get inside,” Rebecca urged as the old man’s rant carried down the hallway. As Lopez shut the door behind them, Rebecca turned to Osip. “It’s okay. They don’t mean you any harm.”

“Ebanatyi pidaraz KGB,” Osip snarled.

“No,” Rebecca reassured him. “No, they’re American.”

The old man spat at Lopez, slurring his words. “That makes it worse.”

Okay, not only was she worried for Brandt, now she missed him. Not in that “I wish I were still engaged to you” kind of way, but in the ring master kind of way. The sergeant’s calm, “I am going to kick your ass if you don’t get into line” manner certainly made things easier.

The point man came out of the studio apartment’s small bathroom. “All clear.”

“Get out,” Osip said, waving toward Harvish. “Poshel von!”

“Please, if we could just sit down.”

“Nyet!”

The confrontation between Osip and Harvish looked like it was about to get physical. This is not how Rebecca envisioned this meeting going.

“Amed,” she blurted out.

All heads swiveled to her. The plan had been to slowly talk Osip up and try to tease out of him whether or not he had met with Amed.

Oh well.

She’d learned last year how quickly plans could go out the door, and equally quickly you had to get another in place.

And it turned out the name “Amed” had silenced Osip.

“If you did not meet with him, we’ll walk out that door,” Rebecca stated, even though it was Harvish’s turn to glare. “But if you did, can we please sit down and discuss it?”

The old man still glowered, his eyes darting from Harvish to Lopez and then back. Rebecca nodded to the corporal. “Maybe eager beaver can check the hallway?”

Lopez didn’t hesitate. “Harvish, make sure the stairwell is clear.”

Osip visibly relaxed as the redheaded soldier left the apartment. Lopez inclined his head. “I’ll stay by the door.”

Rebecca turned her attention to Osip, herding him toward the table. It seemed to be the only place in the apartment where he took care. Surprisingly the tablecloth shone a stark white and not even a crumb cluttered the surface. A mixture of scrolls, textbooks, and Bibles were laid out in neat, clean precision.

“Have a seat,” she urged as the older man’s hand shook. “I’m sorry we barged in like this, but as you know, this really is a matter of life or death.”

Osip’s eyes studied her as she sat down opposite him. Rebecca shrugged off the scrutiny as the sun streamed in the window, dappling the yellowed pages of the ancient documents. It appeared Osip had been researching Exodus intensively. No great surprise there. Early Jewish history was his wheelhouse, after all.

“So you did speak with Amed?”

The old man snorted. “He came to me.”

Rebecca cocked her head, glancing to Lopez. That was not just confirmation their terrorist had visited Osip, but had somehow not only tracked down the old man, then let him live. Certainly not normal terrorist behavior.

“Why?” Rebecca asked, not bothering to beat around the bush.

With a groan and a few creaks, Osip rose. “It is too early in the day for such talk without coffee.”

She didn’t bother to correct him. It was midafternoon.

“You want some?” he asked as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Sure,” Lopez answered.

“Not you,” Osip corrected. “Only the pretty one.”

Rebecca shot Lopez a sympathetic look. The corporal shrugged at her. “Show off.”

It had been a while since she’d been called pretty. Granted it was by an unbathed, harmless old man. And you know what? Rebecca was going to take it. She carefully moved the current issue of Yivo, the Institute for Jewish Research’s journal, as Osip busied himself in the tiny kitchenette. Drawers were pulled out, lids slammed down in the most contorted coffee-making session in history. However, it did seem like it was about to be successful as the pungent odor of Russian coffee beat across the room.

Which was not necessarily a good thing. Sure the stuff came from coffee beans, but the thick liquid was more of what was found on the bottom of the pot. The stuff that required stainless steel pads to remove. Worse, Osip scooped in some cream. Which had been left out on the counter for exactly how long?

Forget getting shot out of a submarine. This might kill her. Yet when the old man turned around, Rebecca smiled encouragingly. At least they seemed to have gotten over their brusque entrance. Perhaps now Osip would feel comfortable enough to tell her exactly why Amed had sought him out.

As Osip shuffled across the short space between the kitchenette and the table, a dog barked down the street. She could feel Lopez tense. The corporal opened the door, checking down the hallway. He paused there for a moment and then gently closed the door. He gave a thumbs-up. Everything was fine.

Well, Brandt was still missing, so not exactly fine. And where was he? If Brandt and Davidson had simply been misplaced, shouldn’t they be here by now?

“Excuse?” Osip asked.

Rebecca shoved thoughts of Brandt aside as she moved her hand out of the way for Osip to place the coffee cup down in front of her. Coffee-steeped steam wafted up. She tried not to let her grimace show. Rebecca used the small tarnished silver spoon to stir the drink, hoping she could delay taking a sip as long as possible.

“What did Amed want?” Rebecca asked as Osip set his own cup down with shaky hands.

“He found something,” Osip explained as he sagged into his chair. “He found it during an excavation.”

Rebecca doubted very much that Amed had excavated anything for scholarly purposes. More than likely the terrorist had been digging to provide a home for his new bioweapon.

“It was only later,” Osip said, “after he left, that I discovered he was a terrorist.”

There was something in the way his eyes refused to meet hers that made Rebecca question the veracity of that statement. She didn’t need to be trained in interrogation techniques to know the old man was lying. Well, maybe not full-on lying but definitely holding something back.

“What was the item Amed found?” she asked, then blew on her coffee hoping Osip didn’t notice her lack of interest in the drink. The Russians took national pride to pretty extreme reaches, including their homegrown coffee.

“A block of stone.” Osip set down his cup after a long drink and made the size of about a playing card with his fingers. “About so big. It was inscribed with ancient Hebrew. Amed wished me to translate.”

Rebecca waited for Osip to continue, yet he just kept drinking that damned cup of joe. “And?” she prompted, not wanting to push him but also anxious to find out what would drive Amed to reach out to a Jew.

“The stone’s inscription,” Rebecca asked. “Do you remember it?”

“Da,” Osip said, lazily stirring his coffee. “There were only fragments of passages.”

“And those would be?” Rebecca asked as she tried to take a sip herself.

“Herein lies the Asereth ha-D’bharîm.”

Rebecca nearly spit the coffee out. Not because of the taste but for the words that came out of the old man’s mouth.

“Asereth ha-D’bharîm?” Rebecca repeated, sure that she had heard incorrectly.

“Da,” Osip said. “As you Americans call it...the Ten Commandments.”

Davidson laid into the turn. His scarred fingers screamed from the abuse. The tendons were so tightly contracted around the motorcycle’s handles that Davidson honestly wasn’t sure if he could remove his hand from the bars, but he also didn’t care. The wind whipped through his hair, snapping above his ears. Russia had a decidedly more lenient helmet law than America.

Righting the bike after the expressway exit, Davidson let off the gas. They had to slow as they entered Pushchino. Seldom were the back roads patrolled by Russian police. The town near the country’s largest bioweapons manufacturing plant, however? Those were well patrolled. Otherwise there was no way Brandt would have slowed.

They were both worried for Rebecca. Each for his own reasons.

He worried that he did not tell Rebecca everything he knew about Osip. Of course he’d thought that he would have an hour on the train to discuss the historian. Davidson’s eyes slid over to Brandt. If anything came to pass with Rebecca and the sergeant found out that Davidson had not fully divulged what he knew? Davidson did not walk that thought forward as they turned left, heading for the far side of town.

Probably best just to make sure nothing came to pass with Rebecca.

They were only five minutes out.

Make that four as Brandt accelerated in front of him, his bike spitting out smoke as the sergeant pushed the engine again.

Guess they would take their chances getting stopped for speeding.

Davidson didn’t blame the sergeant. Something felt wrong. The kind of wrong you felt right before bullets started flying. He hoped his gut was wrong, out of tune after being absent from action for so long.

But he doubted it.

“If you did not like coffee you could just have said,” Osip said as Rebecca hurried to clean up the coffee she had spilled all over the table.

Lopez dabbed an already dirty dishcloth on the books.

“When you said Ten Commandments,” Rebecca asked slowly as she wiped, “did you mean the Ten Commandments?”

“Da,” Osip stated matter-of-factly as he moved his Yivo journal out of the way.

Rebecca stifled an urge to shake the old man. You didn’t just announce the fact that you had a piece of the Ten Commandments and then go on with your day as usual. If Osip was going to act so casually, she would as well.

“Did Amed say where he found the tablet?”

“Probably Stephen Spielberg’s backyard?” Lopez interjected.

She elbowed the corporal as Osip frowned.

“If you speak of the Ark of the Covenant, young man,” Osip stated, “that particular box held the second set of commandments.”

Lopez shot an eyebrow at Rebecca. “Second set?”

“Correct,” she confirmed. “The Bible is very clear that the first set was broken by Moses. Another, second set was created as a replacement to seal the covenant of God and eventually put into the ark. What happened to the first, broken set isn’t mentioned.”

Almost on purpose, Rebecca realized. Given that her mentor Lochum had been obsessed with the crucifixion saga, they really hadn’t dissected out the Old Testament as deeply as they had the New. Perhaps that had been a myopic mistake.

“So what’s to say that fragment wasn’t just an Indiana Jones gift shop knockoff?” Lopez asked.

Osip stopped wiping the table. “Amed did his homework. He had the fragment isotope tested.” Osip’s voice shook. “I did my homework. The piece verified back to 1400 BCE.”

“Lopez,” Rebecca urged. “Why don’t you get the door?”

The corporal shrugged as he moved off. “No worries.”

In silence, Rebecca helped Osip straighten the table. The old man seemed to be comforted by the action. The red in his cheeks subsided. His nose though stayed a bright red. The red of a long-term alcoholic. Rebecca should know. That nose could have belonged to her father. It seemed that Osip might have added a bit of something else besides cream in his cup. Could she judge him though? He had been ostracized from all that he loved. Left in this dingy apartment to fade away into obscurity.

Osip sighed. “I know it is hard to believe.”

Actually? After everything she’d seen? The Ten Commandments were not out of the ballpark.

“I get you more,” Osip said, picking up her coffee cup.

“No, it’s okay,” she answered as she grabbed the cup handle. As the old man’s face clouded over she rushed on. “It’s just a little strong.”

“Ah, Americans,” Osip groused. “I will get sugar.”

Rebecca hated to tell him that no amount of sweetener in the world was going to make that cup drinkable, but she didn’t stop him from going back to the kitchenette. He brought back a sad, grimy bag of sugar and set it on the table. He had to use a knife to cut out a chunk and put it in her cup.

“Thanks,” she said as he moved behind her.

“Let me close these,” Osip suggested, moving to the window. “The light hurts my eyes.”

As he fiddled with the curtains, Rebecca’s mind turned over the facts in front of her. Where had Amed gotten the stone carbon dated? Better yet, where had Amed found the fragment? And what did he care? Even if it were the true stone the Ten Commandments were written upon, what use did Amed have with it?

She went to ask Osip exactly those questions when he turned sharply toward her. Rebecca thought he’d stumbled and reached out to catch him when Osip jerked her to her feet, placing the knife against her neck.

“What the—” Lopez said, raising his weapon. “Let her go, old man.”

Rebecca squirmed only to have the blade bite into her flesh.

“You think to steal this from me?” Osip hissed into her ear. “You think to steal the glory of God?”

Careful not to move too much, Rebecca whispered, “I don’t want to steal anything, Osip.”

“I will drop you,” Lopez warned the old man as he took a step forward.

“Just because you outwitted the Knot, the infants, the arrogant babes, you think that you can take the Disciples of Moshe?”

Disciples of Moshe? What in the hell was he talking about?

“Osip, I don’t want to take on anyone or steal—”

The blade bit into her neck. She could feel a dribble of blood down her skin.

“What’s your exit plan, old man?” Lopez demanded. “Let her go and we can talk.”

That only seemed to inflame Osip more as his fingers dug into her arm. “Do you think I care what happens if I am not allowed to hold the Word of God?”

“Osip’s right,” Rebecca said, begging Lopez to back down. The old man was clearly demented. Paranoid. “Osip,” she spoke gently. “We only want to know where Amed hid the Rinderpest. We can work together.” As his grip loosened slightly on her arm, Rebecca continued. “We find the Rinderpest virus and you get the tablets.”

“Do not try to trick me,” Osip hissed. “No one would give up such a piece of history.”

“Trust me,” Rebecca sighed. “I am the last person who wants to hoard a religious treasure.”

“What need I have of you?” Osip asked, although his tone wavered.

Rebecca gulped, dragging the knife against her neck. “Amed came to you how long ago, Osip? A week? Ten days?” The old man didn’t answer, yet she had her answer. “And you have stayed here with your books and your articles.” As Lopez moved to the side apparently to get a better shot, Rebecca continued. “We can get you out of the country. We can take you to the tablets.”

While his fingers didn’t let go of her arm, he also didn’t restrain her. The blade moved away from her neck. Okay maybe it was just an inch, but he was having second thoughts. She could feel the struggle within him.

But there was a window to be reasoned within. Just a few more moments and—

Osip screamed as glass shattered. Blood sprayed across her face. It wasn’t her blood, but his. The old man pitched over, held up only by her arms.

“Lopez!” she cried. “Why did you shoot?”

The corporal ran forward, tugging her down. “I didn’t.”

Another pop as more glass shattered. Rebecca didn’t fight Lopez dragging her down to the floor. The curtains fluttered open to reveal the tree line at the end of the wide greenbelt. Someone was shooting from outside. Not someone. Some sniper.

Aunush jerked the binoculars from her eyes. She could not have just seen what she had seen. Osip could not have been holding the researcher by a knife. It couldn’t be.

Blinking twice she tried to wipe the sight from her eyes. But no matter how hard she tried to wish away the facts they were the events. Her carefully crafted plan smashed beyond recognition.

Looking up amongst the foliage, Aunush sought her sniper’s eyes. Even camouflaged in dappled green, bracing himself against three branches, she could still make out his bright blue eyes. Their slight dilation confirmed her worst fear.

Damn the old man. Aunush could have easily justified killing the traitor after he had withheld vital information to the Disciples and then was about to divulge their greatest secret to the enemy.

But now? Killing Osip when he was defending the honor of the Disciples? That would not be understood in certain circles. Circles that would have her and the sniper killed.

He looked to her, his eyebrow rising a millimeter. His orders?

There was no putting the bullets back into rifle. Osip was gone. And her team was already on the move to breach the apartment. The only upside to the situation was the fact that the only people who knew the circumstances of Osip’s death were her, the sniper, and the enemies. However, who knew how many of her team would interface with the enemy? Who knew what words would be exchanged?

Knowing the sniper would read her lips, she carefully spoke the words...Kill them.

All of them.

With a curt nod, the sniper went back to his rifle. A shot sounded, then another. They must crush the enemy and then silence the rest of their team.

No one could know how Osip had died.

How the master’s father had died.

Rebecca put pressure on Osip’s chest wound, but blood gushed between her fingers. The old man tried to speak. “Shh...” Rebecca shushed as another shot zinged through the window, hit the door, and disappeared from view.

“It’s going to be okay,” Rebecca murmured to Osip as his lips went from pink to gray to ash to white. It wasn’t going to be okay. She’d seen another colleague’s lips do the same thing. Back in Rome. Nothing would be okay for Osip ever again.

He muttered something in Russian.

“Lopez, what is he—” Rebecca looked up to find the corporal shoving the refrigerator over. Before she could ask what he was doing, he pushed the heavy appliance in front of the window. Suddenly the shots pinged on the metal, however they did not come out the back.

“We’ve got to go,” Lopez said, trying to urge her up.

“We can’t. He’s still alive.”

The corporal frowned. They both knew that statement wouldn’t be true for much longer. Rebecca rushed on. “He’s trying to say something.” She grabbed Lopez’s hand and pulled him down. “Please just translate.”

As Lopez leaned over, Osip licked his lips. Still they trembled as he spoke barely above a whisper. Rebecca couldn’t understand a word of it, and apparently the corporal was having an equally hard time.

He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s thinking straight. He’s talking about virgins and staircases.”

Osip raised his voice, sounding more and more urgent.

“And now a moot?” Lopez translated. “He’s just repeating the same words over and over again.”

A string of pings filled the air, and a bullet sliced through the refrigerator.

“He’s cut out a window,” Lopez said as he tugged on her. “We’ve got to bug out.”

She knew she needed to leave, but how could she? What little blood Osip still had inside his body was due to her hand over the wound. If she left...?

Then Osip’s finger curled around hers. “Go,” he said in perfect English, then pushed her from his chest. Blood gushed like a fountain as Osip coughed red foam.

“No!” Rebecca yelled. Lopez grabbed her, jerking her to her feet.

“You heard him. Go!”

Lopez spun her toward the door as more shots made it through the refrigerator blockade. Before she could make it to the front door, it sprang open. Luckily Harvish’s bright red hair signaled it was a friendly entering.

He kept the door open a crack, firing into the hallway. Unfortunately it did not look like good news he carried. “We’ve got company. Lots of company.”

Rebecca looked to Lopez, who spewed out a litany of Spanish curse words.

“What?” Harvish asked. “This apartment is defensible. We can hole up—” A shot came through the refrigerator door, hitting the front door straight in the peephole. “Or not.”

Rebecca gulped. Looked like the sniper’s accuracy was actually going up.

Not good.

“They’re just going to tighten the noose,” Lopez said as Harvish fired down the hallway as the sniper punched several more holes in the refrigerator. Harvish had to dance back from the door as he was now in the sniper’s line of fire.

Lopez glanced to Rebecca as they huddled beneath the windowsill. Clearly he didn’t have a plan. But who would under these circumstances?

Except Brandt. Brandt would have a plan, but where in the hell was he?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Brandt cursed, but the wind whisked his words away though as if it didn’t care that there was a fucking sniper out in those trees. The same trees that Talli said would be impossible to shoot from.

Really? Because all those muzzle flashes told a different story.

He was pushing his bike as fast it could go, yet it wasn’t even close to fast enough. There was no doubt in his mind whoever the fuck it was had ground forces moving to take the apartment. He’d sent Rebecca into a goddamned kill zone.

Suddenly Davidson’s bike shimmied and then skidded out. What the hell? Brandt braked, swinging his motorcycle to the right as Davidson hit the pavement hard and rolled away. Bullets dug into the ground beside him.

That fucking sniper. He’d shot out a moving motorcycle’s tire.

Davidson scrambled to cover as Brandt revved his engine. The kid wasn’t a member of his team. Hell, he was a damned traitor. Still. Brandt couldn’t leave the man defenseless. Releasing the brake, Brandt’s bike sprang forward into the alley. He reached his hand out, but Davidson refused it.

“Do you have a rifle in your pack?” Davidson asked.

Of course Brandt had a rifle in his pack. The question was would he, could he give it to Davidson with a clear conscience? What were the odds that the weapon would be turned on them in the end?

“I’ve never hurt Rebecca,” Davidson stated. “And I never will.”

Brandt scanned the ruined mask of features. Could sincerity really be found there? With shouts and cries filling the streets, Brandt really didn’t care. He needed that fucking sniper taken out. He didn’t have time to unpack the rifle though. Brandt unhooked the bag and tossed it to Davidson. “You better not.”

The kid was already at work getting the rifle out. “I’ll head to a perch and give the sniper something else to worry about, then swing round to covering your exit.”

Gunning the engine, Brandt nodded, not believing what he was about to say. “The fallback rally point is Kvratel six, but—”

“You won’t wait for me,” Davidson said, checking the sight of the rifle. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Good,” Brandt answered before opening the throttle and letting the bike do its thing. So he could do his thing. Racing toward the screaming.

Davidson dug the feet of the rifle stand into the roof’s gravel. He loosened the swivel and scanned the area. To hit that apartment there were only about three trees to make your nest within the line of sight. And make that shot? The guy had to have a nearly perfect perpendicular angle on the building.

A muzzle flashed amongst the green leaves.

Gotcha. High up in the poplar tree sat the sniper. There was no way Davidson could hit him though. The distance was simply too great, and the wind cut across the meadow.

However, killing the sniper wasn’t why Davidson came up here. They simply didn’t have time to get him to a proper perch for the distance rating on this rifle. Now if he had the M107 LRSR, well that would be a different story. Now though this wasn’t about eliminating the enemy, it was about flustering the enemy. Forcing him to act defensively rather than offensively.

Davidson tilted the rifle down and scanned the area beneath the tree. The sniper probably had a spotter. Someone to keep an eye on the surrounding area so the sniper could focus on hitting a window nearly half a mile away.

A bit of black against the green. And from the curves under that black bodysuit the spotter was a she not a he. Interesting.

Again he couldn’t hit her, but damn if he couldn’t distract her. Aunush ignored the birds that flew up and out of the trees. Since the sniper began shooting, they had startled numerous animals. It was of no concern. Her only concern was the sniper regaining a window into that apartment. They needed to squeeze and squeeze that whore’s hideout until she was crushed. Along with the knowledge of how Osip died.

“Move in, now,” she insisted to her men inside the building.

The loud clatter of gunfire fired her ear. “We’re taking heavy fire.”

All the better, Aunush thought but did not voice. She did not need her men knowing that she really did not want them surviving this battle. “Then return fire and advance.”

Aunush put her binoculars back up to study the sniper’s progress when something flew past her sightline. She refocused and watched again. There it was. Something small but fast. Birds cried out, scattering from the trees.

What was happening?

Then something bit into her cheek. She fingered the wound. A tiny dribble of blood came back. Then another particle nicked her chin. Taking a step back, Aunush turned her attention to far closer to home as a bullet struck the tree to her left, sending bark as shrapnel.

She glanced up to her sniper, whose eyes crackled. He so hated it when another dog entered the fight.

But it could not be. Yet clearly it was the same sniper from back in London. Who was he? Aunush had studied Brandt’s team file. Kark Talli was a skilled sniper. He had to be if he wanted to be on a Special Forces unit. However, he did not possess this kind of mad skills.

Mad skills or not, he did not have the equipment he needed on this mission. If he was busy taking potshots at trees rather than executing precise kill shots at the sniper up in the trees, then he did not have as long a range rifle as her sniper.

With a fierce grin she nodded. The intent clear.

Take him out.

“Did you hear that?” Lopez asked Rebecca.

Hands over her ears, she answered, “What? The barrage of gunfire?”

“No,” he said. “The lack of sniper fire.”

Rebecca looked up to the refrigerator riddled with holes. Yet no bullets flew through them.

Lopez grabbed her arm, urging her up. “We’ve got to get to new ground.”

They joined Harvish. She peeked through the cracked door.

The point man indicated to the stairwell. “That’s the only way down, so unless you want to jump eight stories down, I’m not sure what your backup plan is.”

Lopez gritted his teeth. “Time to go balls forward.”

She didn’t know exactly what that meant to the corporal, but if meant getting out of this apartment, Rebecca was all for it.

“Harvish, shoot out the lock,” Lopez said, pointing to the door across the hallway.

The point man didn’t hesitate. The opposite door swung open.

“Cover us,” Lopez said, taking Rebecca’s hand. “We’ve got to haul ass.”

Rebecca laughed nervously. “Duh. It’s you.”

His grin was a ghost of what it normally was as he nodded to Harvish. The point man stepped farther out, firing toward the stairwell as Lopez and Rebecca bolted across the hallway. A half step out and the attackers braved Harvish’s cover fire, shooting back.

Lopez spun Rebecca inward, offering his back to the hail of bullets, slamming into the other door. Harvish followed on their heels, still firing down the hallway.

The point man breathed heavily. “Great, Lopez. So now we’re across the hall. Not exactly a green zone.”

“How far do you think the buildings are apart?” Lopez asked.

“Can’t be more than four meters,” Harvish answered.

Rebecca looked at the window. The buildings were stacked closely together. But what did that have to do with...

“Tell me your plan involves jury-rigging some kind of ladder across that gap, Ricky,” she begged.

Gunfire rattled at the door. Even if they could build a ladder they certainly didn’t have time to actually build it.

“Shoot it out!” Lopez yelled.

Harvish obliged, shattering their window and the one across the way.

“We’re going to need to be going full speed, darlin’,” Lopez explained as he urged her to a run.

Rebecca didn’t have time to worry or freak out or refuse. Not as the feet on the refrigerator squealed as the attackers scraped it across the floor. Instead, she let her muscles do the work, dashing across the room. Lopez went first, leaping onto the small seat beneath the window and diving through the opening. Rebecca was only a few steps behind.

Then she hit open air. Rebecca tried to keep from looking down, but how could you? The ground seemed so far away. Like a distant dream. Hitting her shoulder against the other building certainly woke her up. Her body bounced off the gray plaster as she tumbled into the apartment, slamming into a kitchen table, smashing its legs.

She didn’t even have time to get out of the way as Harvish landed with a crash at her feet.

Within a breath all three were up, running for the door. On the way the point man shot out the lock, so they hit the opened door at a full sprint, spilling out into the hallway. The blissful hallway without bullets flying. They made for the stairwell until Lopez stopped at a door and strangely knocked.

“What are you doing?” she asked, knowing that she really, really, really didn’t want to know the answer.

After no answer, Lopez shot out the lock. “They’ll swarm us at ground level if we go down now. We’ve got to get lost in the buildings.”

Lopez opened the door. Rebecca backed away a step. “Clarify buildings.”

He urged her inside the new apartment. “We’ve just got to make that jump three more times. No biggie.”

“I really don’t think that phrase means what you think it means, Ricky.”

Davidson ignored the chunks of ledge that sprang up into the air and then fell back down in a shower of plaster. The other sniper was just showing off. So what that he had the bigger gun and knew how to use it?

The ruse had worked. The sniper’s attention was now focused on Davidson rather than the apartment. Fingers spasming, he had to release the gun. He swung the sight to the east. Still no sign of Rebecca, but there was enough gunfire in those buildings to indicate a small war.

Lopez must have gotten them out of that apartment by now. Right? The guy didn’t delay at much of anything.

A bullet skimmed the ledge, barely slowed from its 3,400-feet-per-second speed, cutting a line right next to Davidson.

Time to stop testing the other sniper and move into cover position.

Another bullet skimmed along the other side of him.

So it was going to be like that, huh?

He flexed his fingers, warming them, tempting them out of their pained contraction. How he wished for Talli’s rifle. It had longer range, better sights, and the trigger was ergonomically designed. Then he could have given the sniper a run for his money.

With this backup rifle though, he couldn’t even scare his opponent. The guy knew that if Davidson could have fired far enough to be a threat, he would have done so already.

Nope. Time to get out while the getting was good.

Brandt struggled to keep the bike upright as his rear wheel swerved of its own accord in the wet, slick creek bed. A fucking traffic jam had forced him off the road and into the fucking creek. All the commotion at the apartment buildings had created an exodus.

Sirens sounded in the distance. The authorities would be here in a few minutes, and high up on the ridge the biochemical lab showed signs of stirring. The Russians had an entire unit stationed there after the theft of the Rinderpest.

Now it wasn’t just a mission to extract Rebecca and his men. Now it was a mission to stay out of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation’s clutches. Or more likely the KGB’s clutches...in Siberia. A Special Forces team caught on Russian soil? That was one interrogation he could skip.

Past the long line of cars, Brandt gunned the motorcycle and popped the bike back onto the road. Dodging a pedestrian, he floored it for the alley that ran between the apartment buildings. He zagged to the left and entered the deep shadows of the narrow passageway. Muffled gunfire sounded. He’d just have to take a sharp right at the corner and then—

Broken glass showered down on him as his tires ground the shards.

What the hell?

He looked up in time to see a form leap overhead, jumping from building to building. Brandt slammed on the brakes, skidding the bike around as Harvish’s red hair streaked across the gap about four stories up. Gunfire followed. A dark figure dressed in black followed.

Brandt reached for his gun, but before he could even pull it, the figure leaped, then plummeted to the ground. He landed with a thud right in front of the bike. Blood seeped from a chest wound.

Davidson. Their eyes in the sky.

Not bothering to think that another day not that long ago that bullet could have been aimed at him, Brandt hit the gas, traveling back the way he came. Hitting the road, he headed north. He caught the sight of Rebecca leaping across the gap. Brandt slowed, keeping pace with his team. At the next alley he watched Lopez make the distance, dropping another floor. By the time they got to the end of the block of apartments, they would be at ground level. Smart move.

He waited until Rebecca made it across and then headed to the next alley.

Within moments the glass shattered and Lopez led the group, diving through to the second-floor window. Rebecca launched out the window, but she must have slipped as her trajectory sloped downward.

Gravity pulled at her hard.

She wasn’t going to make it.

Rebecca flailed even though she knew it would do no good. This wasn’t water. This was air. Thin air. There was no gaining altitude, only losing it.

She hit the side of the building, hard. Her fingers found the edge of the windowsill. Rebecca searched for something, anything more stable to latch onto. However, the Russians, not exactly being heavy on safety, didn’t have a fire escape or even a ladder for her to cling to. What she wouldn’t give for a single water pipe.

Her feet dangled beneath her. Her shoes finding no purchase on the smooth gray surface.

Harvish, firing behind him, apparently didn’t notice she was hanging on by a fingernail, literally, and made the leap across. She squeezed her eyes closed, not wanting to see the disaster, however the point man sailed through the window leaving her unscathed.

Lopez lashed a hand out, grabbing Rebecca’s wrist. Harvish added his hand to the effort. The two men were trying to pull her into the window when shots rang out. Bullets chipped into the wall. One must have caught Harvish. With a scream he released her hand. Only Lopez’s hand kept her from plummeting to the ground.

Her other hand flailed, trying to find the windowsill again when another hail of bullets sounded. Only this time it wasn’t at her, but at the gunman across the way. The dark figure fell backward.

Rebecca looked down to find a motorcycle below her. The man looked up with those blue eyes.

Brandt.

“Let go!” he yelled, revving the motorcycle.

“I’ve got her!” Lopez yelled back, but struggled to grasp her other hand.

Rebecca looked to the corporal. “It’s okay, Ricky.”

With that, Lopez let go of her wrist.

Brandt braced himself but was nowhere near ready for the impact as Rebecca fell into his arms. The girl had gained some post-breakup weight, that was for sure. They almost tipped the bike over, but he ground his heels into the pavement and kept them upright.

“You all right?” he asked as he freed his gun arm and pointed up to the gunman’s window in case any of them got any ideas.

Rebecca slipped from his arms to stand next to him. “Yeah. I’m bruised but good.”

She used her arm to brush back the sweaty hair that had loosened over her face. His heart swelled at the sight. But he’d had her and lost her and there were like a dozen different groups after them.

“Hop on,” he said.

As Rebecca swung her leg over the seat, snaking her arms around his midsection, Brandt sheathed his gun so he could steer. With Rebecca’s body pressed against his, he sped them out of the alley.

Lopez and Harvish knew the rally point. And Talli, well hopefully he could remember a rally point better than he provided cover.

Brandt felt Rebecca lay her cheek against his back as her arms squeezed so tightly he almost asked her to let up a bit. Almost.

Now to slip through all the gunmen, snipers, cops, and troops to get to the north side of town without being followed.

A piece of cake.

Yeah, right.

Aunush spotted a flap of clothing upon the roof. “Ten o’clock.”

The sniper fired in quick succession at the point designated, but the other sniper had already disappeared behind a large air-conditioning unit. Their mystery sniper had found cover. How nice for him.

And the researcher had escaped the apartment as well. Which would have been a setback, however with Osip, dead by her hand, it became a crisis. She could do little though to turn back the clock. If only she could put all those police cars back into their regular patrol or stop the dozens of military jeeps sweeping down from the bioweapons laboratory.

While she might know many of the answers to man’s most deeply held secrets, Aunush could not unfold time.

Her only option was to clean up the mess.

“Retreat!” Aunush commanded her men.

She craned her neck to find the sniper gazing down upon her. Neither of their finest hour. But they were survivors, he and she. Certainly survivors enough to weather an assassination of the master’s father. After all, there was reason he lived out here in the dregs of Russia rather than the seat of power.

Hounded Dr. Monroe and company would hardly be informing the master of the nature of Osip’s untimely death.

No. The problem was their own men. Those who might actually feel the need to spread word of the old man’s stupid yet heroic actions.

Aunush nodded to her sniper. He went back to his scope, swinging it away from that distant rooftxop and instead aiming toward their men’s escape route. She had not sucked the heel of that boot to find herself crushed beneath it.

Rebecca clung to Brandt as they bobbed and wove through the stopped cars. Emergency vehicles blared their horns behind them, but where could the cars go to get out of the way? Unlike the motorcycle, the autos couldn’t hop up onto the sidewalk just as Brandt was doing now, then suddenly turn in to a dry-cleaning shop. People dove out of the way, cursing in very loud Russian. Plastic whipped around them, sending sleeves and skirts into their faces.

Then they were through the store and out into another alley. Despite the rolling hillsides and thick forest, this town had been built as if someone wanted to figure out exactly how many buildings they could cram into the acreage. Stores were stacked side by side, and the alleyways were barely wide enough to get a truck through.

And Brandt had made the best of it. Darting into buildings and then coming out and slaloming through the back alleys. Each looking the same to her. Gray, dingy, faceless. Rebecca had no idea how he could tell them apart. They seemed to be heading south, though, instead of east to their rally point. Was he lost or trying to throw their pursuers off the scent of their ultimate destination?

Either way, they were running out of town to hide in. Pushchino wasn’t exactly New York or even Wasilla.

She leaned with him as they made a fast right out into a road. Unfortunately, one of the green compact Russian Jeeps had the same idea and nearly bumped them off the road. Brandt swerved, barely missing a light post and then a beat-up Yugo. Armed men leaned out from the Jeep, waving their weapons and shouting what Rebecca could only imagine was for them to stop.

When they didn’t, she didn’t doubt they would use the guns.

Rebecca wanted to keep her face buried in Brandt’s strong, wide back, but she just couldn’t. She’d rather see the bullet coming.

And she was about to get her wish as one of the soldiers leveled his gun, ready to fire. Then the Jeep jerked to the left, spinning out of control. A tire blown. The vehicle crashed into a restaurant supply store, sending pots and pans everywhere.

Had that been luck or...

She looked up to find Davidson on an adjacent roof. Her guardian angel. Well, tarnished guardian angel, but an angel nonetheless right now. This must have been why Brandt had taken them on this odd path, to bring them within Davidson’s line of sight, which meant that Brandt had given the kid a weapon.

How much things could change in such a short period of time.

Brandt let the motorcycle rip, hitting a left turn and then a fast right to get them heading east. The road ahead looked wide open. Beyond a few factory warehouses there really shouldn’t be anything or anyone out here this way. No residences. No police stations.

They should have been home free, except two men stumbled out into the road. Decked out in black ops gear, Brandt had no doubt these were some of the men who had attacked Rebecca back at the apartment. They raised their guns.

He accelerated as he pulled his own weapon, knowing it wouldn’t be in time. Then one of the men pitched forward. The other swiveled to face this new threat, just not quickly enough. He too fell to the ground.

Had Davidson repositioned that quickly? Or was Talli finally earning his keep?

Then a bullet pinged off the front wheel guard. Another off the handlebar.

Brandt didn’t have time to ponder why the fuck the opposition’s sniper had killed two of their own men, he just cut the gas, put his boot down, and turned the bike into a sharp ninety-degree turn, gunning the motorcycle so hard he popped it up onto its back wheel. Rebecca’s grip was so tight that she didn’t even slip back an inch.

The bike landed hard on its front tire as they rushed headlong back into the traffic jam. Their goddamned original exit strategy did not include a fucking sniper, police cars, and military patrols.

Speaking of which, a white car with a prominent blue stripe swerved around a corner. The police car must have spotted them as he turned on the flashing red and blue lights.

Brandt made another sharp right turn. He could only play a smart mouse in this tiny maze for so long. Not with three enemies creating a three-pronged noose. Rebecca’s fear beat through his back. He could feel her panic but also her faith in him. She hadn’t hesitated when he told her to fall two stories into his arms. She hadn’t hesitated getting onto the back of this junker bike.

And how was he going to repay that faith? By getting them captured by the Russians. Over what? A stupid shipping label switch-up? Maybe he should drop her off and have her try to strike out on foot? Blend in with the fleeing pedestrians?

And he might have except for the fucking sniper. He couldn’t leave her unprotected. He wouldn’t leave her, period.

The sirens were closing in though. He only had so many offensive driving tricks up his sleeve when a meat delivery truck cut in front of them. Brandt had to brake to keep from running into its dented bumper. Looked like the truck did a lot of cutting off.

Brandt was about to pass the truck when the rolling door opened and a redhead waved them forward. Harvish? The truck sped up as the point man dropped the loading ramp. The steel sparked against the pavement.

He patted Rebecca’s hands, encouraging her to hold on, although it was probably unnecessary. Squeezing down on the gas, Brandt gunned the bike up and onto the truck.

Rebecca stifled a scream as they plunged headlong into the refrigerated compartment. As they banged into the first carcass hanging from the ceiling Rebecca, to her horror, realized they were in a meat transport truck. A huge cow’s lidless eye glared at her as they slowed to a stop.

Behind them, Harvish pulled the loading ramp up.

“Hurry,” Brandt urged.

Cringing, Rebecca got off the motorcycle, trying desperately not to touch the huge red and white marbled slabs. She had to actively keep her stomach in line. How after everything she’d witnessed the sight of hunks of meat still got to her she didn’t know, but with bile in the back of her throat, it still did.

Brandt and Harvish rolled the motorcycle to the door and then flung it out into an alley. After pulling the ramp up, they rolled the metal gate down, slamming it into place. Rebecca was relieved when the compartment was plunged into utter darkness, sparing her from the grotesque sight. Tentatively she stepped back one foot at a time, brushing up against one carcass after another. Finally she found a wall and pressed against the cold surface.

Then Harvish turned on his flashlight, illuminating their grisly surroundings. Rebecca gulped and closed her eyes. Her body was already starting to quake from the adrenaline letdown. This clammy horror was not helping.

“Are you injured?” Brandt asked.

“Just grossed out,” she replied, worried that even admitting that much was going to bring up the sausage she’d eaten for breakfast. A strange look crossed Brandt’s face. “What?”

His eyes flickered over to the nearest carcass.

“No,” Rebecca said as she pressed herself into the wall. He couldn’t be serious.

“They are going to search every vehicle leaving town.”

Guess he was serious. Of course he was. Logically Rebecca knew it was far better to climb into a cow carcass than get caught by the Russians, but still...

“I’ll give you a lift up,” he added.

“Damn right you will,” she snapped, then regretted it. None of this was Brandt’s fault. Well, at least not the beef cocoon part.

“If it’s any consolation,” Brandt said as he guided her to the carcass, “even I’m not going to be eating barbecue for a while.”

As she grabbed hold of some fascia from a rib to haul herself into the carcass...no, no it wasn’t.

Brandt tugged the edges of the meat tighter together as he tucked one of the straps to Rebecca’s backpack in. The disguise wasn’t perfect. Okay, it wasn’t even close to perfect. If the Russians had heat-sensing equipment or even a bit of initiative, they would be found. Luckily, Russian army grunts weren’t exactly known for their amazing work ethic.

And given this was rural Russia, the apartment attack would more than likely be viewed as a Russian mob hit. Big, ugly, and messy. That pretty much marked a mob hit around here.

Hopefully in the chaos they could slip through.

He turned to Harvish. “Lopez and Talli up front?”

“Yep,” the tall man replied as he folded himself into the belly of a cow.

“Lopez driving?”

Harvish just arched an eyebrow. Duh.

Right. Duh.

Sirens sounded up ahead. Harvish switched off his light as Brandt climbed inside his own cow. Even he wretched a little as his foot slipped on some leftover intestines. Rebecca was going to need counseling after this. If, of course, they survived.

The truck rattled to a halt. He could hear Russian voices, but between the carcass and the insulated truck walls, he couldn’t make out the words. Soon though the back gate rolled up. A sliver of light speared through an opening in the ribs. Brandt couldn’t risk closing it. Not as Lopez argued with the guards as they climbed into the compartment. In perfect a Kursk accent, indicating a lower-class Russian upbringing, Lopez complained that the guards were going to make him late for his delivery to the Night Flight.

Nice touch. Not only was the Night Flight a renowned five-star Moscow restaurant, but it was also rumored to be a favorite hangout of Putin, mainly because it transformed into a “gentleman’s club” after ten p.m.

Brandt’s carcass swung to the side as the guards pushed through, apparently willing to risk Putin’s wrath for a late meal. He willed Rebecca to stay silent. To stay holed up in her smelly yet safe hiding spot. Brandt held his breath as the Russian guards cursed as they reached the back wall. Then in pretty typical Russian form, they demanded a bribe from Lopez. They reasoned if he really wanted to get to that fancy restaurant in time, he wouldn’t mind paying an “efficiency” fee.

Perfect. If the guards were to the bribery stage, they were as good as home free.

Sure Lopez would have to whine, beg, resist, and then finally cave.

That was just the Russian way.

Davidson watched the guards count their money as they waved the meat truck through the roadblock. Davidson flexed his fingers, giving them a rest. He’d been ready to fire if need be, but killing guards was not going to make escaping the town any easier.

He couldn’t give his digits much rest though. It hadn’t been the guards Davidson was overly worried about. By his count at least three more assailants were loose in town. And given the fact they had at least one spotter aloft, it wouldn’t surprise Davidson that the enemy knew about the stolen meat truck. If anything, gathering everyone together in a single vehicle made the enemy’s job easier. Take out that truck and you took out the entire team.

The enemy was running out of time to do so quickly though. Once that truck was out on the P115 Highway, Lopez would book it. No. There were only two more intersections between the truck and freedom.

Two more intersections for an ambush.

Aunush watched as another of her men went down. The sniper had regained his rhythm. She would have to make a note on the next batch of recruits. They really needed to be far more aware of sniper fire. And how to make a more speedy retreat. These men really did deserve to die, any tiny fragment of guilt over killing them to keep her secret evaporated.

Movement on the eastern side of town drew her attention. A meat truck squealed to a halt as two of her men burst out in front of it. One being Abraham, her second in command, the other a newer Disciple. What were they doing? Then she focused in on the face of the meat truck’s driver. Corporal Lopez.

On one hand she should give Abraham credit for finding the Special Forces escape vehicle. On the other hand, she had given a direct order to retreat. Granted it was to kill them, however Abraham of all people should have obeyed. The last thing Aunush wished was to draw attention to their operation. There were too many witnesses.

She looked up to the sniper, who frowned. Aunush went back to her binoculars, calculating the distance to the truck. Fifteen hundred meters. Even outside the sniper’s range.

As her men raised their weapons, Aunush cursed softly. If they got themselves captured...

Then a shot rang out. The Disciple dropped. Another shot and Abraham succumbed as well. She glanced to her sniper, who shook his head. But if it hadn’t been him...?

Aunush went back to the binoculars, scanning the area. On the far eastern side of town she found a figure rising, stretching. A hoodie was pulled far up, obscuring his face, yet the sarcastic salute he gave her was crystal clear.

The sniper shot at the hooded figure. It was useless, but he shot anyway. How he hated to be outdone. Outmaneuvered. Outshot. Little did the other sniper know that he actually helped her cause. When she captured him and took his skin off in little strips, Aunush would be sure to tell him.

For now though she and her sniper needed to melt into the thick forest. The meat truck would not be hard to track. Their satellite coverage would catch when their targets changed vehicles. She would know exactly where to pick up the trail.

The sniper scrambled down the tree and then hopped off a branch, landing next to her. He smelled of frustration, victory, and musk. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his hip.

My, my, he certainly was packing quite the weapon in there. But when his hungry mouth came for hers, she put a finger up. She cocked her head, asking if he really believed he deserved a reward.

Essentially, he’d assassinated an old man defending the Disciples and then had to have another sniper clean up his mess.

Really?

Rebecca felt the truck come to a halt. She whistled a breath in through her mouth, although she really wasn’t sure if that was any better than breathing through her nose. Now she tasted the raw meat rather than smelled it.

“Let’s get you out of there,” Brandt said as he parted the two halves of the ribs. He held a hand out. She really didn’t want to take it, but her legs were cramped from the long ride.

Squinting, Rebecca made her way to the exit. Late afternoon sunlight poured in from the open door. Lopez helped her hop down from the fender.

“Brilliant escape plan, right?” he asked, laughing.

Rebecca punched him in the arm before walking a few steps, giving her muscles a stretch they desperately needed. Countryside rolled out from view in all directions. The only buildings in sight were a few broken-down warehouses and what looked to be a bread factory. Or at least she thought she smelled flour and sugar. Make that prayed she could smell something else besides the stench radiating from her hair.

The place looked like it had been abandoned for a while. America wasn’t the only country caught in the Great Recession. Small business was nearly dead in Russia. She could see why Brandt had picked this remote cluster of buildings as their rally point. Talk about desolate.

“No chance there’s a shower around?” she asked Brandt as he stepped next to her.

“That would be a negative,” Brandt stated, stretching his arms as well. “So did we at the least learn anything earth-shattering for all the trouble?”

Rebecca hemmed and hawed a bit until he looked to her.

“What?”

“Um,” Rebecca started, then paused. “Osip was pretty certain that Amed had a small piece of...”

“Of?” Brandt prompted.

Rebecca cringed. The deeply religious sergeant was not going to take this well. “The tablets of the Ten Commandments.”

Brandt laughed loud and heartily, tipping his head back. Still chuckling, he met her eyes. “Oh, I needed that, thanks.” He chuckled one last time and then asked, “So what did Amed really want with Osip?”

“Sorry, he really wanted the tablet authenticated as the Ten Commandments.”

Brandt’s grin fell quickly. “You mean the fucking Ten Commandments.”

Lopez stepped up. “I know, right? I made a Raiders joke that didn’t go over too well.” As Brandt’s frown deepened, the corporal backed away. “That clearly isn’t going over here any better.”

Brandt turned his displeasure in Rebecca’s direction. “Which Osip, of course, said that whatever Amed presented to him was an absolute and utter forgery, correct?”

“Not so much,” Rebecca shrugged, trying to take the sting out of the news. “Osip seemed pretty damned sure the tablet was authentic.”

She could see Brandt count to ten internally. A technique they had developed while dating. She was stubborn. He was stubborn. They both needed to take a ten-second time-out every once and a while. This time it wasn’t about her being stubborn though. It was about where the hell the Rinderpest virus was being kept.

“But let’s put all of that aside,” she suggested. “The important thing is that Amed believed it was the true tablet. The question is, what did he do next after visiting Osip?”

“Yes,” Brandt said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Let’s put aside the entire concept of finding the Ten Commandments and focus on Amed. Did Osip give any kind of indication where the terrorist was heading next?”

A look passed between Lopez and Rebecca. The corporal lifted a shoulder. “He was spouting some pretty wacky shit. I, of course, made a well-placed ‘Well of Souls’ joke.” Brandt shot him a look. “And now I’m going to shut up.”

Good idea.

Brandt turned to Rebecca. “Any luck piecing together Osip’s meaning?”

“Well, the one and I mean only good thing about being stuffed into an animal carcass for forty minutes is having time to concentrate on something besides being stuffed into an animal carcass.”

Anyone else and he would have rushed them along, but he knew Rebecca’s process. And venting was definitely a part of the doctor’s process.

“And...” he gently prompted.

“He was talking about virgins and staircases and moots...”

“I’m hoping that means something to you?” Brandt said, because it meant shit to him.

“Not at first, but again stuffed inside the cow I was trying to stay in my happy place, turning those words over against everything I know about Russian Jews.” Rebecca sighed. “And came up blank.”

Again, he knew Rebecca. If she had a little grin going on, she hadn’t come up completely empty-handed.

“But?”

A faint smile crossed her lips. “But Christian? Christian there is a match.”

Christian? Brandt cocked his head. Russian Orthodox wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but a virgin, staircase, and a moot he would probably remember. “Hint?”

“Moscow,” she answered.

That narrowed it down. Plus add in the religious purging during Communist rule. That didn’t leave a whole lot of virgin, staircase, moot Christian monuments.

“Heavenly city?” Rebecca prompted.

Damn it, of course. “The Cathedral of the Protection of the Most Holy Theotokos on the Moot.”

“Or better known as St. Basil’s Cathedral on the Red Square,” Rebecca confirmed.

Next to Brandt, Lopez shook his head. “Dude, you just pulled that out of your butt? Seriously, if you have that much time to study theology, you need to get laid.”

Rebecca added to Brandt’s glare at Lopez.

The corporal raised his hands. “Hey, I’m going to just go...somewhere that isn’t here.” As he walked off he mumbled, “Tough room.”

No kidding. That brief moment of rapport between her and Brandt had been shattered. For an instant it almost felt as if they had found that elusive time machine and transported back three months. But that wasn’t to be. That damned gold band on his finger made sure of that.

Brandt cleared his throat. “I still don’t get the staircase reference. Nearly every church has one.”

“No, Osip wasn’t talking about any staircase, he was talking about a hidden one.”

“How would a Jewish scholar know—”

“The place is pretty famous for them,” Rebecca cut him off, not wanting to get into another comfortable rhythm. “The place is like the Winchester Mansion in California. They are both riddled with hidden passages, secret staircases, and even an entire chapel that just seemed to ‘appear’ in the seventeenth century.”

“But why?” Brandt asked, his eyes narrowing. “Why would Osip send an extremist Islamist to a Christian cathedral?”

Rebecca couldn’t help but tease. “Not just any cathedral, but St. Basil’s.” Brandt shook his head, clearly not following her logic. “It is built to replicate the Temple of Jerusalem.”

“Of course,” Brandt said, reaching out to touch her arm. “And the Russian Orthodox Church focuses nearly as much on the Old Testament as the New.”

Rebecca lowered her arm out of reach. Even though it was an innocent gesture, that feeling of familiarity, given their incredibly complicated circumstances, just hurt.

“So, yeah,” she said, covering. “I think that is probably our next stop.”

Brandt jerked his hand back. “Sounds logical,” he said as he tugged open the Velcro that covered his watch. He raised his voice so Lopez could hear. “We are T-minus three.”

The other men gathered around. Each of them looking back down the road they had just come.

Wait. There was only Lopez, Harvish, and Talli.

“Where’s Davidson?” Rebecca asked. She’d just assumed he’d been up front with Lopez.

When the corporal wouldn’t meet her eye, Rebecca turned to Brandt. “We did not leave him back there.”

“He insisted on it,” Brandt said, then shot Talli a glare. “Someone had to provide cover.”

“But—”

“He knew the risk,” Brandt stated brusquely. “He knows the coordinates of the rally point.” The sergeant turned to his men. “Get ready to move out.”

Talli tossed Rebecca some clothes before he moved off. “Don’t know how well they’ll fit, but I figured you’d want to change.”

Rebecca barely noticed the pair of pants and shirt handed to her. A few minutes ago they would have been like a gift from the gods. Now? Now she just wanted to hurl them on the ground. But throwing tantrums would get her nowhere.

“He saved us,” she said. “Not in Rome. Not in the past. Here. Today.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Brandt shot back, then took a deep breath. “But if Davidson is the changed man you say he is, he’ll find a way back to us. He’ll at the least catch up with us at the airport.”

Rebecca struggled to keep her tone civil. “It isn’t fair. Just because it is Davidson that you would—”

“It isn’t, damn it,” Brandt snapped. “This is SOP. It could be Lopez or Harvish or Talli. We would be bugging out all the same. We are trained to find our way back home.”

“Like Svengurd?” Rebecca challenged, then immediately regretted it. Brandt had accused the tall blond soldier of being a traitor. It didn’t go so well.

Brandt stepped in front of her and leaned down so that there was barely an inch between them. His nostrils flared. “Just remember your precious Davidson didn’t say jack. As a matter of fact, the only reason I’ve got Svengurd’s blood on my hands is because your little buddy told the Knot exactly where we were.”

Rebecca looked down, gulping. “I know.”

The sergeant didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His teeth gritting told the story of exactly how he felt. Brandt turned abruptly and headed toward his men. Rebecca took one last look down that lonely stretch of road toward Pushchino before going behind the truck to change.

Not even fresh clothes could lighten her mood.

It was strange. She’d had to face life without Brandt. It sucked. It hurt. There were times she thought she’d never breathe fully again. Yet none of it felt as bad as the thought of never seeing her honorary little brother again.

Even if Davidson was still alive, would he seek them out? Davidson faced, if not execution, at least life imprisonment for his crimes. Hell, she’d run if she were in his shoes.

Rebecca could only hope Davidson was a better friend than she.

She turned away from Pushchino to study the road ahead. The road to Moscow.

Did it really lead to the Ten Commandments? The actual, literal Word of God?

Sighing, Rebecca headed to the truck.

There was only one way to find out.

Brandt took a huge bite out of an apple. Not his usual choice of snack, but after that meat truck, well let’s just say he was off Slim Jims for a while. Next to him Lopez filled up the tank on their most recent stolen vehicle. A nice boring black SUV. No cow parts. No tractor parts. Just a damned car.

The world glowed a dull orange as the sun set. At the least they would be heading into the heart of Moscow under the cover of darkness.

He surveyed the petrol station, named “Shelf.” Everything from the bright red, yellow, and white color scheme to the familiar seashell logo made this privately owned tiny pit stop look like its American big brother, Shell Oil. That was Russia for you. If you couldn’t be rich and successful, look like it.

However, the owner of the station hovering around the gas pump, apparently making sure they didn’t leave before paying, kind of undercut that affluent vibe he was going for. Not even in Compton did anyone physically guard the pumps.

But more than the station and its shady owner, Brandt surveyed the busy crossing of the M4 Highway and Vneshnyaya Storona, the first of Moscow’s “ring” freeways. Cars streaked past. Was the enemy in one of them? Was Davidson? And were they one and the same?

So far their trip had been quiet. Lopez had somewhat obeyed the command to stay within the speed limit and not cut off every car on the road. No snipers. No RPGs. Which made Brandt all the more concerned. Could they really have slipped the enemy’s noose so easily? He doubted it. If those pricks could find them in Pushchino, they could find them in Moscow. It was just a matter of staying a step ahead of these Disciples and then getting the hell out of Russia ASAP.

“You’re sure we push straight in?” Lopez asked, spreading a map on the hood of the SUV. “I’ve got like fifteen different options here.”

The corporal wasn’t wrong. Now that they had reached the outer “ring” freeway, they could take a number of routes into the capital’s Red Square. Like tendrils, roads led into and out of the heart of Russia’s capital. Or Lopez could loop around the city along any of the three ring highways. Brandt squinted at the map. Was it just him, or did Moscow seem encircled in a large, messy spider web?

And here they were going right into the spider’s den, Red Square. This was going to be like trying to pull off a heist across the street from the White House, only with cops who didn’t believe anyone was innocent until proven guilty.

Brandt traced his finger over the map in a line to the capital. “We flipped the coins, Lopez. Straight it is.”

To keep their route truly random, they flipped coins to map out their route. And sometimes, random turned out to be a straight line. Brandt didn’t like it much more than Lopez. It felt like they should be covering their tracks more, laying down a false trail. Anything but heading straight toward their target.

However, Brandt doubted the enemy would expect them to head directly to where they ultimately wanted to wind up. Would that be enough of a ruse? To do the most obvious thing? Heading directly to the cathedral did save them about an hour of backtracking and stalling. Hopefully that saved time would benefit them later.

However, Brandt wasn’t all that fond of a word like hopefully associated with any mission objective.

“Rebecca still powdering her nose?” Lopez asked as he folded the map.

“More likely charging her laptop,” Brandt responded, looking over his shoulder to the restrooms.

Harvish was on guard duty, only to make himself not look on guard duty, he’d bought a pack of smokes. The guy’s face flared a bright red as he sputtered on the cigarette. Brandt knew that Harvish had smoked before, but clearly not Russian cigarettes. Like everything else, the Motherland liked their products to pack a punch. Good thing the point man had chosen the Play brand. It was meant to appeal to young girls.

Brandt’s attention was diverted back to Lopez as he spat out the Russian “Nyet” at the station owner.

“Is there a problem?” he asked his corporal.

“This guy is trying to tell me there’s suddenly a new twenty-percent tax on all petrol. Right.”

Brandt looked to the short Russian man in front of them. Barrel-chested with slicked-back hair and a heavy mustache, the guy could have been named Boris and no one would have blinked an eye. He also resembled a bulldog. A bulldog that could bald-faced lie.

“Pay it,” Brandt ordered Lopez. They didn’t need to get into a squabble over a few rubles, which the station owner seemed to understand fully. However, when the guy got that victory smirk, Brandt responded in Russian. “Iat he kompranac.” Split the difference.

Neither Lopez nor the station owner seemed pleased, so clearly it was an effective compromise.

“Finish up,” Brandt said as he walked to the restrooms. “I’m going to find out what’s taking Rebecca so long.”

“I’ll keep the engine revved.”

Of that Brandt had no doubt.

Rebecca splashed water on her face. She looked up into the mirror as droplets fell from her eyelashes. The reflection looked like a woman she barely knew, and come to think of it, didn’t really want to get to know. Dark circles outlined her puffy eyes. No amount of concealer was going to fix that. And her hair? Blond strands stuck out at awkward angles, and her face was framed by a mini blond ’fro. And to think that’s probably how she’d looked since the epic fail on the torpedo launch.

Just one more reason Brandt was probably glad he married that Maria chick. From the pictures Rebecca had seen, Maria didn’t need any makeup to look stunning. Being eight years younger didn’t hurt any. According to Lopez, Maria didn’t even own a bra. Good for her.

She splashed more water, hoping it did something for the blotchiness in her cheeks. Rebecca made sure not to get any moisture on her charging laptop though. She’d already emptied her first battery and was well into exhausting the backup. Despite all her research on the drive up to Moscow, Rebecca didn’t know much more about why Osip sent them to St. Basil’s than she did before.

Not that it didn’t have a typically colorful Russian history. Built by two architects whose names were still in dispute, the church no longer had a moat and wasn’t even owned by the Russian Orthodox Church. It had been owned by the state since Stalin, who really, really, really wanted to tear it down so he could have more room for military parades in Red Square.

Military dictators, man. Delusions of grandeur.

Stalin had been stopped though by an impassioned plea of the man assigned to demolish the church. The man had refused to harm a single tile. Stalin had him imprisoned for years, yet the man staunchly stood by his conviction and in the end saved one of the world’s greatest examples of architecture.

Which made the cathedral a stunning example of Russian architecture, and perfectly matched Osip’s dying words, yet Rebecca still had no idea why the old man had sent Amed to St. Basil’s in particular.

Moscow’s bishop was outspoken on all manner of subjects, especially his heated words that the Roman Catholics were nothing more than a splinter sect of the Russian Orthodox Church. Was it that controversial stance, one seeded all the way back to proto-Christianity, that caused Osip to send a terrorist to St. Basil’s? Or something else?

Rebecca startled as a sharp knock came at the door.

“Everything okay in there?” Brandt asked.

“Yeah,” she said as she turned off the water and wiped her hands on a wad of paper towels. “Be out in sec.”

Quickly she checked her laptop’s power bar. At the least it had inched up past the halfway mark. Tucking the device into its bag, Rebecca made one last desperate effort to get her hair under control, gave up, and opened the door.

“Figured you might want some of these,” Brandt said as he handed her a package of black licorice. “You realize you aren’t all that stealthy, right? We all know you holed up in there to charge your laptop.”

Rebecca snatched the candy out of his hand. “Like you would have let me do it if I’d asked.”

“Point taken.”

She ripped the plastic open and grabbed one of the licorice straws, nibbling on the end to make sure it wasn’t made out of some super-strong Russian variation. Luckily, it tasted like good old-fashioned licorice.

Brandt opened the passenger door for her. Still chewing on the candy, Rebecca loaded in next to Talli. The dark-skinned sniper glanced to the licorice then away.

“Want some?” Rebecca asked as she buckled up.

“No thank you,” he said, yet his eyes slid over to the package again.

She pulled a straw out. “Come on, we deserve a little something after all that.”

The sniper’s eyes flickered to Brandt, who gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Thanks,” Talli said as he took a piece of licorice. It was the most inflection she’d heard from the guy this entire time. But she didn’t blame him. Brandt had never been too thrilled by his newest team members, and after everything that had happened? Yeah, Rebecca would lie low too.

“Ready to fill us in?” Brandt asked Rebecca as Lopez gunned the car out of the gas station. “Lopez, read my lips. Speed limit.”

With an audible sigh, the corporal inched his foot off the gas.

Brandt turned to her. “So, figured out what we’re walking into yet?”

How she wished.

Brandt waited as Rebecca booted up her computer. That was not a good sign. Usually she was all Chatty Cathy while it loaded, talking and gesturing as to whatever esoteric research she’d found.

“Are we even heading to the right place?” Brandt asked.

“The right place, yes,” Rebecca answered. “The reason though, that I’m still a little sketchy on.”

Brandt adjusted his seat belt so he could face her. “Walk us through it.” She tugged her lower lip with her teeth as she scanned the screen as if one more glance would answer all of their questions. “Shaky and all.”

“Okay,” she said, taking in a breath. “We know the cathedral was built by Ivan the Terrible.” Rebecca glanced up at him with a faint smile. “So not exactly an auspicious start.”

He was glad to see her sense of humor coming back. Brilliance couldn’t be too far off.

“And in true Ivan the Terrible–style, he blinded the supposed architect of the building,” Rebecca said, quickly scrolling down. “Of course that could just be an urban myth, or should I say given the time period, an old wives’ tale, however if Ivan did want to keep something hidden...”

Brandt sighed. She was doing her best not to piss him off. She was walking around the huge elephant in the room, which wasn’t doing any of them any good.

“The actual stone slabs of the Ten Commandments?” Brandt prompted Rebecca, then glared at Lopez. “Not. A. Word.”

“Hey,” Lopez retorted, “I’m just saying that a movie that sits at number nineteen all-time box office, adjusted for inflation, had to get a few things right.”

Brandt continued his glare until Lopez focused back on the road. Then and only then did Brandt indicate for her to continue.

Rebecca shrugged. “There is also the legend of the Byzantine Libreria.”

“And we are supposed to know what that is?”

Turning the screen around toward him, Rebecca explained. “Before Constantinople fell to the Ottomans, one of the greatest libraries known to the world was hastily removed before the city was ransacked.”

He scanned the large list of items the library supposedly contained. “And it was moved to Russia?”

“Yes,” Rebecca confirmed. “The sultan’s daughter was married to Ivan the Third...”

“Let me guess, the mother of Ivan the Terrible?”

Rebecca nodded. “Everyone wanted a piece of that library. The Vatican. The pope. So Ivan hid it in Moscow. Then his son, well, his son, Ivan the Terrible got really paranoid and built a sprawling network of tunnels down there and then killed the construction crew to keep the library’s whereabouts safe.”

“Tunnels?” Lopez perked up. “Did you say an elaborate interlocking set of cavernous tunnels under Moscow?”

“Really?” Rebecca asked. “Out of all of that, you just heard tunnel?”

Lopez’s smile broadened. “Hey, there are not a lot of opportunities to practice cave surfing, and as long as we have to be in Russia we might as well have some fun.”

Brandt turned his glare up to an eleven, finally convincing Lopez to watch the road. Their inaugural “cave surfing” event last year had not been fun. The last thing from it. His hipbone still felt bruised. Plus that incident marked his and Rebecca’s first, horribly awkward, aborted kiss.

Did she remember?

From the deep red filling her cheeks, she did in fact remember that moment in Budapest.

Rebecca looked at anything but Brandt’s eyes. The embarrassment of that stupid, sophomoric kiss still burned her with shame. Now though? Knowing what she did? How little time they would have together? Rebecca would have laid a lip-lock on Brandt and not let him go.

Unfortunately, the worst thing that could happen to them was not a momentary lapse of judgment. Nope, life had a lot more in store for them after Budapest.

“Sorry, Ricky.” Rebecca tried to sound upbeat but failed miserably. “I don’t think the commandments would be down there.”

“Come on,” Lopez said, “can’t you give a guy a little room to hope?”

“Why then would Ivan build the cathedral? I think the tunnels were a ruse. Keep everyone looking under Moscow rather than right across from the Kremlin.”

Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “But why wouldn’t he put the tablets down in the labyrinth? It looks like to date no one has found the secret chamber holding the library.”

Finally a question she felt comfortable answering. “From everything I know about Ivan, he was not the type to just bury the tablets. He would have wanted them close. Which meant somewhere he could access without arousing suspicion.”

“Like a confessional booth?” Harvish asked from her left.

She turned to the point man. “No. Orthodox churches don’t have confessional booths, per se.”

“Bummer,” Harvish answered.

Succinct but true. It would be nice if just once a religious mystery would be uncovered that easily.

“So it looks like we’re going to have to go and just take a look around,” Brandt stated.

“Well...” Rebecca said as Brandt arched his eyebrow. “The Orthodox Church, given its name, is well, way more Orthodox than the Catholic Church.”

“How so?” the sergeant asked.

“Their religion is much more aligned with Jewish traditions than the Vatican.” She hurried on as Brandt frowned. “Such as beginning holiday celebrations at sunset rather than sunrise. They use incense in a deep and intricate way. Nor do they have a pope. It is considered that each person has equal access to God.”

“And that helps us how?”

Rebecca matched Brandt’s frown. “The cathedral is officially property of the Russian government, and only one ceremony is allowed in the church during the high feast of the Intercession of the Theotokos, which occurs in October.”

“But it’s May,” Talli added, chewing on his licorice.

“Exactly,” Rebecca said, calling up another web page. “Then why did the bishop of Moscow, Tolst, ask for permission to begin preparing for the feast a good four months early?”

Brandt tilted his head. “Nice try. But even for you that’s a bit of a stretch. They may start preparations this early every year.”

“Really?” Rebecca questioned. “Because according to church requests they normally start prepping for the feast in August.” Rebecca felt Brandt studying her features. He still didn’t seem convinced. “How about the fact Tolst asked for such early permission the day after Amed visited Osip?”

The frown on Brandt’s face reversed itself into a tight grin. “Well, sounds like at the least we have someone to question.”

Rebecca knew it was irrational and probably a sign of some form of mental illness, however being able to impress Brandt even just a little made her heart soar. Too bad it was going to take way more than coaxing a grin out of Brandt to retrace Amed’s footsteps to find a stash of weaponized Rinderpest.

Brandt shifted his weight in the SUV’s seat. What should have been a simple trip through Moscow in the late evening had turned into a slow crawl through a myriad of traffic jams, accidents, and night club–bound partiers who’d started partying a little early.

And the closer they drew to Krasnaya Ploshchad, the Red Square, the worse the traffic had become.

“What the hell is going on?” Brandt asked to no one in particular. This crowd wasn’t just any crowd either. Uniforms dotted the mass of pedestrians streaming into Red Square. Not only Russian dress blacks either. From what Brandt could make out there were French, British, and even Americans in the revelers.

“What day is it?” he asked. With all the travel he was afraid his dates could be off.

“May ninth,” Harvish answered. “Why?”

“It’s freaking V-Day,” Brandt groaned. Of all the days to have to get into Red Square, quickly and quietly.

Rebecca sat forward, looking out the SUV’s windshield. “The day the Allies accepted Germany’s surrender?”

“That would be the one,” Brandt answered, debating if they should abort the mission. Find a place to hole up and strike out tomorrow when the vast majority of these people would be home with a hangover.

“Wow,” Rebecca commented as Lopez tried to maneuver around a clump of pedestrians that had spilled over from the sidewalk. “The Russians take their V-Day seriously.”

Talli nodded. “They had way more on the line during World War II. They didn’t come to the ‘aid’ of the Allies. They had been fighting for the existence of their country for years. The Russians lost over twenty-eight million people to the Nazis.”

“I didn’t realize,” Rebecca said, scanning the boisterous crowd with more appreciation.

Most didn’t. There was a very real reason the Russians worried if any other country’s military exceeded theirs. The Nazis had taught them a hard-won lesson. And now Brandt and his team were here, right smack dab in the middle of all the makings of an international incident.

Adding to the delays, the event’s organizers were still trying to get all of the military equipment out of Red Square from the day’s earlier events. A truck pulling a large missile turned in front of them. It felt like Russia was giving them a big fat warning. Nothing says don’t mess with my country better than a big fat missile. Up ahead it looked like a flatbed with a fighter jet. Each moving at the speed of a snail.

While the day had been dedicated to their war accomplishments and showing off to the world their military might, tonight was about celebrating their victory. Brandt had never seen the commemoration party—the Russians had just started to allow foreign soldiers to attend last year—but it supposedly surpassed New Year’s Eve in New York. There would be bands, a DJ, and then fireworks. The whole shebang. Red Square would be crammed with people into the early morning hours.

“What do you want me to do, Sarge?” Lopez asked.

Brandt glanced to Rebecca.

“What did you teach me?” she asked.

He cocked his head, uncertain what Rebecca meant.

“If you can’t beat ’em?” she said with a smile.

Join them.

Rebecca stepped from the steamy shower of their suite at the Baltschug Kempinski. With its gold-trimmed handles and silk curtains, the hotel was the finest luxury in Russia. Of course it was owned by Swedes, but hey as least it had enough hot water to finally wash the smell of not-all-that-well-refrigerated meat from her hair.

When she had suggested that they blend in with the crowd as tourists, she never imagined that Brandt would actually have them become tourists. Rebecca did not argue one bit though when he suggested getting a hotel room to act as home base.

Of course on V-Day everything was booked solid, so again, she didn’t complain when they had to rent a suite at the finest hotel in Russia. Nor did she complain when Brandt suggested she take a shower while he and the men developed an entry plan into the cathedral. She was more than willing to let the guys do the heavy lifting on this one.

Winding a towel around her body, she parted the curtains.

The sight made her nearly drop her towel. For as many times she had traveled to Moscow for various archeological conferences, she’d never witnessed Red Square at night. Their hotel room was positioned directly across the Moscow River from the Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral. She had the perfect view of their quarry. Even as the windows steamed up, the sight stunned.

At the far end of the square, floodlights illuminated the Russian National Museum. The bright lights accentuated its red, red facade. The building screamed, “I am Russian. Take that.”

Then there was Red Square. It was accustomed to crowds, but this gathering was off the hook. There was a small stage built by the museum. Lights throbbed to the music as the entire crowd moved as one to the rhythm.

Off to the right of the crammed square sat GUM, one of Russia’s largest shopping malls. The exterior of the mall was lined by tiny twinkling lights, almost like a Swiss chalet at Christmastime. The building’s gaiety seemed so incongruous to the usual harsh, utilitarian nature of the Russians. It was like having the Mall of America across the street from the White House.

The Kremlin sat off to the left, seeming odd as well. One might have expected an austere, functional building, yet here they would be confounded as well. The Kremlin wasn’t a building so much as a complex. It contained something like four palaces and churches within the grounds that were protected by a tall brick wall along with nearly a dozen towers. The Russian president lived within the largest palace, a huge white-façade-covered building capped in green and gold.

The seat of Russian power was meant to impress, and it did. Especially at night. The gilded towers glistened against the darkness.

But the true sight was St. Basil’s Cathedral. What could you say about one of the world’s most unique buildings? They truly shattered the mold when they built the cathedral.

Instead of all the straight lines and sharp angles you would usually associate with Russian architecture, the designers had borrowed from nearly every culture to assemble Ivan the Terrible’s church.

The onion-domed roofs were to honor his victory over the Islamics, and the detailed flames adorning the domes were meant to resemble God’s fire rising to the heavens. The brickwork was commissioned from the Germans, and colors? Dear God, the colors were a riot. They made no sense individually. Blue, red, orange, purple, and green fought for attention as they basked under the floodlights. Yet, taken together, they all worked together as a tribute to both Ivan’s victories and his God.

Could the tablets of Moses be hidden within those brightly colored walls? Or knowledge of where the tablets were sequestered? Had Amed found what he was looking for?

As much as Rebecca had sworn off anything religious, she had a “smart” gene to prove damn it, a bit of her thrilled at the sight of the cathedral. Science brought its own sense of accomplishment. However it demanded slow, deliberate, painstaking attention to detail. And research at the DNA level? Double that. And when she proved that certain genes bestowed exceptional intelligence and culture-building properties, she would break open a bottle of champagne.

But the thought of touching the actual Ten Commandments? To feel the weight of the stone beneath her fingers? That sent a thrill through her that staring down a microscope could never provide.

Add in the bonus of saving the world from a Rinderpest plague the world hadn’t seen since biblical times? Yeah, that feeling never got old.

“Hope you’re decent,” Brandt said just before he burst into the room.

“Brandt!” Rebecca protested, tugging the towel upward, suddenly aware of her wet hair sending rivulets of water down her cleavage.

Apparently oblivious, the sergeant held out a pair of binoculars. “Look.”

“At what?” she asked, taking a step back.

“The back door of the cathedral.”

She knew when the sergeant was in this mood there was no stopping him. So hoping the towel stayed up, Rebecca accepted the binoculars and swept them past the Kremlin, the huge, surging crowd in Red Square to St. Basil’s. Fiddling with the focus, she zeroed in on the back door. Was there someone standing outside, a woman smoking? Looking out at the celebration?

“Is that who I think it is?” Brandt asked.

But it couldn’t be. Could it?

Despite her mind’s protests the young woman’s face came into sharp focus.

There she was in Technicolor.

“Bunny.”

At the confirmation of the woman’s identity, Brandt spun on his heel and charged into the living room of the suite. “We’ve got a complication,” he informed his men.

“You know the woman down there?” Talli asked.

“Barely,” Brandt answered. The men were “read in” to some aspects of the previous mission that led them from France to Budapest to Istanbul to Rome in pursuit, or more accurately put, pursued by the Knot. Many, many, many details from that mission were seriously need-to-know, and until the appearance of Bunny at St. Basil’s, she had not been one of them.

“I thought she was dead,” Rebecca said as she hastily tugged a shirt on.

“Technically she was,” Brandt said.

“Define technically?”

Talli and Harvish stepped closer. Crap. The lid was off—why not blow it all the way open? He turned to his men first. “Brenda Hollingford, aka ‘Bunny,’ had been a graduate student of Rebecca’s old mentor. She was badly injured in our escape from the Knot at the French laboratory.” Actually, badly injured was an understatement. The woman had come a hairsbreadth from death. “The US asked the French to declare her dead. She was then transported home to the States and put into the Witness Protection Program.”

To his surprise Rebecca nodded, not demanding a more elaborate explanation of why she hadn’t been informed. “Probably best,” she stated. “But what is she doing in Russia?”

Brandt didn’t know, and he did not like coincidences. Actually, he didn’t believe in them at all. And happy coincidences? Never. Bunny was supposed to be in Topeka or a city equally boring, waiting tables or marrying a major league ballplayer or something.

“Guess we’re going to find out,” Brandt answered Rebecca and then turned to Talli. “Your nest is the same.”

The dark-skinned man picked up his sniper’s “go-bag.” “You got it.”

And maybe this time you might want to actually shoot something, Brandt thought but didn’t voice. Pushchino had been a clusterfuck on a massive scale. Putting the lion’s share of the blame on Talli wasn’t going to help anyone. But they couldn’t and shouldn’t count on Davidson saving the day. Talli needed to step up or go back to escorting businessmen in the Green Zone.

“Harvish lead the way,” Brandt said as he stripped his black T-shirt off to change into something a bit more festive, like a white T-shirt. “We stick to the plan until the plan comes unstuck.”

“You got it,” the point man said, prepping his equipment.

Brandt turned to Rebecca. Her eyes found the jagged scar just below the vest. He’d like to say he forgot it was even there, but that would be a blatant lie. Every time he twisted hard to the left or even lifted weights that scar screamed in protest. Well, Brandt just shouted back.

He tucked his shirt into his pants, wanting Rebecca focused on the problem at hand, not on the fact of exactly how many times they’d each almost died on the last mission. As he buttoned the shirt, Rebecca’s eyes found his.

“Maybe Bunny’s appearance is a good thing?” she suggested.

Brandt grunted. He had only known Bunny, the conscious Bunny, for a few minutes, and in that time she had grated against his last nerve. She had been arrogant, difficult, and whiny. The civilian trifecta.

“Still,” Rebecca said, “you have to admit it’s quite a coincidence.”

Which was exactly why Brandt hated coincidences.

Rebecca walked next to Brandt as they crossed the Moskvoretsky Bridge from their hotel to Red Square. Revelers jostled past them, scurrying to Red Square. And she knew why. The concierge at the hotel had, quite enthusiastically, informed them that they had best hurry if they wanted a good position to watch the fireworks that started within the hour.

Stumbling as an overly excited partier bumped her from behind, Rebecca caught herself on Brandt’s arm. She pushed off against it like it was a cobra and she was no mongoose. Still, he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulder.

“You know what the concierge said,” Brandt whispered.

Rebecca rapidly checked her pocket just to be sure her fake passport was still there. The concierge had warned them about a “minor” problem at an event like this, however picking pockets was so routine in Russia that it wasn’t even classified as petty crime, it was simply called kahrmannik. Roughly translated it meant “take from the suckers.” And these weren’t Oliver Twist street children running these pickpocket rings. This was serious business for the vori v zakone, the thieves’ world. They employed grandmothers, men in business suits, and even pregnant women.

And at such a large event as this? The kahrmannik would be out in force.

So all the couples around them weren’t necessarily snuggled close together because of true love. They were trying to protect themselves from the fast hands of the kahrmannik. Brandt and Rebecca walking side by side not touching made them not just an anomaly but a target as well.

Still, knowing it was nothing more than a ruse as Brandt’s arm draped over her shoulder, everywhere their bodies touched drew a line of fire...and shame. Rebecca shrugged out from under his arm.

“We need to blend in,” Brandt whispered.

And she knew it, just not like that. That was too painful. Instead, she hooked her arm through his. This way they could pass as a couple yet only have their elbows in contact. A far better option than his false embrace.

Wordlessly they made their way over the bridge as the Moscow River made its sluggish way underfoot. Stepping off the bridge and into Red Square brought a distinctly different perspective than looking down atop it. The Kremlin’s walls towered to their left. Past the cathedral, GUM glistened. The concierge had informed them that after the fall of Communism the building had gone through many transformations until it became a huge indoor shopping mall that rivaled Rodeo Drive in selling high-end goods. Knowing Russia, the concierge was probably on GUM’s employment roll.

Still, shoppers poured in and out of the historic building, taking advantage of Victory Day sales. Bargain shopping was not on their agenda though, so Brandt had them linger near the back of the cathedral, pretending to soak up the sights. Which wasn’t hard to pull off. The multicolored, multicultural church was even more intriguing close up.

At ground level you gained a better appreciation for the fact the “church” really was nine churches in one. Each of the towers represented the roof to each of the sanctuaries.

Rebecca could imagine the construction difficulties a building like this would represent these days, let alone back in the 1600s. What stood before them should have been impossible to build back then. Yet here it stood.

Brandt walked them clockwise around the church’s grounds. Fewer and fewer people poured across the river. Instead, the crowd within Red Square swelled and got a little rowdy. Flashing neon necklaces and foam thumbs began to make appearances.

On their circular sojourn, they passed the front of the church. A large brass memorial statue stood at the entrance. A tribute to soldiers who had repelled one invasion or another. Polish, Rebecca thought, but couldn’t be sure.

As they finished their circle of the building there was no Bunny, but lucky for them, several large trees provided the back of the church with perfect cover. They were about to step over the low fence when a few stragglers approached, laughing and pointing up to one of the bell towers. Brandt pulled Rebecca under the draping branches of the tree.

“We’ve got to sell this,” Brandt breathed out, his mouth only inches from hers.

Rebecca forced herself to remember this was just spy craft. To think though, a few months ago they wouldn’t have had to “sell” anything. As a matter of fact, they would have had to remind themselves they were on a mission.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he urged, closing the gap between them.

God, she could smell him. That intoxicating mix of sweat and courage. That scent could wipe away any doubt except for that damned wedding ring. Even if Maria never knew. Even if it meant nothing to Brandt, it would mean the world to her.

Turning her face to the side, she laid her cheek on his chest, wrapping her arms around his back. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. She just couldn’t bring herself to put her lips to his. Not knowing he belonged to another.

Not quick enough, yet still too soon, she heard a soft call from deeper in the grounds. Harvish. He must have gotten the back door unlocked. Brandt supported her as she broke from his embrace and stepped over the low fence. Not needing to keep up the illusion anymore, they broke contact. Hurrying up the three low steps, they entered the cathedral.

The same as Amed. Would they fare any better than he?

Absently, Brandt closed the church’s door behind them. He wasn’t struck by much. Stuff was just stuff. Especially after last year. He’d seen more beauty and destruction than most in a lifetime. But even he had to admit the cathedral’s interior was even more stunning than the outside. They stood in a small sanctuary. Really small. Like only three arm’s lengths wide. The cathedral looked so large from the outside, however the interior was partitioned off into tiny sanctuaries like this.

What the room lacked in width though, it made up for in height. The column soared above them. Harvish’s light did not penetrate to the ceiling. And every square inch of the walls was decorated by either swirling ivy, flowers, or images of the saints.

Since this was a church dedicated to Mary, her image appeared frequently. Sometimes as a young mother. Other times as a woman doomed to lose her son upon the cross. Always though rendered with such devotion. Faith and piety shone from her features.

He glanced to Rebecca, who had an altogether different expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugged, walking off. Brandt studied her back until she disappeared past a large wooden panel that separated the sanctuaries. No matter how hard he’d pressed her, Rebecca refused to tell him what had happened in that cave under the Vatican. All she would do was reassure him that she had not found Christ’s bones.

Whatever she’d found within the tomb, that was the Knot’s secret. And as shattering as it would have been for him and Christianity in general to have found Christ’s very human bones, this mystery they now chased had far more practical dangers. It was one thing to argue over theology. It was quite another to have the world’s livestock population destroyed.

Brandt didn’t have to walk that scenario very far forward to see worldwide riots, civil wars, and even a resurgence of the nuclear race. And if the virus could cross into the human population? Forget the biblical plague. This one could be a world-killer.

So screw the religious mystery here. The Ten Commandments? If he had to find them and shatter them all over again, he’d do it to keep the world from seeing a Rinderpest epidemic.

Still, he made the sign of the cross as he passed under an arch decorated with a panel honoring Jesus.

No disrespect meant, Brandt thought. Hoping none was taken.

Despite her dour mood, Rebecca couldn’t help but be impressed with the sanctuary she’d just entered. One dedicated to Saint Alexander Svisrky, she believed. Rebecca was a little sketchy on the details of his canonization, but he had been the heguman, or leader of infamous Trinity Monastery. Considered the heart of the Russian Orthodox Church, the monastery had withstood Tartan invaders and a sixteen-month siege by the Polish.

However it wasn’t the walls’ intricate carvings or delicate paintings that held her fascination, but the architecture of the place. The sanctuary was built in the fashion of a cross vault. The skill it took to create a chamber formed by four-barrel vaults was considered one of the most difficult of all. The stone used for the arches had to be perfectly cut to lay together at the arrisses. The style was so difficult to get right, in fact, that across Europe it was abandoned for the easier and therefore less grand ribbed vaulting.

Brandt joined her, following her gaze upward. “Gotta give the Russians credit. They know how to use stone.”

Yes, they did. And not just for decorative purposes. Just behind the westernmost walls held the hidden staircase found not twenty years ago. What other secret passages did this church hold?

“I heard voices this way,” Harvish whispered, pointing to the southern passageway.

Brandt nodded for them to follow the trail.

Sandwiched between Harvish and Brandt, Rebecca took care with her steps on the cool tile floor. By the men’s tense jaws and careful treading, stealth was a premium. Harvish clicked off his light as candlelight spilled from one of the inner sanctuaries. It was another cross vault, although larger than the last. Harvish’s back blocked most of her view, but she was pretty sure the light came from St. Basil’s tomb.

The voices were clear now. A younger woman’s lighter tone, which Rebecca could only assume was Bunny, and a deeper, older voice. They spoke Russian fluently. Really? Bunny knew Russian? She’d just assumed the woman would manhandle a word, then giggle...and probably flip her hair.

What in the hell was she doing in Russia, speaking Russian?

They were about to find out as Harvish rushed into the sanctuary. “Hands up.”

Bunny’s squeal made it all the way out to Rebecca.

“Ostavaĭtes’ na meste,” Brandt announced as he swept in behind the point man.

Rebecca snuck in last. While the Russian man held his hands up, a string of very forceful curses followed which contrasted his thick blue flowing robes. Somewhere in there he kept insisting he was the “episcop.”

“He’s the bishop of Moscow,” Rebecca warned Brandt.

“Yep, I kinda got that the tenth time he told me.” Brandt turned to Bunny. “Is there anyone else here?”

Bunny didn’t seem to hear him as her eyes found Rebecca. The young redhead rushed across the room. “Rebecca!”

“Watch it!” Brandt warned, trying to intersect Bunny.

“No, it’s okay,” Rebecca said as the young woman wrapped her into a bear hug.

“Oh my God!” Bunny squealed. “They told me you died.” The younger woman searched behind Rebecca. “Where’s Lochum?”

Rebecca shook her head as Bunny’s bright smile faded.

“Did he at least find his prize?”

That was a complicated question. One that Bunny did not have clearance for. Again, Rebecca simply shook her head. Bunny pulled her even tighter into the hug. “I’m so sorry.”

And the younger woman didn’t know the half of it.

“What are you doing here?” Bunny asked, pushing a pile of red curls from her face.

“Good question,” Rebecca hedged. “I might ask the same of you?”

For the first time Bunny’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “At gunpoint?”

Hell yes, at gunpoint, Brandt wanted to say but held his tongue. Probably best not to piss off the bishop of Moscow. Or at least not more than he was already. Brandt gave a curt nod to Harvish to lower his weapon.

“Belinda,” Brandt said, using the younger woman’s given name. He just couldn’t get “Bunny” out of his mouth. “You are supposed to be safely tucked away in the Midwest.”

The young woman sighed, finally releasing Rebecca. Funny, Brandt did not remember the women being all BFFs the last time around. As a matter of fact, they’d perfected their romantic rival act to a fine art.

“After,” Bunny gulped, pulling aside her shirt to reveal a network of scars that disappeared below her belt. “After Paris with a piece of shrapnel lodged so closely to my spine the doctors are afraid it’s going to cut my spinal cord every time I sneeze, I kind of couldn’t do suburbia, ya know?”

Unfortunately, Brandt did know. Going from crisis mode to domestic bliss wasn’t as smooth a transition as it should be.

“I realized that I had to do what I love,” Bunny continued. “I couldn’t give up proto-Christian archeology. If I was going to die, it would be doing something that mattered...at least to me.”

“That still doesn’t answer why you’re here, in Russia, in this cathedral,” Brandt pressed.

The bishop rose, raising his hand. “Nyet. Why you storm in with guns?”

The time for delicate diplomacy was over, if there ever had been a time for it on this mission. Brandt turned to the bishop and met his righteous indignation with his own. “You were visited by a terrorist named Amed last week.” While the bishop didn’t answer Brandt directly, his eyes dilating as he sat down hard on the edge of St. Basil’s tomb kind of confirmed Brandt’s suspicions. “Why?”

The old man didn’t respond. Instead, he combed his fingers through his long gray beard.

Bunny was the one who answered. “I think you know why.”

“The Ten Commandments,” Rebecca clarified.

“Amed came with the broken piece of tablet that Osip had translated,” Bunny confirmed. “Amed threatened that unless the bishop helped him find the rest of the commandments, he would unleash his bioweapon on Russia first.”

Sounded like the terrorist.

“But why did Amed think the bishop could help?” A look passed between Bunny and the bishop. “What?” When neither answered, Brandt pressed, “I don’t think I should have to mention that this mission is a bit time sensitive.”

The bishop went into a litany...of curses. The guy’s bright blue Russian Orthodox robes made it seem almost comical. A little hard to get worked up by a big Smurf.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Brandt coaxed. “I want to get the Rinderpest off the streets as much as you do.”

“Da,” the bishop retorted. “But only so the Americas can hoard it.”

“Really?” Brandt countered as he leaned forward. “Because let’s keep it clear that Amed stole the weaponized virus from your laboratory. From Russia’s illegal stores.”

The bishop glared back, clearly not used to being questioned or rebuked.

Rebecca stepped forward, speaking into the tense silence. “Let’s just say that it’s in all of our best interests to track down Amed’s trail. No matter what games the superpowers are playing, they aren’t as erratic or as dangerous as an Islamic extremist’s plans.” She looked to Bunny. “Right?”

Surprisingly, the younger woman turned to the bishop. “If you don’t tell them, Tolst, I will.”

The bishop’s cheeks billowed in and out, making his beard rustle against his blue velvet robes. In the end, he finally spoke. “I doubt if you know the tale of the Lost Library.”

“Of Constantinople,” Brandt offered. “Yeah, yeah. Ivan the Terrible went all Lego-crazy and built a labyrinth beneath the city, but we’re pretty damn sure he hid a nice big chunk of the tablet in the church here.” The older man’s cheeks flared red above his beard. Kind of like a pissed off Dumbledore. “That pretty much get us up to speed?”

By the way the man sputtered, sending spittle across the room, Brandt guessed it did.

“Yes,” Bunny confirmed. “The bishop has been sorting through old documents to narrow down the search for any hidden room while I have been trying to backtrack Amed’s movements to figure out where he might have hidden the Rinderpest.”

Brandt’s estimation of the redhead just leapt up about a thousand percent. “And?”

She frowned. “We know he found the chunk of tablet when he was excavating a chamber for the storage of the Rinderpest. My supposition was that it must be in the Holy Land somewhere ancient Jews migrated yet accessible to a modern-day jihadist.”

He looked to Rebecca, who frowned as she spoke. “Actually, that is quite a swath of territory to consider. Basically her theory only rules out Israel.”

Did Rebecca just school Bunny? By the girl’s flushed cheeks, yes Rebecca did.

“Actually,” Bunny answered, “I was specifically speaking of Moses’s well-documented travels, which eliminated nearly all northern Arab countries.”

It was a little like watching a nerd-off tennis match, only both of the contestants were pretty easy on the eyes, as Rebecca responded. “Except that would be following the path of the second set of tablets in the ark. What we are looking for are the first, the original tablets whose travels are not well documented.”

Again the younger woman blushed deeply. Yeah, about the only person Brandt had even seen go up against Rebecca’s nearly encyclopedic knowledge of ancient religious history and win was their mutual professor, Lochum. Even he, in the end, was eclipsed by Rebecca.

And as much as he loved watching Rebecca in robo-scholar mode, it was not helping them get closer to Amed’s freaking Rinderpest stash.

From across the room Harvish broke the deadlock. “Um...then what in the hell was Amed doing so far from the Holy Land? Bringing his stink to Croatia?”

Brandt looked to Bunny first, who suddenly found a button on her shirt incredibly fascinating. He turned his attention back to his go-to girl, Rebecca.

“What?” his ex-fiancée snorted. “She’s the one that’s had all week to work on this.”

Brandt tilted his head. “Rebecca...”

Okay, that sounded kind of bitchy even to her own ears. Rebecca opened her laptop, hoping it would take her mind off of the fact that somehow Bunny had gotten even prettier and apparently smarter as well. It shouldn’t matter given the fact they were tracking down a terrorist, but if Rebecca was being completely honest, it did. And Harvish stealing glances over at Bunny’s legs was not helping.

“Croatia has a rich Jewish history,” she said as she brought up a map of the country. “I am assuming Amed went to the Split Synagogue since they have found ancient Jewish remains predating Roman times in the hills surrounding the area.” Rebecca looked to Brandt. “And I am assuming that after his capture the Croatian forces scoured the area for any sign of the Rinderpest?”

The sergeant nodded.

“The important fact is that Amed himself was clearly looking well beyond the ‘well-documented travels’ of Moses to locate the tablets.”

“So we are back to square one,” Brandt grumbled. “Even if we find these fragments of the so-called Ten Commandments, they may not lead us to the stash after all.”

Everyone’s face clouded at the proclamation. Rebecca however wasn’t so sure of that comment. Her theory, like most of her theories, was probably not going to make anyone any happier, but it might help them find the virus.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to throw in the towel,” Rebecca said.

“Why?” Brandt asked, hope flickering in those blue eyes of his.

She’d really hoped to not have to offer up this one particular theory until she had more proof. “Something about the biblical version of Moses coming down the mount has always bothered me.”

Brandt crossed his arms, challenging her to shake his faith once again.

“Here he is carrying the Word, the literal Word of God,” Rebecca said, trying to be as respectful as she could. “And I get the fact that he found his people worshipping a false idol and all, but why would he...” She took a deep breath. “Why would he throw the tablets down and shatter them? I mean, God supposedly touched those tablets. Isn’t that a bit...”

“Childish?” Harvish offered but piped back down as Brandt’s glare found him.

Rebecca nodded though. She could take the sergeant’s ire. She’d felt it before. Although after the entire Maria thing she didn’t think she’d ever be so lucky as to feel it again.

“Yes. I mean, we shatter God’s Word because the people aren’t obeying God’s Word? Then we make a new set?”

Brandt’s features darkened. “You are saying that Moses lied?”

“No,” Rebecca said, which only seemed to confuse Brandt more. “I am saying Moses smashed the tablets for another reason.”

“And that would be?” Brandt asked, skepticism thick in his voice.

“Think about it. Moses goes away for forty days and comes back to his people doing all kinds of wonky things, and here he is carrying a load of God’s strict Word...” Rebecca braced herself. This next part Brandt was not going to like. “I think he worried that his people couldn’t handle the ‘truth,’ so to speak. That whatever was on those tablets was just too much, so he smashed them.”

Bunny took a step closer. “So you are saying he destroyed the original tablets fearing his people could not follow God’s Word and then created a second set that was pared down?”

“Kind of like an Idiot’s Guide to God’s Word?” Harvish offered.

Guess the point man liked being skewered by Brandt’s stare because Harvish was just asking for it.

“Crudely put,” Rebecca continued, “but yes. He created a simpler, bullet-pointed set of God’s rules that he felt his people could handle...the Ten Commandments.”

Those stormy, suppressing-his-anger-the-best-Brandt-could-do eyes found Rebecca. “I am assuming you are challenging several millennia’s faith for a reason other than sport?”

“Of course,” Rebecca sighed. Granted they were no longer intimate, however he should give her more credit than that. “Whatever else was written on those first tablets contained something that needed to be hidden. I’m thinking if we know what that was, it might point us to where they hid the rest of the tablets.”

Brandt’s frown intensified, which only meant he was starting to understand her logic. “In this scenario they created the Ark of the Covenant as a decoy?” Off her nod, he continued. “So all eyes were pointed to the ark’s position rather than the original tablets.”

Bunny nodded vigorously. “It does make more sense why the ark’s legend has never been fulfilled. I mean if the ark truly did carry the might of God, then why didn’t the Jews use it at Masada? The first attack on the Temple of Jerusalem? Or a thousand other battles?”

“And I don’t think I’m the first person to have these thoughts,” Rebecca stated, turning her attention to the robed man. “Am I, Bishop Tolst?”

Brandt turned to the bishop. “Do you have something to add?”

The old man clutched some old papers to his chest. “Nyet.”

“Tolst,” Bunny urged. “You need to tell them.”

The bishop shook his head from side to side, gritting his teeth. Bunny gave him a sympathetic glance before turning back to Brandt. “You have to understand, he hasn’t told the authorities or even the church’s patriarch about what we’re doing.”

The young woman knelt next to the bishop’s knee as she coaxed, “Tolst, Amed is dead. The knowledge you hold may be our only way to find the Rinderpest before it is spread.”

A tear sprang to the man’s eye and ran down the craggy side of his face. Slowly his fist unclenched, revealing an old sketch. Bunny removed it and handed the page to Brandt. His eyes scanned it quickly, but they made no sense. They were just old religious paintings. Much like the fourteen million covering the rest of the church. He offered the paper to Rebecca. “I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Rebecca said as she studied the artwork. “Wait...”

Brandt waited and waited as Rebecca’s eyes scanned the document. “You have something?”

The faint smile on her lips said yes. “These paintings aren’t in the style of the sixteenth century. They are nineteenth century, if I’m not mistaken.”

Bunny looked to the page. “You’re right.” The younger woman looked to the bishop. “These paintings there were ‘removed’ from the cathedral back in the sixties.”

Tolst nodded, indicating to the wall across from them. He spoke slowly as if weighing each of his words. “But the renovation damaged the wall. It was one of these weakened sections that were replaced in the seventies. For the first time since Ivan the Terrible, a wall was completely removed, taken down to the wooden frame.”

“Who was it?” Rebecca asked, clearly not of Brandt. “The architect’s name? The guy who supervised the restoration?”

“Nikolay Sobolev,” Bunny answered.

One hand of Rebecca’s worked furiously across the keys. With the other hand she gave Harvish the power cord. “Plug this in, would you?”

“Rebecca?” Brandt asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, waving him off. “Give me a second.”

Brandt’s patience was running thin. They had already spent too much time talking rather than doing. He liked his ratio favoring the action side. A metronome in his head had him calculating exactly how much leeway they had before their attackers caught up with them. His only comforts, and those were pretty small, was Talli perched atop the Russian museum, covering the building. The other, which actually did get his pulse to slow down, was the fact that Lopez was out there somewhere with their getaway vehicle.

For so many reasons, not the least of which was to avoid a trip to Siberia, this mission needed to be a quick in-and-out mission. Holding a Russian bishop at gunpoint was not going to go over well once it was discovered. They needed to be far, far away, like a different continent before that happened.

“Rebecca?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said as she typed furiously. “Here it is. Nikolay Sobolev...in 1905.”

“That can’t be the same guy,” Brandt sighed. One more dead end.

The bishop shook his head. “Nyet. That Nikolay is the architect’s uncle.”

Brandt was on the verge of calling this trip a wash. “Then I don’t see—”

“Uncle Nikolay headed up the Circle of Thirty-two,” Rebecca jumped in. “A group of priests who wished to reform the Greek Orthodox Church.” She emphasized the next words. “To bring it closer to their Jewish roots. This article states, and I quote, ‘He shared his great love and respect for the greatest man of faith, Moses, with the next generation.’”

“And then his nephew turns out to be the main architect on the renovation of St. Basil’s?” Brandt could see where Rebecca was going with this.

“I know how much you hate coincidences,” she teased.

Yes. Yes he did. “So you think Nikolay wasn’t here just to renovate but to get his hands on a piece of the tablets?”

Rebecca didn’t answer him though. Instead she glanced to the bishop. “I don’t get it, Tolst. You clearly must have figured out this connection. Which means you know that Nikolay more than likely found the pieces of tablet he was looking for. That the tablets are no longer here.”

Which completely blew. A wasted trip to Russia. A firefight in Pushchino for nothing. Before he could get them packing out, the bishop stood.

“I do not think Nikolay found them,” Tolst said reluctantly, “or at least not all of them.”

Brandt suddenly got interested again.

“Why do you think that?” Rebecca asked, not following the bishop’s logic.

“Nikolay restricted his aggressive renovations to the damaged walls,” the bishop stated. “Even he could not bring himself to break down a pristine sanctuary.”

Which made sense. And it wasn’t necessarily Nikolay’s conscience that stopped him. Everyone from the Greek Orthodox Church’s patriarch to President Leonid Brezhnev wanted the renovation of the church to go smoothly. It would have been a little hard for Nikolay to explain knocking out a perfectly good wall to the authorities.

“And you think you know where Ivan hid a cache of the tablet fragments?” Rebecca prompted.

The old man nodded. “I have been trying to decide if I have it in my soul to create such a sacrilege. Could I go where Nikolay feared to tread?”

Again, Rebecca didn’t think Nikolay was afraid to commit sacrilege so much as he feared ending up in a gulag. However, she could sympathize with the bishop’s reluctance to violate a sanctuary. It was a heady thing to think of destroying an international cultural site.

Of course after you did it a few times, it did get slightly easier.

“Where?” she asked.

The bishop stared directly at the wall across from St. Basil’s tomb. “My family has long been spiritual consultants to the Russian leaders.” He rose and put his hand on the edge of a painted insert, depicting John the Baptist. “My grandfather told me stories of my great-great-grandfather serving Ivan the Terrible. He would come here to meditate on his next conquest. Bar himself in this tomb and let none other enter until his studies were done.”

Brandt looked to her. Rebecca studied the artwork that Tolst indicated. “This was the last of the sanctuaries to be built. According to all the records down the ages, this room has never been renovated.”

Rebecca’s fingers slipped along the edge of the painting. There was no discernible crack or fissure. Nothing to indicate it was anything but a work of devotion.

“How would Ivan access a hidden chamber though?” Bunny asked from the other side of the bishop. “I don’t see any hinges or locks.”

Rebecca took a step back. Something bugged her. Something she had read. But she had read so much about this church. From the grounds’ ancestral history to the company currently responsible for janitorial work. Which of the thousands of random factoids was important now?

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Brandt asked.

How she wished he hadn’t. All eyes turned on her. This kind of pressure did not help her sifting process. Rebecca took another step back from the painting. It looked sixteenth-century authentic. What with the delicate brushstrokes and carved oak frame. The wall behind it was decorated with renditions of thin vines very much in favor in Europe at the time. The Russians truly had gone international when it came to this landmark. Again, more useless factoids.

Wait. Rebecca cocked her head, studying the wall. International.

She turned to Brandt with a smile. “Flemish.”

That was Rebecca for you, Brandt thought as he counted to ten. If anyone expected her to give a straight answer, they clearly didn’t know her very well.

“Flemish?” he prodded.

“The Russians outsourced so much of the building of the church. Ottoman era craftsmen, German bricklayers.”

Brandt tried to hurry her along. “Which you said.”

Rebecca once again went to her laptop and brought up a new screen. “All the other countries made sense except the Flemish.” She pointed to the article detailed the various artisans who were commissioned to work on the cathedral. “Hiring Flemish craftsmen made no sense. They were all about the baroque at the time, and look around you—this place is the exact opposite of baroque.”

“But they were known for something else,” Bunny said, leaning over the keyboard. “May I?” Rebecca hesitated but then nodded for the younger woman to type. “The Flemish were well known however for their ability to build hidden staircases, usually inside of a dresser or armoire.”

The screen transformed into a picture of a silver cabinet that when opened parted to create an archway that led to a hidden staircase. Brandt followed Rebecca’s gaze to St. Basil’s tomb.

“No...” Brandt said, hoping his intuition was wrong. “You aren’t saying the staircase is in there.”

St. Basil’s tomb looked solid. The thing was made of thick black stone with beaten gold embellishments. The elaborately decorated canopy stood on four solid wood pillars. It was basically a shrine, as was fitting a saint.

Rebecca brought one shoulder up in a sympathetic shrug. “We’ve got to try.”

Damn it she was right. As much as Brandt wished she wasn’t. He really did not want to desecrate a saint’s tomb. Brandt did not have many lines in the sand, but he’d kind of thought that was one of them. As he helped Rebecca check around the rim of the tomb, he guessed it wasn’t.

Despite her theory, the seal around the rectangular tomb seemed intact. The richly detailed canopy above the tomb did have a thousand different crosses, knobs, hanging incense holders, and lamps. Each one could be the trigger for a release. They did not have a couple of weeks to find out which one.

Rebecca pointed to the topmost cross above the tomb. She glanced to him. “Worth a try?”

Brandt didn’t bother arguing. He just knelt and interlaced his fingers to give Rebecca a lift up to the top of the shrine. After putting her shoe in his hand, she balanced her hands on his shoulders. Brandt gave a good heave, hoisting her up, all the while trying not to notice her outer thigh brushing against his cheek.

“Not that one,” she said as she tugged on the cross, then she leaned farther over. “Let me try the others.”

After pulling on anything she could get her hands on, she finally sighed. “I don’t think the latch is up here.”

As Brandt lowered her down, their bodies slid against one another, forcing him to look away until her feet were safely on the floor. You are a married man is not a chant one should have to repeat to yourself over and over again like a penance.

“Tolst!” Bunny shouted.

Brandt spun around, reaching for his weapon, but stopped stunned by the sight in front of him. The old man stripped out of his robe. Apparently Russian Orthodox bishops went commando.

“Bishop Tolst, what—”

“No, let him,” Rebecca said, forcing Brandt’s gun arm down.

“Oh wow, dude,” Harvish exclaimed as he turned his head away from the sight of the pasty old man. “How is him being naked going to open the tomb?”

“Good fucking question,” Brandt grumbled and didn’t bother to apologize for cursing in front of the now naked bishop.

“St. Basil,” Rebecca said, walking slowly around the bishop as he gathered his robe. “He was known for going nude, to show his rejection of the materialistic world.” She looked to Bunny. “Does this have something to do with his great-great-great-grandfather?”

The younger woman looked a little more flustered at Tolst’s actions than Rebecca. The redhead’s cheeks bloomed nearly as auburn as her hair. “Even though they fought horribly, Ivan the Terrible and St. Basil were said to be good friends. Ivan insisted on being a pallbearer and burying Basil in his new cathedral.”

“Um, again, how is this opening the tomb?” Harvish asked again. “’Cause I did not sign on for this.”

As Tolst mumbled a prayer in Russian, Bunny’s eyes zigged and zagged back and forth, clearly trying to piece together the bishop’s behavior with a memory, any memory that might help.

“He did say...” Bunny said then paused, squinting. The younger woman was so like Rebecca. You could see her picturing the conversation again, playing it through like a recording. Brandt wondered if their similarities didn’t have something to do with them constantly looking to the past for all their answers. “When Ivan would come to meditate with Basil, he would only come in his mourning robe.”

Yeah. This was getting them nowhere fast.

“There’s got to be more,” Rebecca urged. She could see that little vein on Brandt’s forehead throb. His was more of a direct kind of intellect. Patiently piecing things together was not exactly the sergeant’s forte.

“Tolst’s ancestor said that Ivan’s only comment on his visits here was that he would need to balance the scales between he and Basil,” Bunny finished.

Scales. Gotcha. They were a common symbol in religious texts. From the Egyptians to the Incas, scales were considered important in weighing your faith or even your value in God’s eyes. Ivan had been pretty terrible. Killing tens of thousands of innocents, his own countrymen. He even killed his eldest son in a rage. It was not uncommon for such men as they entered their declining years, preparing to meet their God, to seek absolution. And since Rebecca seriously doubted that he could find that in any living man, she wasn’t surprised Ivan tried to find it in St. Basil.

But is this where Ivan would also hide his most precious treasure? The tablet that contained God’s Word?

Tentatively Rebecca walked over to Tolst, trying to keep her focus on the back of his head rather than his naked backside. Rebecca gently tugged the blue robe from his hand. “I think I know what you want,” she said.

His bony fingers released the garment. Rebecca felt the weight of it. Would it be the same as Ivan’s? She could only hope so. Trusting her instincts, Rebecca raised the robe and went to put it into the gilded scale that hung from the shrine.

“Are you sure?” Brandt asked, grabbing her wrist. “We know what can happen when hidden mechanisms are triggered.”

No kidding. That dark night in the Capuchin chapel would never leave her. But here removing something wasn’t necessary. Adding, weighing the garment was needed. Or at least she hoped.

Gently extracting her arm from Brandt, she placed the velvet robe into the scale, carefully folding the sleeves onto the center. Millimeter by millimeter the scale lowered. A loud creaking filled the chamber, and ever so slowly the seal on the tomb opened. With a grinding sound the top of the crypt opened. Air rushed out almost like the tomb sighed at being roused from such a long sleep.

Waving the dust away, Rebecca leaned over the opening. Her nose pinched at the bitter smell of incense and death. The skeleton of Basil lay before her. Bunny joined her.

“It looks like he was buried naked as well,” Bunny noted.

She was right. There were no remnants of cloth or even a burial shroud, which was common in the sixteenth century.

“Skeleton, but no staircase,” Brandt noted. “Any other ideas, ladies?”

Rebecca frowned. Why would Ivan go to all the trouble to build a hidden mechanism just to open the tomb? It didn’t make sense.

A loud explosion sounded overhead. Brandt grabbed Rebecca, tucking her under his body as the rest scrambled for cover. Except for the bishop, who still stood, stark naked, praying.

Rebecca prepared for the shower of debris. She prepared for hellfire to rain down. She prepared for anything, but nothing. Nothing happened, and then another explosion and again...nothing.

Brandt patted her on the shoulder. “Just the fireworks,” the sergeant half-stated, half-laughed. “Just the goddamned fireworks.”

Tell that to her heart, which was currently stuck somewhere between her jaw and her clavicle.

Harvish rose from behind the tomb as the loud pops of the celebrations outside became routine. Even the “oohs and ahs” from the crowd out in Red Square seeped into the sanctuary. Rebecca slipped out from Brandt’s protective stance, not wanting to look shaky or needy. Both of which she felt at the moment.

“Crap,” Harvish stated. “I really thought it was those assholes who attacked us in Pushchino.”

So had Rebecca. She was sure they’d caught up with them.

“Attacked?” Bunny asked, holding her arms tight against her chest. “You guys were attacked?”

Before Harvish could feel Brandt’s glare, the point man answered. “Hell yeah.”

Need to fucking know, Harvish, need to fucking know, Brandt wanted to shout, but that wasn’t going to calm Bunny down. “Which is why this is all a little time sensitive.”

The horror of that night back in Paris was drawn on Bunny’s every feature. Brandt knew Rebecca’s dislike for the woman—she wasn’t exactly an expert in hiding her feelings—yet she still reached out to Bunny.

“You can leave if you want,” Rebecca reassured her. “We can handle it from here.”

The redhead shook her head. “No, I just...of course, I mean we are trying to find a bioweapon after all.”

Brandt scanned the younger woman’s face. PTSD was written all over it, but so was determination. He was going to let Bunny be a big girl and make her own decision. Besides, with the naked priest mumbling to himself, Bunny was the best they had in regards to Ivan and his bizarre habits.

“There’s got to be a secondary mechanism if there truly is a hidden staircase,” Brandt said, seeming to startle Bunny out of her daze.

“Yes, that would make sense, but apparently Ivan was pretty closemouthed about his visits here.”

Rebecca went back to the tomb. She ran her palms along the sides of the tomb. “They are smooth. No outcropping.” Leaning farther over, Rebecca checked the floor under Basil’s skeleton. “It’s smooth too, but it feels like wood.”

“It should be stone, right?” Brandt asked, not exactly well versed in tomb construction.

“Maybe there’s a hidden chamber under the base,” Bunny said. “They would want it lighter for easier lifting, right?”

Brandt joined Rebecca and knocked on the floor next to the saint. It sounded pretty freaking hollow.

Rebecca’s hand hovered over St. Basil’s. “I hate to say it, but the only possible trigger in this tomb is the saint’s skeleton.”

Of course it was. Why did he have to be a believer? Brandt wondered. Why had his mother raised him with such respect? Probably because she never considered her altar boy son having to decide between the sanctity of a saint versus the death of hundreds of thousands of innocent lives.

Brandt guessed the bones would just have to get over it. Brandt nodded for Rebecca to continue. She ever so carefully tried to lift Basil’s hand. Only it wouldn’t budge. She tugged a bit harder.

“I think it’s secured down.”

Brandt shone his flashlight into the tomb and under the skeleton, confirming her suspicion. The bones were in fact tied down with thin wire. Okay, if that didn’t prove there was something under the skeleton, he didn’t know what kind of sign he should be looking for.

“All right, let’s start—”

An explosion shook the walls.

“That payload was too close,” Harvish said as the incense burner and scale swung side to side.

No, it wasn’t too close. The building had been fucking hit. An airburst grenade if he wasn’t mistaken. Meant to breach the wall with minimal fire.

“Evacuate,” Brandt ordered. “Now.”

Before Harvish could even make it to the door, another explosion burst in the hallway. The fuckers had switched to an EBIX grenade. Enhanced blast insensitive explosive. A third explosion set the hallway on fire. Make that a rapid-fire EBIX grenade launcher.

Brandt lunged forward, slamming the door closed. It wouldn’t last long though. Not with EBIXs being used, but it bought them a reprieve from the smoke. He looked around the room. There was no other exit.

Unless they could go down.

Until then, they were in Talli’s hands.

Aunush took great satisfaction as the sniper timed another EBIX grenade launch so that it was perfectly timed with the fireworks. There was so much sparkle in the sky that none seemed to understand St. Basil’s Cathedral would soon become the brightest decoration this night.

Well, except for those within the church’s interior. By now they must know exactly the furnace the cathedral would become.

“This is too public,” Nannan complained next to Aunush.

She ignored him. He was the sole survivor from Pushchino, but only because he was too scared to go into the field. Aunush glanced to her sniper, who switched from the grenade launcher to his rifle. As the fire consumed the inside of the church the blasphemers would be forced to leave the church...right into the sniper’s path.

“We have survived so long by running silent. Hidden from the world’s scrutiny,” Nannan insisted. Like Nannan had actually done anything to protect the Disciples’ secret. Yet he was a Watcher of the Word. She could not ignore him completely. At least not yet.

“True,” she said, “however, we have no idea how much Osip told them. We cannot wait and possibly lose them.”

Nannan frowned, crinkling the edge of his eyes. “I still do not believe that Osip would betray the Disciples so. Betray the master.”

“You were not there,” Aunush stated. Thank God. In His infinite wisdom, no one was left alive to contradict Aunush’s version of Osip’s death. That of a weak old man spilling secrets on the way to his grave. “Had he lived another second he would have rung a bell that could never be unrung.”

As the sniper scanned the crowd with his rifle, Nannan finally sighed. “Osip had fallen from grace. Living as he was. Exiled from the Disciples. Bitterness does strange thing to even the most devout.”

Aunush only nodded, letting Nannan build the story of the great man’s fall for himself. God truly did work in mysterious ways. What had been seen as a grave error in Pushchino, killing Osip while he held a knife to the enemy, could now become a great asset. The master knew how dangerous Osip had been, otherwise the man would not have been in that stale apartment in Pushchino. Aunush and the sniper had done what the master could not.

She eyed Nannan with a more appreciative eye. A few moments ago Aunush had wondered why she even let him live. After dispatching her team, she had felt a weight lift from her. To think she could begin anew. The last tendril of that failed mission had been Nannan. With him gone she truly could write history over again.

But if he was to be so obliging as to write the narrative even more gloriously than she could, perhaps he had a role after all.

“This is the righteous path then.” Nannan straightened his back. “How long until the blasphemers meet their God?”

Aunush looked through the binoculars. Bright reds, yellows, and oranges shone within the church. It should only take a few minutes for those flames to consume the structure.

While she answered the Watcher, Aunush’s eyes found the sniper, sharing this little moment with him.

“It shouldn’t be long now.”

“It’s pretty damn hot out there,” Harvish informed them with the palm of his hand against the door.

Great. More pressure. Just what she needed. Rebecca had tried everything she could think of to open the bottom of the tomb. They knew there was an exit there, one to get them out of this tinderbox, she just couldn’t figure out how to get the damned thing open.

“Move back,” Brandt urged.

Both she and Bunny took a step away from tomb.

The sergeant raised his weapon and used the butt of his gun to smash into the wood next to St. Basil. The plank splintered.

“Why are you destroying it?” Bunny asked, her voice going up an octave.

“Because it’s wood and I could.” Brandt slammed the butt of his gun again, breaking through the wood.

“We’ll never get through that small a—”

Rebecca laid a hand on Bunny’s arm. The one thing she’d learned about Brandt in the year they’d known one another was that if Brandt put his mind to something, he wouldn’t just get it done, he’d rock the hell out of it.

One more smash and Brandt slung his weapon back over his shoulder, leaning down, shoving his hand into the hole, fishing around.

“There’s got to be a release mechanism—” Brandt didn’t bother finishing his sentence as a loud metal thunk filled the room. The sergeant pulled the bottom of the tomb up, revealing a stone staircase leading out of sight.

“Harvish, you are on point,” Brandt ordered as he backed away from the tomb and took up Harvish’s position at the door. “Rebecca next, Bunny follow directly after.” The sergeant grabbed the robe from the scale and tossed it to the bishop. “Then clothed, you go down, Bishop Tolst. I will bring up the rear.”

The older man shook his head at the sergeant.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Brandt said as Harvish climbed up on the tomb’s edge. Rebecca watched as the point man shone his light down the staircase, taking each step one at a time. She glanced beyond him. The steps looked like they went down. Way down.

“My faith radiates from within,” the bishop stated. “I have no desire to read forbidden words.”

“Look, I don’t care—”

The bishop cut Brandt off. “One of us must stay behind.”

“Why?” Rebecca asked as Bunny headed down the stairs after Harvish.

The older man, seeming far more lucid than a guy standing stark naked should, nodded to the lid of the tomb. “The seal must be reset. From the outside, otherwise the fire could follow.”

“We’ll take that chance,” Brandt stated, shoving the robe to the bishop.

Tolst found the sergeant’s gaze, apparently able to withstand Brandt’s patented do-what-I-say-or-I-will-kick-your-ass stare. “If I do not seal it, they will know of your presence. They will follow in your tracks.”

Rebecca watched as Brandt’s jaw worked up and down.

Would he really allow the bishop to sacrifice himself?

Damn if the bishop wasn’t correct. But damn it if Brandt was going to let the guy die by fire.

“Again, we will just have to take that chance,” Brandt said, urging the naked man toward the staircase.

Yet the bishop held firm. “Will you hog-tie me? Will you take away my right to choose my death?”

Time ticked like Big Ben in Brandt’s head. They really didn’t have time to argue this crap. He turned to Rebecca. “Get down there.”

“But—”

“Now!” Brandt commanded. He could only tolerate one civilian mutinying at a time. After she complied, he turned to the bishop. “It won’t be pretty, Tolst. You are going to burn to death. Do you understand that?”

“A common way for martyrs to die,” the bishop said with a shrug.

If it were just Brandt’s life, he’d say screw it and throw the old guy over his shoulder, going commando and all. Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t just Harvish’s life, who had chosen a life filled with the risks of the job. Or Bunny, who was at the wrong place for the second wrong time. Or even Rebecca. To think of what the Russians would do to her if she was captured.

No, it was about the scores of dead that would line the streets the world over if the Rinderpest was let loose. Honestly, though that scenario was too abstract for Brandt’s mind. Rebecca’s face was the one the he couldn’t picture dead.

“Are you sure?” Brandt asked the bishop.

“I shall go to God as He brought me forth.”

Brandt didn’t even bother trying to give the bishop his robe. Instead, he jerked down on the incense holder, breaking the chain. Brandt broke off a sharp metal piece and handed it to Tolst. “In case it gets too much to bear.”

The older man accepted the item. “I am not Joan of Arc after all.”

Brandt wanted to blame the smoke leaking under the door for his choking up, but he knew it would be a lie. “Thank you.”

“Go,” Tolst insisted. “Bring to the world God’s Word...no matter what it is.”

Rebecca paused on the staircase, her eyes level with his. Tears shone brightly under the candlelight. Perhaps he was being selfish, but Brandt thought them not just for the bishop but for the man who was forced to leave the bishop behind.

“Patarapis!” Tolst announced as the outer door buckled, ready to explode inward. Hurry.

Brandt hopped up onto the side of the tomb. If they had any hope of the bishop lasting long enough to seal the tomb, they needed to get it closed like now. They couldn’t risk the fresh rush of oxygen from deeper down the staircase to add to the conflagration.

Rebecca rushed down the steps to make room for him. Brandt pulled the wooden bottom of the tomb down as he descended the stairs. Looking up through the small hole he had created, Brandt watched the bishop lower the stone cover. For a moment there was the tiniest edge of light leaking through, but even that disappeared as Tolst tightened the seal.

He knew he should follow the staircase and join the rest of the team, but Brandt found it hard to move his feet. Then a hand reached out of the dark and touched his arm. There was nothing romantic about the gesture, which made it even harder to bear.

“He’s made his choice,” Rebecca whispered into the dark.

Brandt had been taught that as a married man he shouldn’t take comfort from anyone but his wife. Somehow though as he heard the roar of fire through the stone, Brandt thought God would forgive him.

Rebecca let her hand fall away as Brandt’s flashlight bloomed to light. She turned away before he could say anything. There was nothing more either of them could say, was there?

Instead, she concentrated on the cool steps beneath her feet. They were well worn, almost slick. Clearly Ivan had made this journey numerous times. Soot climbed the rock. He must have used a torch to make the trek.

Harvish and Bunny scooted over so she could join them on the small landing. Brandt was close behind her.

“I can’t see around the corner, so I thought I’d wait until we assembled,” Harvish explained. Off Brandt’s nod, the point man took the corner. “There’s another staircase.”

Another one? The one they’d just come down was long and steep. How far underground were they? And exactly how much farther would they need to go?

“Move out,” Brandt ordered, although his voice sounded thicker than a few minutes ago.

The second set of stairs was even steeper. Rebecca had to put a hand on the rough rock wall to steady herself. These steps were set in a spiral, diving deep into the Russian ground. Finally they reached an even narrower landing. This place had been meant for one man and one man only.

Ivan the Terrible.

Harvish peeked around the corner and then came back to report. “Looks like there’s a short passage that ends in an altar of some sort.”

Rebecca had a hard time taking a breath. Could a man such as Ivan really possess the Ten Commandments? Could they really be just a few feet away? Bunny’s eyes shone with as much excitement at the discovery as sorrow for her mentor.

“Let’s get this over with,” Brandt grunted.

Harvish moved out quickly. Rebecca was only a half step behind him. The passage indeed was short. Just a few meters really. The walls in front of them rounded into a small chamber. A tall stone pedestal occupied the exact center of the room.

“Oh my God,” Bunny exhaled as she approached the pedestal. “There’s...there’s the outline of two tablets.”

The younger woman wasn’t wrong. Etched into the pedestal’s surface was the perimeter of what looked to be two large tablets. Only the tablets themselves weren’t there. Only small chunks of the stone were left. However, these had been tenderly placed, like pieces of a religious puzzle, into slots where they might have fit the original tablets. There weren’t many there. Only half a dozen or so.

“Are they real?” Harvish asked breathlessly.

“That question would take days if not weeks in the lab to answer. There would be carbon dating the stone itself, then cross-referencing the passages with every known biblical tome on the planet,” Rebecca answered. “The question becomes do they seem authentic?”

“How about trying again without the scientific dodging?” Brandt suggested.

A smile flickered on Rebecca’s lips. “We can’t tell for sure if they are real, but we sure as heck can see if they are a cheap fake.”

Rebecca walked around the pedestal, examining the chunks from every different angle. They did not hold up to any of the Hollywood versions of the tablets. Those usually had five commandments on one tablet and five on the other. No, these were much more similar to what the Bible described. The biblical tablets were said to have writing of all sorts across the stone. As these fragments demonstrated. Some of the passages were large script, dug deeply into the stone, while others looked like a college student’s scribbled in a notebook. There was so much more information on the surface of these tablets than just the Ten Commandments. And even beyond their surface. Writing continued on the sides of the slabs and even on the backside. Just as the Bible described. That didn’t mean though that they weren’t a clever forgery.

She studied the inscriptions, however she was a tad rusty on ancient Hebrew. She could fire up her laptop, but strangely that felt weird. Besides, they had an expert with them.

“Bunny,” Rebecca said, “you are more fluent in the language. Would you mind translating?”

The younger woman looked up, almost startled. “I don’t...I...”

“You can do it,” Rebecca encouraged. In truth Rebecca didn’t trust herself to do it. To translate the literal Word of God? Yeah, she’d let the younger generation take a swing at that one.

Bunny started with a thin sliver near the edge of the tablet outline. “Trust in only the one truth. Be not blinded by...That is where it ends.”

Rebecca pointed to a larger passage near the center of the first tablet. “And this one?”

The younger woman’s lips moved without sound as she read the inscription in its native Hebrew. Then she flew back from the pedestal.

“What is it?” Rebecca asked.

Bunny shook her head, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“What did it say?” Brandt pressed, but the young woman only shrank farther into herself.

Rebecca knew that look. She’d probably worn it many a time. It was one thing to seek out the singular truth and quite another to stumble upon it. Knowing time was precious by the set of Brandt’s jaw, Rebecca scanned the passage trying to dredge up her archaic Hebrew.

She read slowly and carefully. “For ye were afraid...or scared or...ill?” Rebecca hesitated. Like she said, ancient Hebrew was a bitch. The language was primarily oral back in biblical times. The speaker’s inflection and tone helped define the words. The written language was a bit loosey-goosey. She picked up where she left off. “Because of the fire...or flame...or brightness...and...” Rebecca stopped the translation, stepping back from the pedestal as well.

“Will one of you tell me what is so damned scary about that passage?” Brandt insisted.

Gulping, Rebecca finished the passage, “And went not up into the mount, seeking instead to huddle...or cower...or hold tightly to its base...”

“Um,” Harvish said, “I still don’t get it. I may be seriously lapsed, but that’s not any part of the Ten Commandments I have ever heard of.”

“Exactly,” Brandt agreed.

The sergeant might be well versed in his Catholic traditions, but he was a bit sketchy on his Jewish ones.

Rebecca found her voice. “That is because you are both used to the King James Version. It is like the Reader’s Digest version of the Bible, stripped down, easier to read and digest.”

Brandt frowned. “And your point?”

She knew that under any other circumstance Brandt would have gone toe-to-toe after she dissed the King James Version, but these weren’t any other circumstances, were they? They were down in a secret vault while a man above offered his life so they might obtain this information.

Rebecca skipped the history lesson. “The closest mainstream Torah translation of the Ten Commandments is considered the Mechon-Mamre. It reads, ‘For ye were afraid because of the fire, and went not up into the mount.’”

“So someone just etched in those words,” Brandt suggested. “Anyone familiar with that translation, right?”

She shook her head. “Except for those last words, ‘seeking instead to huddle at its base.’ Those words aren’t found in any accepted Torah translation of Deuteronomy.”

Brandt’s frown deepened. “Spit it out.”

“An archeological dig did find an ancient scroll in Jerusalem that included those added words.”

“All right, so someone just copied it from that,” Brandt tried to reason.

Rebecca had to make him understand. “That scroll wasn’t found until the 1970s. If anything that scroll copied down the words of this slab.”

“And that scroll,” Bunny added, “was dated back to around 1000 BCE.”

Brandt’s eyes searched Rebecca’s face. She knew he wanted her to somehow disagree or prove the younger woman wrong. That he wanted Rebecca to tell him that no way, no how were these small stone fragments the remains of the actual Ten Commandments.

The only problem? She couldn’t.

“So we can’t say for sure that these are truly the slabs of stone Moses brought down the mount,” Rebecca said, splitting the difference. “But what we can say, with quite a bit of certainty, is that these fragments are contemporaneous to biblical times.”

That was the best she could do, and even that did not seem to be enough for Brandt.

“But—”

A loud boom and then a scream interrupted Brandt. Everyone in the room knew what it meant. The door had blown open and the tomb was engulfed in flames along with Tolst. Rebecca pulled Bunny close as the scream abruptly stopped.

They all stared down the dark tunnel, waiting for any sight of light. Any sign the fire had made its way down here. But the seal must have held. Only the sounds of crackling flame filled the stairwell.

“I don’t want that sacrifice to be in vain,” Brandt stated.

None of them did.

“Screw traditional or accepted or whatever translations,” Brandt said more heatedly. “We need a location where the rest of the tablets might have been buried so they can lead us to Amed’s payload.”

Rebecca nodded. He was right. They needed to honor Tolst the best way they could. She turned to read more of the fragment’s passages when a not just ear-splitting, but soul-wrenching crack sounded all around them.

They stood there for a moment that seemed suspended in time. Whatever caused that sound was not good. To prove her instincts right, small fissures in the rock walls surrounding them appeared. These grew to larger splits that grew into gaps.

Pebbles fell from overhead as the entire chamber shook.

Aunush readjusted her binoculars. What she was seeing could not be what she was seeing. Yet no matter how she fiddled with the focus, the Cathedral of the Protection of Most Holy Theotokos on the Moat listed. First to the right, then to the left.

The church always seemed something out of Candyland only on some form of hallucinogenics, to Aunush. Now the structure swayed and rocked. Then the forwardmost church turret broke off from the rest of the building.

Down in Red Square, the sheeplike revelers clapped. The morons. Not until the bright blue and white tower cracked off did the crowd scream in unison, scattering like cockroaches when the light was turned on. Like a quartered onion, the remaining towers broke off one by one, revealing the heart of the church, the shrine to St. Mary. Blues and golds glistened from the firelight.

All right. Perhaps this was a tad too public.

Nannan stood beside her, his mouth slack, his jaw dropped so far that only his flabby neck stopped it from dislocating.

Besides leaving them vulnerable to scrutiny, Aunush cared little for the destruction of the church. The Disciples’ pedigree went back far farther than a sixteenth-century church built to commemorate a tyrant’s petty war victories.

No, the problem was, given the fact the church was laid open like a dissection, yet showed only one body, where were the infidels?

As larger and larger chunks of ceiling fell onto their heads, Brandt used his arm to sweep the tablet fragments into his pocket. “Harvish, another exit?”

“Sarge,” the point man replied, “it’s a dead end.”

It couldn’t be a dead end. Ivan the Fucking Terrible was about as paranoid as it got. He wouldn’t leave himself without an exit plan.

“Here,” Rebecca called out. “It’s a false wall.”

She was right. The wall looked continuous, except it wasn’t. A piece of the wall stood a good two feet out from the rest of the wall. A passage led out behind it.

“Let’s go,” Brandt said, urging Harvish and the women to hurry forward as the ceiling behind them first sagged and then collapsed. The rest of the chamber caved in as he shimmied through the narrow passage into a wider tunnel.

Harvish’s flashlight’s beam bobbed in front of them as they followed the slanted tunnel. Each step carrying them farther and farther away from the imploding church. The rumble followed them, coursing around them like a soundtrack of destruction. Silt drifted down, but the tunnel held.

Then the natural hand-hewn passage ended abruptly, dumping them into a much more modern tunnel.

“What the fuck?”

Since no one answered him, Brandt looked to their options. This smoother tunnel led off into three different directions. But to where?

“This must be the labyrinth Ivan built to hide the library,” Rebecca commented. She turned to Bunny. “Any idea which way leads up?”

The younger woman just shook her head, still hugging her midriff.

“Harvish? Any ideas?” Brandt asked.

“They all seem the same, Sarge.”

Gritting his teeth, Brandt missed Svengurd all over again. The tall Swede had an almost sixth sense for an escape path.

“There’s three,” Rebecca stated.

Brandt tried to be patient, but come on. “Yes?”

“In Christianity, three is the most sacred number. It represents not just the trinity but the three aspects of God.”

“Great, does that help us decide which one to take?” Brandt asked as the tunnel trembled behind them. He couldn’t rule out a complete cave-in.

“There’s Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.”

Bunny spoke up, “Or Omniscience, Omnipresence, and Omnipotence, but I don’t think it is either of those Christian concepts.”

“Of course,” Rebecca murmured. “The Russian Orthodox are much more married to the Jewish traditions, so to them, three would present Unity, Discord, and Harmony.”

“And?” Brandt pressed.

The women looked to one another, but it was Rebecca who spoke. “Harmony is considered good ‘doubled.’”

“Then right it is,” Brandt said, getting them moving again as the tunnel behind them groaned. He urged them to pick up the pace. He had no idea where this tunnel might lead, but it couldn’t possibly be worse than what lay behind them.

Could it?

With their luck he was not going to answer that question.

Harvish set quite the pace as Rebecca struggled to keep up. Bunny charged ahead, exhibiting another perk of her youth. Brandt was hard on Rebecca’s heels. Literally. Like his urgency could get her legs to move any faster.

Worse, the tunnel sloped upward. No, it slanted upward. Her quads screamed at each step. Yet Rebecca kept up the pace as every few moments the tunnel would quake from the death throes of the cathedral, reminding them they wouldn’t be safe until above ground.

“Door ahead,” Harvish shouted, pointing his light toward the exit.

Catching up, Rebecca put her hands on her knees, bending over and trying to catch her breath as the men talked.

“Any idea where we are?” Brandt asked.

Harvish shrugged. “Best I can tell is near street level northwestish of the church.”

Rebecca knew Brandt was going to frown at the northwestish even before the sergeant’s lips turned down. Svengurd never would have put an “-ish” on anything.

“As long as the damn thing doesn’t open into the river,” Brandt said. “We should be good.”

Crap. Rebecca had forgotten the Moscow River was just east of the cathedral.

“Or the Kremlin,” Bunny added, clearly more familiar with the area than any of them.

“That too,” Brandt grunted, nodding for Harvish to open the door.

Rebecca was braced for anything except the sight before her. Bright lights made the row upon row of shops seem almost as stark as daylight. Shoppers were scurrying about, most rushing to the southern shops to look out the windows to the fiery cathedral. The huge vaulted glass ceiling above them glowed ruddy from the nearby fire.

“GUM,” Bunny explained. “We’re in the department store.”

And just as clearly as Rebecca had not expected to find tourists—she was far more used to stumbling out of dark tunnels to land in front of an assassin’s weapon—the shoppers were just as shocked at a group of four people barging in with guns.

“Ruzyah!” a woman screamed, pointing at them.

Rebecca could only imagine that stood for gun or weirdos or more likely terrorists. Whatever it meant, others turned and pointed. The screams exponentially increased.

Then Brandt stepped out in front of the foursome and shouted, “Federal’naya sluzhba bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii!”

Bunny whispered, “Federal Security Service.” When Rebecca frowned, the younger woman added, “The new KGB.”

Ah, now it made sense.

The sergeant indicated down the tunnel. “Oni prikhodyat!”

“They are coming,” Bunny translated.

Brandt then charged toward the growing crowd. “Poluchit’ bezopasnosti!”

Rebecca didn’t need an interpreter for that one. The throng broke, turning and surging toward the exit. The sergeant had scared the crap out of them, not necessarily without reason. Whoever attacked them at the cathedral could easily turn their attentions to the shopping mall.

“Weapons away,” Brandt ordered as they traveled in the crowd’s wake.

Attention might be off of them as they brought up the rear of the stampeding crowd, but how long could they trust that the actual authorities didn’t show up? Their ruse certainly couldn’t hold up to any kind of scrutiny.

Brandt grabbed her arm, urging Rebecca ahead. “We’re going to blend in until we’re out the north exit, then melt into the chaos.”

Which would have been a great plan except Harvish screamed, grabbing his arm. Blood seeped through his fingers. He’d been shot.

So Brandt hadn’t been lying after all.

They were here.

Brandt shoved Rebecca into the nearest shop and then yanked Bunny in behind her. To his credit, Harvish kept it together and backed into the shop. A crystal vase shattered beside him. Brandt urged them farther back into the maze of glass cases. A display of tiny crystal figurines exploded, sending glass shrapnel everywhere. Perhaps Swarovski’s wasn’t the best place to hole up from a sniper.

Finally though they drew deep enough into the store to avoid the sniper fire.

Anger brewed in Brandt’s belly. How the fuck had they found them so quickly? And why the hell wasn’t Talli providing cover? There had to be muzzle flashes. Brandt risked a quick glance down the large central courtyard of the shopping mall, but got chased back by a bullet whizzing past his hairline. Waning screams indicated that the crowd had headed east, leaving absolutely no cover between the store and the closest exit.

That long, glass-domed central aisle way was now nothing more than a shooting gallery. But if they stayed hunkered down here, either the enemy would find a window to take them out one by one or the actual FSS would show up. Either way. Lights out.

Sirens wailed, gaining speed as they approached Red Square.

He turned to find Rebecca dressing Harvish’s wound. It was just a through and through of the upper arm. The point man should be ready to go in a few seconds. Where exactly they were going was still in question.

Brandt grabbed a feather duster from the top of one of the cases and stuck it out into the view of the sniper. A bullet ripped through the duster, sending plumage flying. The angle of that shot was fairly steep. Given that the large glass ceiling of the shopping mall was intact, the fuckers were somewhere on the second floor.

They were in the building.

Which was the first good news they had. If they had been outside the mall, there would have been no way to provide cover fire. But if they were shooting from the second floor, the fuckers could be shot at. From what Brandt remembered of the crowd’s dispersal rate, the nearest exit was a good thirty yards down the shooting gallery. Cover fire wasn’t going to get them that far.

“Harvish, you are going to run catty-corner to the shop across the way while I provide cover, then you’ll provide cover for us.”

The point man nodded, pulling away from Rebecca as she finished tying the bandage on his arm. He flexed it, testing it. “You know it, Sarge.”

“Looks like they’re shooting from the upper level to the east.”

“Got it,” Harvish answered, pulling out both his guns. “On my mark.”

Counting down by bobbing his head, when he got to three, Harvish fired into the mall before hauling ass out there. Brandt was on his six, firing up and over the point man as he sped across the kill zone. Chunks of tile flew up as the sniper’s bullet hit the floor, ghosting Harvish’s footsteps.

Once Harvish crashed into the store’s door and found safety inside, Brandt lunged backward, barely missing a bullet to the shoulder. That fucking sniper was good. Able to realign with incredible accuracy. And his instincts? It was like he was fucking reading Brandt’s mind.

Which just meant Brandt had to up his game. Again.

He turned to the women. “Our turn.”

Bunny physically blanched next to Rebecca. She knew exactly how the younger woman felt. Rebecca had learned though that it didn’t help to let your blood pressure drop and your extremities go numb. Best to just suck it up.

Grabbing Bunny’s hand, Rebecca nodded to Brandt. Where he led, she would make sure they followed.

Brandt counted down with his fingers for Harvish, who on three sprayed bullets down the mall’s long central hallway. Crouched, Brandt rushed forward, firing as well. Rebecca tugged on Bunny, keeping her close, but as they were about to step into the empty aisle, Brandt urged her forward toward the next store on their side. As the sound of gunfire rattled around in her brain, Rebecca made it to the door and hustled Bunny through it.

She looked back to find strafe marks across the tile floor moving in the opposite direction as Brandt rushed in after them. They fled to the back of the store. Rebecca tripped over a display of high heels, tumbling into a rack of stilettos. She landed next to the checkout counter that proudly proclaimed, “Prada.”

Not how she wanted to be introduced to the brand.

“But we’re on the wrong side,” Bunny exclaimed.

Rebecca indicated toward the wide aisle, at the chinks in the tile. “If we’d followed Harvish, that would have been us.”

The realization that they would have been cut down a quarter of the way across the passage darkened Bunny’s face. Tears sprang but the younger woman didn’t cry. They were alive, and that was going to have to be good enough.

Even though Brandt was married to another woman, Rebecca could almost kiss him on the lips. The sergeant had outmaneuvered the sniper, buying them precious seconds.

“What’s next?” she asked.

Brandt didn’t answer. Instead he frowned as sirens wailed outside.

Maybe she’d better wait on that kiss.

Brandt could see hope dim in Rebecca’s eyes. But what did he have to offer her to make her feel like he had any kind of plan to be hopeful in? He’d cheated the sniper this time. The guy wouldn’t be so easily fooled next time. They had at least three more shops to get past and cross the divide to the exit. Then pray the politsiya were not right outside the door.

They were pinned. Which is why he had left two goddamned men on the outside. Where the fuck were they?

As if his prayers were answered, a loud sound approached. The rotors of a helicopter. Taking a chance that the sniper was equally distracted, Brandt inched from his hiding place and looked through the glass ceiling. There was a helicopter all right, but a brand spanking new Russian KA-52—the white, blue, and red striped flag painted on the fuselage confirmed his fear. So much for prayer.

The cutting-edge helicopter was double-rotored. However, it wasn’t the classic side-by-side blades. Instead, these two rotors were stacked on top of one another. Plus the muscle machine had two mounted machine guns forward and had missile capabilities to boot.

If a KA-52 was here, the Russians meant business.

But maybe that was a good thing. The advanced helicopter hovered over the east end of the mall. Perhaps that would give them the cover they needed to cross—

A bullet zinging past Brandt’s ear kind of put a crimp in that idea.

Damn it, if only—

The helicopter lowered over the domed glass ceiling. The sound shaking the building. Or was it the wheels of the chopper? Yep, the helicopter was basically bouncing off the steel-reinforced roof. What was the pilot playing at?

Then the helicopter pulled up and away. Maybe the chopper was here only for surveillance. Then it tilted nearly vertical, firing on the ceiling. Glass exploded inward as shattered steel rained down.

Jaw dropped, Brandt watched the helicopter plunge into the opening, flying into the mall. Only then did Brandt realize that his prayers really were answered as a very familiar dark face smiled broadly from the pilot’s seat.

Lopez.

Then the corporal spun the chopper around, shattering store windows with the helo’s tail. Even if Brandt hadn’t recognized Lopez, he’d have known it was him. No one else was this incredibly stupid.

Then those machine guns turned on the sniper’s nest, firing over a hundred rounds a second.

Strike the stupid part. Lopez deserved a fucking medal.

Aunush dove to the back of the Louis Vuitton store as a hail of bullets burst from the craft. That was not the Russians. She rolled onto her back, firing as rapidly as her handgun would allow. Aunush would love to believe it was one of her shots that cracked the helicopter’s windshield, but she knew it to be her sniper’s. His gun was not best suited for fighting off a chopper, but he still had saved their lives once again.

The helicopter jerked to the right, getting out of their direct line of sight. It would be back though, and Aunush had no intention of still being here.

Without hesitation, she shot out the scalloped window at the back of the store. Not having any line, she grabbed hanger after hanger of wool pants, and tied them cuff to cuff. Behind her, the sniper had moved to a more forward position in the store. Leaning out from cover long enough to get a few shots off, then ducking behind the large mannequin display.

Securing perhaps the most expensive length of rope, Aunush let out a whistle.

The sniper backed slowly, still taking his random shots to keep the enemy off balance until he stood shoulder to shoulder with her. He couldn’t stop firing. Not if they had any hope of making it out the window without several dozen bullet holes in them. And she liked her figure just the way it was. Rapidly she tied a pant leg around his waist, then lashed herself to him.

He did not even look down as she snugged the fabric. Aunush climbed onto the ledge. Balancing there, she guided the sniper up, as he fired all the while. The helicopter rose up despite the cover fire and turned straight toward the store.

Aunush pushed off the ledge. She and the sniper tumbled backward into the night. Her only hope was that the clothes were as well constructed as the price indicated.

Rebecca’s thighs complained as they mounted the steps up to the second floor of the mall to rendezvous with Lopez and his crazy looking helicopter. The thing looked more like a fighter jet only without the wings.

The group charged out of the stairwell only to find guns pointed at them. Harvish aimed as he skidded to a stop. Had it really been too much to ask that they just made it to their chopper and out of this damned shopping mall without being shot at?

Apparently it was.

The two attackers wore ski masks. Weird. The men in Pushchino hadn’t worn anything to conceal their identity. It was almost as if they were so certain of their victory that they didn’t care if their faces were seen or recognized. Plus, these masked men had an epicanthal fold at the medial canthus of their eyes. A typically northern Chinese trait. She’d seen several of the attackers at Pushchino way too close for comfort. They’d had higher foreheads, dark hair, with prominent nasal ridges.

No matter, these two almond-eyed men stood between them and the chopper.

Brandt took a step forward. “Move aside.”

But they didn’t. And why should they? It was two guns against two guns. And with the stairwell wall blocking the central aisle, there was no way Lopez and his snazzy helicopter could help out.

Maybe she spoke too soon as the wall rumbled, then cracked. Brandt hurried them away from the splintering plaster. He pushed her and Bunny down, covering them with his back as the wall exploded inward.

Shielding her eyes, Rebecca watched the upper rotors of the helicopter grind through the wall. The chopper was ninety degrees vertical, pushing its blades through the structure. With a pained scream of metal the upper rotor broke off, skipping off the railing and then down the walkway, scattering the two masked men.

“Move!” Brandt yelled. She snatched Bunny’s hand as they sprinted out of the stairwell and onto the second floor concourse. Harvish was close behind, firing at the retreating men.

Wobbling, the chopper righted itself and joined the firefight. The masked men retreated down the stairwell and out of sight. Brandt kept them running forward, clearly not wanting to take any chances. They raced past hair salons and perfume stores.

Finally Brandt pulled them to a stop and circled his arm over his head. Immediately the helicopter tilted back, streaking toward them. Still firing toward the stairwell, the door on the side of the chopper opened. Talli nodded from the copilot seat.

“In,” Brandt ordered Harvish.

The point man crawled into the incredibly tiny hold of the helicopter. He had to lie flat to fit. Without needing a bit of urging, Bunny leaped in after him, cramming herself as far back as she could get.

Brandt helped Rebecca into the hold, but she could only fit half of her thunder thighs.

“Bend at the waist,” he urged, indicating to what seemed like way too small a space at the upper end.

Somehow Rebecca emulated a Cirque du Soleil performer and crammed herself into the cramped space. It wasn’t until Brandt gave her a sad smile that she realized there was no way his wide shoulders were going to fit.

“Sarge, I can stay behind,” Harvish suggested as he tried to shimmy past Bunny.

Brandt shook his head, putting his hand on the hatch door. “Just keep them safe.”

“No!” Rebecca screamed, but the sergeant closed the hatch door, locking it. Her fist beat against the solid metal. “No!”

No, they couldn’t leave him behind. She wouldn’t accept it. She couldn’t.

But the helicopter pulled away from the stone railing and then sped forward. Everyone was thrown back as Lopez seriously put on the gas or whatever you did to a helicopter.

“No,” she sobbed. How could Lopez leave Brandt? How could he?

In the dark Bunny’s hand found hers. The younger woman gave it a squeeze.

“He’ll figure out a way.”

Brave words. Rebecca desperately wanted to believe them, only how exactly could Brandt fulfill them?

The wind whisked through Brandt’s hair, screaming in his ear. Which only made him wrap his arms tighter around the helicopter’s front wheel strut. His legs bracing against the rear wheel’s struts, his belly tight against the underside of the chopper. But even with this hold he feared that Lopez’s tight bank might dislodge him.

Brandt could feel the heat of the church’s fire as they flew over St. Basil’s toward the Big Moscow River. Their escape nearly complete. The only problem. Another masked man stood at the center of the bridge with an RPG launcher on his shoulder.

Upside down it was a little hard to tell who the fucker was, but he was about blow them out of the sky. Then the man’s body shuddered before he crumpled to the ground, the grenade launcher tumbling away harmlessly.

Brandt fought the wind to look to his right. He found Davidson perched within a golden-domed tower on the Kremlin’s wall. How the hell had he gotten in there? More importantly, how the hell was he getting out of there? Scattered police fire from the ground below streaked past them. The scarred man saluted Brandt, seeming resigned to being captured.

Lopez angled toward the gilded tower, although tentatively. As if giving Brandt time to nix the idea. Damn it. Davidson had saved their lives like five times already. Carefully Brandt released one hand and pounded on the helicopter’s belly, twice for yes. Brandt’s hand flew back to grip the strut as Lopez wasted no time, leaning the chopper toward the Kremlin.

Within moments they hovered next to the tower. They took some fire from the guards, but Davidson, more nimble than his injuries should have allowed him, leaped from the window of the dome and onto the chopper’s gun strut. Lean and light, the metal held his weight like it never would have done for Brandt.

The helicopter tilted back to the left, hard, trying to keep the chopper between the two exposed men and the Russian guards down below.

Wobbling, with only one rotor, too heavily loaded and listing nearly horizontal, Brandt’s team flew out and over Moscow’s skyline.

Aunush’s ankle protested each time she put weight on it, but she ignored its shrill warnings. Then the sniper wrapped his arm around her waist and urged her to lean into him. At first she resisted, but then realized his ruse.

Not having to exaggerate at all, Aunush limped along beside him. After killing the only witnesses to their escape, they had left behind their weapons. All of their weapons. She felt naked as they joined the chaos of the crowd behind the shopping mall.

Russian soldiers shouted conflicting orders and then argued with the local police as the panicked crowd surged back and forth.

Then some overeager soldier shot into the swarm of survivors. The Russians in the crowd, well aware of the State’s human rights track record, rushed the guards, breaking the line.

There truly was a God above. Saying a silent prayer to heaven, Aunush held to the sniper as he allowed them to be swept down a side street and away from the soldiers and police. From there, the crowd dispersed, seeming to melting into the buildings.

They couldn’t risk finding a hideout so close. Once the Russians untangled themselves, they would be thoroughly searching the area. But how far could they get on foot? They needed a vehicle. The sniper was already checking car doors, trying to find an easy mark.

Then a car squealed to a stop beside them. Unarmed, Aunush could only watch as the passenger door swung open.

Nannan sat in the backseat. Had the Watcher really secured a getaway vehicle?

But as two masked men exited the car, waving pistols at them, Aunush knew they could not be that lucky.

The sniper bristled at the men, but they were weaponless and clearly this ambush had been well planned.

With as much pride as one could muster while being kidnapped, Aunush moved with surety into the backseat. Of course, Nannan sat sobbing like a toddler as the sniper slid in beside her.

Even before the door closed on them, Aunush was already plotting how to turn this abduction to their advantage.

And sacrificing Nannan was perhaps at the top of her list.

Aunush sat on the cold steel chair, her wrists and ankles tied to the metal. She’d been left only in her bra and panties. A strange act of modesty given the fact the Chinese henchmen kept threatening to torture her.

And the scene supported their threats. The room had classic torture room gray, rough concrete walls. A bare bulb hung from a frayed electrical wire. The large drain in the center of the room made it easy to clean up any mess they made.

To the side sat a large stainless steel table filled with instruments meant to extract information from their subjects. Some sharp, others dull. All meant to torture.

Aunush supposed this was all meant to intimidate her, soften her for the questioning to come. She also noticed they left her interrogation for last. Through the grimy window she could see across the hall. Her sniper was stripped naked, hanging in a stress position. What the Chinese did not realize was that the sniper routinely did for this entertainment.

In the room next to hers, the drone of high-pitched sounds meant to break down cognition and thought processes beat through the wall. They must have realized that Nannan would have passed out if he’d been put into even a nonstressed position. A backhanded slap would have put him into a coma. Instead, the Chinese chose to break down his resistance with nonphysical torture.

Strangely she wasn’t any more worried about Nannan giving up any information than she was the sniper breaking. Granted Nannan was flabby and a moron, he was still a Watcher of the Word. The thing the Chinese did not understand about Nannan was that he did not fear for his life, he feared for his immortal soul. Judgment Day was not an abstract concept or even one that was that far off. The Disciples believed deeply that each life was judged at its end. And if you were found wanting? There would be no admission to heaven. It was the Sheol, where you were judged by God on how you followed His Word.

Nannan might weep and beg for the sound torture to stop, but break his tenet with God? Never.

Aunush did not need to dig that far to find her will to resist. She simply would not give the Chinese the pleasure of breaking her. Besides, they would not have the time.

Patiently she’d waited through the night in a light meditative trance. In her mind she’d followed the mavokh, the holy labyrinth. She followed it in her mind as it twisted and doubled back upon itself, never finding the center. Not that she wished to. Aunush was not quite ready to come face-to-face with God just yet. If she witnessed His purity, she feared she would lose the ability to do what must be done in His name.

The door creaked open as a Chinese operative walked into the room. His gloved hands were covered in blood. Such a great theatrical touch. He snapped them off, tossing the gloves on the floor where they created a bright red blotch.

Aunush remained silent. Her features neutral.

He walked around her chair, clearly trying to intimidate her.

“Why did you attack the American team?” he asked, his English heavily accented in a distinctly Beijing accent, however she didn’t think he actually grew up in Beijing. There was a flavoring of Min Nan under that cultured accent. Clearly he was trying to hide his rural upbringing.

And just like his accent, the blood was fake as well.

Aunush didn’t answer for the same reason she didn’t ask to speak to anyone in charge despite the long hours waiting. No, she needed the Chinese to come to her.

“Who do you work for?”

Again, she ignored the man’s questions. The Chinese must already know at least some of the pieces to the puzzle. They had risked attacking Americans on Russian soil. They were not fools.

A slap came from nowhere, snapping Aunush’s head to the side.

Oh look, they want to play rough.

Please. This was more like foreplay.

“I asked, who do you work for?” the man demanded as he stalked in front of her. “Why were you in Moscow?”

She bent her head and murmured an offering to the Lord Almighty. Not really to give her strength but to pull the man closer.

He grabbed a curved knife from the table and obliged her. “You will tell me or you will suffer.”

Aunush threw her head forward, slamming her forehead into the man’s. Stunned, he rocked back, but not fast enough. Her wrist bonds, loosened after hours of careful manipulation, came loose as Aunush’s hands flew to his head, snapping it sharply to the right.

The dead man fell to the floor. From his nose a trickle of blood, real blood, emptied down the drain.

She didn’t bother undoing her ankle restraints. It turned out the chair was quite comfortable. Aunush simply sat back down and looked into the small camera.

“Why don’t you send in somebody who can really carry out an interrogation?”

Rebecca got out of the VW van, their fourth vehicle since ditching the helicopter in the middle of the international business district of Moscow, and unfolded her cramped limbs. Lacking the adrenaline of their harried escape, her muscles rebelled. It hadn’t helped that Rebecca had practically held her breath for the two hours it took for them to get out of Moscow.

Every car that pulled up next alongside them, a possible enemy. Any police car a possible threat. Just the memory of the tense ride made her joints shake. She had to reach out and steady herself on the van. Thank goodness the Russia-Ukrainian border was as porous as it was. They had traveled through the night on a string of bribes.

“Now that was invigorating,” Lopez said, slapping her shoulder.

“Whatever, Ricky.”

“Um, hello?” the corporal said indignantly with far too much energy for a guy who’d just driven seven straight hours. “I just invented indoor helicopter flying. It is going to be all the rage, I’m telling ya.”

Since she didn’t respond Lopez moved on, doing lunges at each step, as the others pulled the gear out of the back. The only two left in the van were Davidson and Bunny. The young woman still slept fitfully on the small cot in the back, her head resting on Davidson’s lap. He gently stroked her hair. It was the only way any of them could get her to settle down. Rebecca hated to rouse her even to board the private plane that Lopez had commissioned.

The woman had only spoken one word since the vicious attack on Moscow. “Slovenia.”

No one had known what she meant at the time. And honestly Rebecca didn’t know much more after an extensive search on the Internet. About all she could gather was that the architect, Nikolay, had retired shortly after the renovations to St. Basil’s Cathedral. Then she found some tiny Slovenian newspaper article from the seventies regarding a famous architect purchasing a remote chalet. She could only assume it was Nikolay, although an Alps cabin seemed a strange retirement choice for such a devout Russian Orthodox parishioner. There wasn’t a Russian Orthodox church for a hundred miles. Actually, there wasn’t much for a hundred miles in the tiny alpine village he had selected as his last home.

Leaning over, Rebecca fished out her laptop and fired it back up. Even with the backup battery she was nearly out of juice. They better have some form of plug on the plane or forget any more research.

“So you think he took the fragments he found at St. Basil’s to Slovenia?” Brandt asked over her shoulder, making her jump.

She tried to cover her reaction with a few callisthenic moves. “It would make sense.”

Brandt nodded. “And Slovenia borders Croatia, which is where we caught up with Amed. I don’t think that is any coincidence.”

Of course the sergeant didn’t. He didn’t think running into an old friend at a coffee shop was a coincidence. While she didn’t find out much regarding Nikolay, she did find some interesting facts about the country he chose. It appeared he was looking farther back than synagogues in his choice.

“It turns out that a Jewish population predates the Slavic settling of the area,” Rebecca explained.

“You’re kidding,” Brandt said as he shook out his wrist. It appeared to be sore from his stunt on the helicopter. Rebecca wanted to smack him for making her think she’d lost him...again. It was one thing to be married to another woman and quite another to be in the Russian secret police’s hands.

“Nope,” Rebecca said, acting as if the last few jarring hours hadn’t happened. “Plus, Slovenia has one of the oldest caches of prehistoric remains as well. They found them hidden high up in a cave near Nikolay’s chalet.”

“Lot of history then,” he commented, wincing as he extended his wrist back.

Lopez trotted up. “Th ey’ve got the plane fueled. I’m just going to do the preflight check, boss.”

Brandt grunted his approval and then looked to the sleeping Bunny. “Think it’s just shock or something worse?”

Funny how “shock” became something to be shrugged off. Maybe funny wasn’t the right word, Rebecca thought as she looked to the young woman’s shallow breaths.

“What type of shock is the question, I think,” Rebecca answered.

Brandt regretted asking the question as soon as it was out of his mouth. Bunny had just lost her mentor. Rebecca had lost hers last year. On the surface the two seemed so very different, yet they truly were very similar. He hadn’t noticed it, but Rebecca certainly did. The sympathy she felt for Bunny shone in her eyes.

Rebecca had described losing Lochum like losing a really cranky stepfather. He bugged the crap out of you, but still left a hole in your heart when he was gone. With tears glistening in her eyes, he wanted to reach out to Rebecca so, so badly. He wanted to comfort her, yet he knew any comfort he might try to give would only backfire. Better for him to hold in his feelings and let it sting his heart rather than hurt Rebecca’s anymore.

“Can’t we get her to an American consulate or something?” Rebecca asked, going back to her laptop. “I researched it, and the embassy is just across town.”

Noting that she didn’t ask the same for herself, Brandt was reminded of Rebecca’s resilience. But her brash optimism sometimes blinded her to the situation on the ground.

“Not with the Chinese after us as well,” Brandt reminded her.

Rebecca frowned. “I can’t be sure those were Chinese features.”

“Perhaps not,” Brandt said. “But I can be sure those were QSZ-92s in their hands. Chinese military issue.”

“They’re after us for the Rinderpest?” Rebecca said more as a confirmation than a question. It seemed she was starting to accept the fact that now they had two enemies. The Disciples of Moshe and now a Chinese military intelligence squad. Their day couldn’t get much better than that.

The plane taxied out of the hangar as Lopez yelled out the window, “Come on, I want to get us to Ljubljana while they’re still serving sarkelj.”

Brandt turned to the van. “Davidson, let me help you get her out.”

But the younger man shook his head, gathering Bunny into his damaged arms. They shook, but still he carried her. “I’ve got it.”

Yes, apparently he had. Last year when they’d first met Bunny, Davidson had been the only one capable of dealing with the young woman. It appeared that several disasters later this was still the case.

Davidson carefully stepped from the van as Bunny roused a bit. He murmured something and she settled right down again.

“So he’s along for the long haul?” Rebecca asked as they followed the two to the plane.

Brandt didn’t answer. To say out loud that Davidson was officially on this mission would be breaking about a dozen military codes. And to say that Davidson wasn’t on this mission just seemed stupid.

Rebecca nodded. “The kind of don’t ask, don’t tell. Got it.” A timid smile curled her lips. “Thanks.”

He didn’t do it for the reasons she thought though. He hadn’t forgiven the traitor or come to peace with the past. He did it because Davidson was in a unique position to keep them safe. To keep Rebecca safe.

If he had to make a pact with the devil, then so be it.

There was a flurry of activity, including handcuffing Aunush to the chair. Not surprising since she’d killed her first interrogator. The Chinese guards didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her. Or the body that lay on the floor. Clearly everyone here was simply a grunt.

The Chinese must have thought they’d captured some low-level mercenary crew. Little did they know.

Finally a man, dressed in a suit that was probably bought at the Louis Vuitton store that she and her sniper had destroyed, stepped into the room. Clearly she was working her way up the food chain.

“Hello, Aunush,” he said in nearly perfect English. “I am Commander Hsu from the MSS.”

The Ministry State Security. Basically China’s secret police. Just what she was hoping for.

“So you know that kidnapping me was probably not your most intelligent move,” Aunush answered, watching his features cloud. The Disciples had influence across the globe. When the master heard of this? The consequences would be severe, however Aunush didn’t have time for the diplomatic machinations to do their work. She needed to be in the air. Now.

“We know that you attacked Sergeant Brandt and Dr. Monroe in London,” the man stated. “You then followed them to Pushchino, where you attacked again, losing most of your team before destroying St. Basil’s in a failed attempt to kill them.”

Clearly the man was trying his best to make her feel defeated. A failure.

What the MSS commander didn’t understand was that Brandt and Monroe only survived in London due to bad intel, and Pushchino? Any loss there was due to containing the nature of Osip’s death. And she’d never meant to kill them at St. Basil’s. She’d meant to flush them out. Dr. Monroe was looking more and more like an asset that could be used to track down Amed’s final steps and claim what he stole.

None of the mission had gone as planned, yet she was closer to claiming the Disciples’ heritage than any other before her. She would take it.

“I can get you your Rinderpest,” she stated.

Commander Hsu squinted. “How?”

Aunush tilted her head. “You know how.”

“And we leave you to your own agenda?” he asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer, so she didn’t bother to answer it.

“I will need a plane and a team of eight men, preferably far more insightful and competent than your interrogator.”

Hsu chuckled. “We are to turn over a team, under your control?” His mirth died quickly. “Your file states you are brazen, Aunush, but really what would compel me to do such a thing?”

“I know exactly where Brandt is headed,” Aunush answered, pleased to see the shock cross Hsu’s features before he put on that MSS mask.

It took a single heartbeat for the career spy to answer. “Your men will be assembled upstairs.”

Like she said. Not ideal, but she’d take it.

Rebecca glanced out the window of the plane. In the distance the Alps rose before them. White-capped and majestic. And quite the bitch to get over given the storm system moving in from the north. A late spring storm.

Although Lopez appeared quite invigorated by the bustling winds. With no clouds in the sky yet, the wind sheet coming ahead of the storm seemed like an invisible hand smacking them around the sky. They’d already “lost air,” a colloquial term for basically falling out of the sky several hundred feet until Lopez got the jet under control again.

To avoid any lingering “hard feelings” in Hungary since their last visit, Lopez had charted a northern course across the Ukraine, over Slovakia, and finally arcing over Austria, coming into Slovenia from the north. For the most part they had avoided populated cities, instead streaking over Eastern Europe with the skies practically to themselves.

Now though? Heading into Austria? Civilization lay under them like an urban carpet. That is until the valley floor abutted against the towering mountains. Mountains notorious for their fickle weather.

“Everybody buckle up,” Lopez said over the intercom. “It is going to get bumpy from here.”

Great. If Lopez thought it would be bumpy...

Bunny rustled in the seat next to Rebecca. “Where are we?” the younger woman asked.

“Just about to go over the Alps into Slovenia. We should land in Ljubljana within the hour.”

The intercom cut in. “Make that forty-five minutes...max.”

Rebecca corrected. “Less than an hour then.”

Davidson reached over across the aisle and handed Bunny a water bottle. “Best you get hydrated as soon as possible.”

After downing half the bottle, Bunny wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Thanks,” she said, then looked more closely at the scarred face. Davidson tilted away, pretending to suddenly become interested in one of the onboard magazines. “Are you the same soldier from France?”

Davidson gave a brusque shrug of his shoulder and then really delved into that Sky Mall catalog, but Bunny reached her hand out. “I never got a chance to thank you.”

Reluctantly Davidson extended his hand, riddled with the crisscrossing of a dozen scars. Bunny shook it, then traced one of those purplish lines. When Davidson tried to pull back, Bunny raised the edge of her shirt to reveal her midriff. Rebecca flinched at the cracked-glass appearance of the skin. Bunny too had deep and extensive scars. It truly was shocking she’d survived those injuries back in France.

“My physical therapist said those like us are joined by more than just damaged collagen,” Bunny said, then tucked her blouse back into her pants.

Davidson gave an unintelligible mumble and went back to shopping for useless consumer electronic goods. As Bunny took another swig of the water, Rebecca sought Brandt’s gaze across the aisle. His eyes flickered from Davidson to Bunny and then back. She could practically read the sergeant’s thoughts.

Easy to say if you weren’t the one betrayed.

Even Rebecca wished to wipe the memory of that horrible night from her mind. To remove the memory of his betrayal and just see Davidson for what he was now, as Bunny could. Rebecca wished she could trust Davidson the way Bunny clearly did. Like Davidson and Bunny’s physical scars, Brandt and Rebecca wore theirs deeper down. The cord of trust frayed, burned, and tattered.

The seat belt suddenly cut into her thighs as the jet fell from the sky. Really fell. It was like riding one of those amusement park free-fall attractions, only at 32,000 feet in the air. Or at this rate 31,000 feet. Now 30,000.

She dug her fingers into the hand rest as Bunny’s nails dug into her hand. Rebecca’s teeth chattered as the entire plane shimmied violently. She wouldn’t be surprised if screws undid themselves or the wings sheared off. Then as suddenly as the weightless sensation come on, Rebecca’s butt hit the seat cushion as the jet’s engines kicked in again, surging them forward.

“No worries, people,” Lopez chuckled. “That little drop just saved us time on the descent.”

Rebecca was glad someone could laugh about it. Because she certainly couldn’t.

Tightening her seat belt, Rebecca dug in for a rough forty-five minutes.

Aunush finished dressing as her sniper entered the small room. Nannan, looking decidedly far worse for the wear, joined them. None spoke. The room was bugged, there was no doubt. Even Nannan sensed it. From here on out they would need to be extremely careful in their choice of words. That was until their Chinese details outlived their usefulness.

Holstering the sidearms provided, Aunush noted they were American issue, not Chinese. Guess it would be a tad difficult to explain to the international press if anything went wrong why Jewish mercenaries were carrying Chinese guns.

The sniper checked out the rifle provided to replace the one damaged from the desperate tumble out of the GUM building. He grunted his approval and then broke the weapon down, securing it in its case. Nannan simply stood there, shell-shocked, dark-eyed, and limp-lipped.

Slapping him on the shoulder, then digging her nails his thick arm, Aunush guided them out of the room and followed the short hallway to a staircase that led them up to the roof. A helicopter awaited. She quickly calculated how far away the Chinese had taken them. Did they go all the way back to China? Or maybe south to Pakistan?

They were halfway across the roof when Aunush stopped in her steps. She looked over the railing to find...Moscow.

The Chinese hadn’t transported her anywhere. They were at the Chinese consulate in Moscow. As Commander Hsu walked up, she assessed the man a bit more admirably. That took balls. To torture and interrogate them right under the Russians’ noses?

Hsu nodded to the twelve men already loaded in the helicopter. “The helo will transport you to the airport, where you will fly under diplomatic colors to...?”

“Lay in a flight plan to the Alps,” Aunush answered, “and I will instruct your pilot of our final destination once we are close.”

Her unspoken words were loud and clear. Once we are outside the influence of the Chinese government.

The commander nodded curtly though. Why wouldn’t he? Aunush was certain that the Chinese assault squad had their own termination orders for her and her team.

So be it.

They were two scorpions in a dance where they promised to only sting their enemies. As soon as Brandt and the Rinderpest were neutralized, that dance would turn deadly.

Without further pleasantries, Aunush loaded into the helicopter as the sniper and Nannan followed suit.

For the first time since their capture Aunush felt hope stir in her chest. Brandt and Monroe didn’t have the perk of diplomatic clearance. Their team must have spent the night on a slow and deliberate attempt to flee overland. They couldn’t have taken to the air until they were outside Russian borders. Which meant Brandt had lost hours upon hours of lead time.

Aunush was but a few hours behind them.

She held onto a hand strap as the helicopter lifted off the roof and sped across Moscow.

To think. The tablets of the Ten Commandments might be within her reach by nightfall.

She could feel the rough stone against her fingers already.

What a fine present for the master. No one would question Osip’s death if she brought such a prize back to the shrine.

No one.

Brandt tried to ignore the rattling of the plane as they descended down the west slope of the Alps and headed into nearly gale-force winds. Hail bounced off the surface of the plane. Rain fell in sheets. Lopez must have been flying by instruments only.

Which, of course, the corporal would brag about.

“We’ve got a convective storm, guys,” Lopez announced.

Great, Brandt thought. Another feather in the corporal’s cap. They were going to hear about this forever.

Suddenly the pelting stopped. Everything stopped. The wind. The rain. The sleet.

Not good.

“Hang on!” Brandt shouted as the jet got knocked by a striation of the storm. They must be sitting right under the anvil.

“What’s happening?” Rebecca asked, her lips pinched together. She was trying to be brave, but the jet was getting knocked around like one of those balls in the lottery spinner.

Brandt unhooked his seat belt and, gripping each chair back, made his way to the cockpit. Lopez struggled with the yoke as Talli focused on the weather pattern.

“Wind speed increasing rapidly and we’ve got updraft starboard.”

“Still no thunder or lightning?” Lopez asked, sounding uncharacteristically subdued.

“Nope,” Talli reported.

Fuck.

There had been a storm in the region like this back in ’06. It had practically taken out four countries’ entire infrastructure. Power transformers. Streetlights. Bridges.

And just like back then, the region had just experienced an early heat wave followed by a cold moist storm from the north. And the lack of lightning? That was an extremely poor sign. This storm had all the characteristics of tornadogenesis.

“What’s ground control saying?” Brandt asked.

“They want to wave us off to the south.”

Brandt glanced to the map. South was Croatia. And given how large the storm was spreading out across the Alps and valleys, they wouldn’t be able to get back into the air for hours, if not days. Yet looking out the window at that huge black wall of roiling, churning, angry clouds up ahead, Brandt wasn’t sure if they had any other option.

“Can you do it, Ricky?” Brandt asked, not in the mood to give an order to the corporal to land under some of the roughest conditions known to mankind.

“Phfph,” Lopez snorted. “Try and stop me.”

“Yes,” Talli said, although Brandt wasn’t sure if the perimeter specialist was kidding or not. “Please stop him.”

Talli’s opinion didn’t really matter though. The mission’s objectives did.

“All yours then,” Brandt informed Lopez. South just wasn’t an option. Not if Lopez felt confident he could get them on the ground.

The corporal hit the radio switch. “Control, be warned we lost radar and your beacon about a minute ago.”

Yeah, Brandt thought, that would have been nice information to know before he gave the all-go.

“Once I get sight of your lights,” Lopez explained, “I’m going to be coming down on your heads.”

Brandt was sure control wasn’t all that thrilled about the prospect.

“Sarge, you better buckle up,” Lopez said as he strained to keep the jet upright. “No guarantees we’re landing wheels down, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, Brandt did.

After the sarge got himself situated in the seat in front of him, Davidson readjusted his seat belt. The jet would go nose up to nose down in a fraction of a second. And as they entered the storm they cut across the forming funnel cloud.

Once again hail, rain, and wind buffeted their metal tube. A tube that really had no right to be in the sky under these conditions.

“I’m just going to go with the odds here,” Lopez announced over the intercom, “and say everyone should assume crash positions.”

Davidson leaned over clutching his knees, creating the tightest ball he could. Although if they hit anything at this air speed no position was going to save them. His eyes slid over to Bunny. He watched a timid hand reach out. This time he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.

Perhaps it was best they couldn’t really see what was happening as the jet lurched to the right, tilting at nearly forty-five degrees, then buffeted back to center.

He went to murmur a prayer as he had been trained for so many years to do. The Knot had taught him, when in trouble, reach out to God. Yet where had such righteousness gotten him? A vow he’d taken as a child had cost him so much as a man.

The warm hand in his though, thawing some of the ache from his scars, felt real and tangible.

Could God be so forgiving?

Could he be forgiven?

Davidson felt his good lip tug up into a grin. He guessed the next few minutes would give him a pretty good ballpark answer.

Rebecca desperately did not want to keep looking out the window. She really should put her forehead to her knees and ignore the groan and churn outside the plane. Yet she couldn’t. Each piece of debris that flew by the window or clanged off the wing or whipped past held her fascination.

It was impossible to tell how high, or worse how low they were to the ground. The winds and clouds made it almost seem like they were deep under the North Sea again. Rebecca clutched her knees even tighter. Actually, it was more like their flight over Romania last year after the RPG attack. Or maybe it was a combination of the two.

Which wasn’t at all comforting.

Then suddenly out of the dark, a light blinked. A red light. It must be the control tower. The only problem? Actually, only problems?

They’d completely overshot the runway and they were flying low. Like their wheels were barely clearing the airport’s fence low.

How Rebecca wished she could close her eyes and let fate take its course, but she felt compelled to watch every moment of their doomed landing.

Lopez banked hard right, tilting the plane nearly vertical to come back around toward the emergency-lit runway. But that lost them even more altitude if that’s what a few feet above the ground could be called. There was no way, just no way they were going to come into this landing parallel.

Then the storm picked them up. A rush of air under the wings had them gliding for several yards. Rebecca felt her stomach lurch. Then the same storm slammed them down long before Lopez could steady them out.

The wing hit first, leaving a line of sparks along the tarmac.

“Everyone to the left!” Brandt shouted, unhooking his belt.

Everyone followed suit as the plane threatened to tip onto its back as they flung themselves to the opposite windows. Rebecca landed hard against Brandt, who swept her up into his arms, grasping the seat in front of them, pulling it down as cover. Harvish landed in a heap next to them.

The sudden shift of weight brought the plane down onto its wheels. The jet swerved wildly on the sleet-slicked runway. Forget runway, they skidded sideways off into the greenway that separated the tarmacs. Bouncing and bounding over grass mounds, they finally slowed until they hit another runway and skidded around nearly in a circle.

The brakes screeched as Lopez laid them on hard, but a hangar was coming up fast.

“Stay to the left!” Lopez yelled, not even bothering to use the intercom.

Rebecca didn’t understand why until Lopez made another sharp right, lifting them up onto one wheel, using the right wing as a pivot. The grinding of metal filled the jet. Then fire erupted at the tip of the wing. Still Lopez laid into the right until the friction finally stopped their forward momentum.

The nose of the jet gently bumped the hangar.

“Evacuate!” Brandt barked, even though everyone was already all over it as the wing caught fire, sending flames high in the air.

Talli had the forward door open and shoved out the short metal staircase before they even arrived. Lopez nodded to each as they passed.

“Just remember, folks, I’m available for charity events and private parties.”

Rebecca gave him a punch in the shoulder as a tip.

Sleet and hail continued, but at the least though they were on the ground. That had to count for something, Brant thought. And Lopez, perhaps his adrenaline addiction satiated by the rough landing, was actually driving at a reasonable speed. Not that the corporal necessarily had a choice. In this kind of weather the streets were nearly gridlocked.

What should have been a quick twenty-minute drive out of the capital of Slovenia to the foothills at the base of the alpine peaks had turned into over an hour long, full of blaring horns and stalled cars.

The SUV, an Italian Lancia Voyager, was pretty damned comfortable though. Fine leather seats kind of took the sting out of the assortment of cuts and scrapes they’d endured to get this far.

“I’m telling you,” Lopez said as the rain turned to slushy snow the higher they climbed out of the valley. The windshield wipers could barely keep up. “This SUV isn’t going to get us far up that mountain.”

Brandt frowned. That was like the third time the corporal had mentioned the fact.

“Please, you just flew us through a cyclone storm,” Brandt answered, but Lopez wouldn’t let it go.

Before Lopez could argue, however, Rebecca leaned between the seats, pushing her laptop ahead of her. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but they are reporting near blizzard conditions near the peaks, and just a mile ahead, the alpine roads are chains only. These snow tires aren’t going to cut it.”

This day looked on the same course as yesterday. You’d think with Rinderpest in the wind, Nature would be slightly more helpful securing the bacterial plague. Instead, she was being a complete bitch.

“Fine,” Brandt grunted. “What do you suggest, Corporal?”

“I am so glad you asked,” Lopez beamed.

The corporal made a fast left, sped down an alley, and then turned right into a car lot. Brandt glared at Lopez. Clearly the man knew exactly where he was going. Exactly how long had he been angling to get permission to come here?

Then Brandt saw the reason. The vehicle Lopez coveted sat at the far edge of the lot. It was like an enclosed snowmobile only on steroids. In addition, the vehicle had a strange sleek German engineering look to it. Or the Hummer of snowmobiles.

Bombardier 12 was stenciled in bright white letters across the side.

Lopez was out of the car in a flash. “It’s the only model of blizzard-conditions-rated vehicle that will seat all of us,” the corporal said before he trotted toward the sales office.

But how exactly had Lopez known about a car lot in Slovenia that sold heavy snow vehicles in May? Brandt turned to find Rebecca closing out a number of windows. One conspicuously had the specs for the Bombardier 12.

“Et tu?” Brandt asked.

Rebecca grinned as she closed her laptop.

And here he thought Davidson was going to be the problem.

Rebecca watched the wintery landscape change from long, low pastures to rolling hills to steep alpine inclines. Trees became more and more sparse as they ascended.

Brandt might have been skeptical about the Bombardier 12, but dang the thing was traveling across the snow at speeds over forty miles an hour. For Lopez that speed was probably embarrassing, but in the middle of a blizzard, it was downright impressive. They had skimmed past stranded car after stranded car as they made their way up the alpine highway.

She swallowed and then yawned, trying to reequilibrate her ears. They had been up down and all around. Her body didn’t know which way was up.

“Next left?” Lopez asked.

Rebecca glanced down to her laptop. Bunny leaned over as well. The woman had seen some private correspondence from Nikolay’s family. From that information they had been able to look up property records and had estimated the location of Nikolay’s retirement home. Now that they were up in the high up in the Alps though, Rebecca was beginning to have doubts.

They had passed numerous buildings. Some sparkling Swiss chalets looked like five-star resorts. Then there were broken-down “huts,” as the Slovenians called them. Basically they’d never been much more than a stick wood frame and tiled roof.

If Nikolay’s place was on the five-star side, they might have some hope of recovering the stone fragments. On the other hand, if Nikolay had shacked up in some random hut, could anything have survived until now?

“Yes,” Bunny answered Lopez. “This is as far as the A1 road goes north by northeast.” With more conviction the younger woman stated, “We need to take a left here, but in a half a mile or so, we’ve got to go off-road.”

Lopez patted the handlebars of the Bombardier. “Which is exactly why we needed this baby.”

Rebecca noticed Brandt roll his eyes. Despite Brandt’s skepticism, the Bombardier chugged its way down the side street, gliding over the freshly fallen snow. If she ignored all the guns and danger and bioweapons, she could almost imagine this was the alpine vacation she’d dreamed of.

Heading deep into the mountains to a remote cabin. The snow falling. They just needed some Christmas decorations to make the scene complete.

Unfortunately, there was no ignoring Harvish, who insisted on burping long and loud inside any enclosed vehicle. Talli’s sudden new interest in cleaning his sniper rifle. It was almost as if he wanted to show Davidson that he was the sniper, damn it.

Bunny had been right though about the distance. The only problem? The short side street branched into several one-lane roads. None of which were headed toward the cabin.

Which wasn’t all that uncommon this high up in the Alps. Many of these homes had been built off of hunters’ trails or shepherds’ grazing grounds long before paved roads were all the rage.

“Straight ahead then?” Lopez asked.

“Yes,” Bunny said, nodding with surety.

If only Rebecca had that much faith in their house-hunting research.

“All right then,” Lopez said. “Let’s see what this baby can do.”

Brandt found Rebecca’s eyes and cocked an eyebrow as the jumbo snowmobile lumbered over a snow-covered log and onto the vast snowfield leading nearly straight up.

Yeah, maybe helping Lopez find the Bombardier wasn’t her best idea.

Whiteout. That’s what they called the condition when you couldn’t see anything but the blur of white in front of you. Well, they’d passed that about ten minutes ago. The only reason Brandt knew they were going in the right direction at all was the fact that he was still thrown back in his seat as the transport’s engines growled their way up the mountain. Occasionally they would hear the sound of something being crunched under the snowmobile’s huge glides.

Lopez would just say, “My bad,” and carry on.

“How much farther?” Brandt asked.

“According to this?” Rebecca replied. “We should be right on top of it.”

“That is if Lopez hasn’t run it over yet,” Harvish joked.

Good point.

“Let’s lay off the throttle a bit?” Brandt suggested.

Lopez frowned. It really wasn’t about the destination to the corporal. It was about the journey, or more importantly how quickly the journey could be accomplished.

The Bombardier slowed, lurching a bit as the slope steepened. Then it became apparent they weren’t making any forward movement. As a matter of fact, they were slipping back.

“Fine,” Brandt conceded.

The corporal gunned the engine and they popped over the ledge, landing squarely on an outcropping, right in front of a small cabin. Its sudden appearance seemed like a snow mirage. The Bombardier’s large headlights illuminated the structure, making it twinkle. Encrusted with ice, the A-framed building looked like it could belong to St. Nick himself.

Skidding them to a less than smooth stop, Lopez smirked. “Honey, we’re home.”

Rebecca tucked up the zipper of her light jacket. They weren’t exactly dressed for winter conditions. The cold of the northern storm already bit through the Bombardier’s frosted windows. Add in the wind chill outside the vehicle? She tugged harder on the stubborn zipper.

“Ready?” Brandt asked the men as they prepped to leave the vehicle and check the small chalet. The men nodded in unison.

The doors popped open, letting a blast of frigid air into the Bombardier. Brandt went to shut the door when Davidson climbed out beside him. The two stood for a moment. The question clear. Would Davidson function as a member of the team or not?

“Stay here,” Brandt stated matter-of-factly. Davidson stiffened until Brandt handed him a sidearm. “Protect them.”

The younger man looked to the gun and then to Brandt, whose expression was clear. Don’t push it. Davidson didn’t. Instead he accepted the gun with a curt nod and climbed back into the vehicle as the other doors slammed shut.

Though Davidson didn’t seem exactly pleased at getting assigned babysitting duty, Rebecca imagined it was better than being stuck in the car without a gun.

Bunny reached a hand out and squeezed his wrist. “I’m so glad you’re staying with us.”

Did the younger woman’s fingers linger just a bit longer, or was that just Rebecca projecting her own yearnings onto every other person around her? Either way, Rebecca’s eyes sought the front window as she watched the men fan out in front of the Bombardier.

The snowfall here was light as the flakes drifted down almost lazily. This ledge was protected by two large cliffs soaring high until they curved toward one another almost touching at their peak. It was like the pointed roofed chalet had been built within its own stone walls. Those stone walls protected the chalet from the blizzard-fueled winds.

Truly Nikolay’s home should have been featured on a postcard or a Slovenian tourist site. Painted white with bright red trim, it could have been an elf’s workshop. Which looked great from outside, but what about what it contained? Unfortunately, Rebecca had far too many encounters with architectural wonders only to have them turn into nightmares.

Certainly out there, Brandt wasn’t taking any chances. He posted Talli to guard the door as Harvish, Lopez, and then Brandt disappeared into the chalet. It didn’t take long though for Brandt to exit the home and trot to the vehicle.

“Let’s get everyone inside,” he said, opening the door.

“Is it clear?” Rebecca asked, surprised that he didn’t announce that. He always announced that. It was one of the few things that gave her comfort through all of the terror.

“Sort of,” he answered and urged them toward the chalet.

Equally intrigued and worried, Rebecca followed close behind Davidson and Bunny. Brandt brought up the rear, his hand on her shoulder. Even though she should have been used to this protocol, she still had to remind herself the contact meant nothing. Especially as it fell away as soon as they entered the chalet. Brandt had just wanted to make sure he didn’t lose her in the storm.

If the outside of the structure had been cute, the interior was, well...absolutely charming. The crisp white walls contrasted nicely with the blond wood floors. Little red accents gave the place life. One window had a miniature tea set. Another had a set of Russian nesting dolls, lined up along the ledge.

And the mantel? It was like a tribute to the Motherland. Red-framed pictures shone with photos of Red Square, the Kremlin, and of course St. Basil’s. If Rebecca had any doubt that this home was Nikolay’s it evaporated.

Stepping farther into the tiny chalet, Brandt closed the door behind her. Rebecca ran her fingers along a red linen tablecloth that covered the petite kitchen table. The furniture was surprisingly delicate, almost as if it were truly meant for elves. The entire first floor was open, so as they passed through the kitchen they went directly into the living area. All the furniture was arranged around a huge, and Rebecca meant huge fireplace.

No surprise there. This was the classic layout for any home accustomed to cold weather. In the high northern environment, the home truly was where the hearth was. Here though the hearth looked to be carved within the rocky cliff. An impressive feat of engineering, but then again Nikolay was a world-renowned architect.

To the right of the massive fireplace, a set of wooden stairs led up to what looked like a loft, the chalet’s sleeping area. Harvish stood on the third step, casually leaned back against the wall. So far nothing seemed out of place. As a matter of fact, the chalet looked as if it had just wrapped up a Winter Wonderland issue of Slovenia Today.

“What is the ‘sort of’ part?” Rebecca asked, now worried that the tranquil scene would be marred by an explosion or something.

Lopez urged her around the plush red armchair. There she found a body. It turned out the chair’s color wasn’t all from the manufacturer.

“Oh God,” Bunny exhaled, her hand flying over her mouth as she backed out of sight of the body.

Yeah, this was the last time Rebecca was asking for clarification.

Brandt looked to the corpse. Actually, it was more of a skeleton than a body. Was it the fact that the death had occurred so long ago that the place didn’t reek of it?

If anything, the chalet had a sweet, almost freshly roasted almond scent.

Not that Brandt was complaining, however it did seem to mean someone had cared for the body after death. Which left some significant questions unanswered.

“So is this Nikolay?” Lopez asked the most obvious one of those questions.

Brandt glanced to Bunny, who didn’t look so good as she pressed herself up against Davidson’s chest. The private’s arm awkwardly over her shoulder.

“Bunny,” Brandt tried to coax information out of her. “You’ve done the most research on him. Is this Nikolay?”

“Like that?” Bunny said as she sank deeper into Davidson’s arms. “I can’t tell.”

Brandt looked to Rebecca, who had already opened her laptop and typed away, but she came up short as well.

“Even with my sat phone patch I can’t cut through this weather,” Rebecca said as if someone had just pinched off her oxygen line rather than cutting her off from the Internet.

Lopez knelt by the body. “I think we can eliminate natural causes,” he said as he used the tip of his gun to move aside the man’s jacket. A broken piece of metal jutted out from the ribcage.

This just got better and better. Not only did Brandt have to find the missing pieces to the famed Ten Commandments so he could track down and secure a weaponized plague, but now he had to solve a decades-old murder too. Great.

“I don’t get it,” Harvish said. “I’m assuming if someone killed Nikolay for the tablets, why wouldn’t they trash the place?”

“Maybe he gave them what they wanted but they killed him anyway?” Talli proposed.

If that was the case then this trip was a bust.

Brandt refused to believe that though. It couldn’t be a bust. Because if it was a bust, then they didn’t have a single goddamn lead to find the Rinderpest, and that just wasn’t acceptable.

“Lopez, examine the body. Try to determine if that really is Nikolay and identify the weapon used.” Brandt turned to Harvish. “You take first watch outside. We’ll rotate every hour.”

“He’s going to need more than what he’s got on to survive out there for an hour,” Talli added.

Brandt nodded to the thick curtains. “Let’s make this structure light-tight, then start a fire. We can all contribute layers of clothing to the outside man.” His men jumped at his orders. “Once we’re organized, we’ll turn the place over.”

“Wait,” Rebecca said as she started taking pictures with her cell phone. “Let me document everything first.”

“You’d better hurry,” Brandt added. “I want every square inch of this place searched within the hour.”

Rebecca replaced the tiny red teacup as Davidson finished running his fingers over the wooden window ledge. So far they had found nothing to indicate that the tablets were still at the chalet or ever had been there.

She didn’t know why it was so important to her to replace everything exactly as they had found it, but it just felt wrong to desecrate Nikolay’s home. At least not if they could avoid it. After all the destruction Rebecca had contributed to, she’d like to leave one place intact.

Davidson moved on to the small cherrywood rolltop desk. Everything contained within it was so neat and precise. The pens and pencils organized according to size in the small tin can container. Papers stacked neatly. Envelopes face down so you could pick them up by the flap. The desk of a consummate architect. Even the stapler had clean, sleek lines.

As the room heated up from the roaring fireplace, Rebecca shed her jacket and tied it around her waist. A loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by a string of curses. Brandt.

“Find something?”

“Do you think I’d be swearing if I did?” the sergeant asked as he closed the pantry door. “Anything up there?” Brandt called to the upstairs loft.

Talli poked his head over the railing. “Extra linens and clothes, but that’s about it.”

“I don’t know if this counts,” Davidson added as he replaced the envelopes to their proper corner, “but there’s a locked drawer.”

Rebecca stepped out of the way as Brandt and Bunny joined them.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the sergeant asked.

Davidson’s good lip turned down. “A set of lock picks.”

“Here’s mine,” Lopez offered as he joined them. “And as far as I can tell by height and approximate weight, the guy could be Nikolay, or not. It could go either way.”

“And the weapon?” Brandt asked beside her as Davidson picked the lock.

“Well, that’s where it got interesting.” Lopez held the tip of blade up to the kerosene lamplight. “I’m pretty damned sure this came from a ballistic knife.”

“A flying knife?” Bunny asked.

“Close,” Brandt explained. “They are spring powered either to increase penetration on contact or detach from the base and hit a distant target.”

Rebecca took a closer look at the metal in Lopez’s hand. “There’s rust on it.”

The corporal nodded. “Because it’s carbon steel not stainless steel.” Lopez gave a knowing look to Brandt. “A favorite of Russian weapons makers. Usually a hell of a lot stronger than stainless steel.”

“So it took a lot of force to break off like this,” Rebecca asked.

“Hella yes,” Lopez stated. “Someone was mighty pissed off to do that.”

Rebecca’s eyes swept the tidy chalet. There were no signs of anger or even haste. If she didn’t know better, she would have said Nikolay had come home, settled into his easy chair, and died in his sleep.

But there the rusted knife tip stood between her and her theory. And a Russian military knife no less. Was it completely paranoid of her that Osip had been in the Russian army and had a liking to using a knife?

“Popped it,” Davidson announced as the drawer’s lock sprang open. He carefully drew the drawer out. “Just looks like some letters in here.”

Bunny took the proffered pages from Davidson, scanning them quickly. “They look like a bunch of letters from home.” Bunny translated small passages. “Uncle, will you be home for Easter? We miss you.” She moved on to another page. “Visiting the cathedral is not the same without you...We are waiting to make your favorite okroshka.” The younger woman looked up to everyone’s puzzled looks. “It’s a soap made from sour milk.”

Ah, yes, the Russians.

The younger woman flipped through the old letters. “They all sound the same. Signed by Nikolay’s nephew.”

“Except this one,” Davidson stated, pulling out a partially finished letter. “I think this is Nikolay’s last response. I don’t think he got a chance to finish it.”

Rebecca read over Bunny’s shoulder, trying to keep up with the younger woman, however her Russian was fluent. “He’s just reassuring his nephew he will visit soon.”

Bunny handed the lot over to Brandt. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see any connection to these and...” Bunny nodded toward the body. “That.”

It took everything Brandt had not to tear the letters and throw their tattered remains into the fire. They couldn’t have flown through a pretornado to find nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The front door burst open, carrying with it a cloud of snow. Harvish slammed the door behind him, stomping his feet up and down. Brandt checked his watch. It had hardly been a half an hour.

“Taking a little break, Harvish?”

“Sorry, Sarge,” the point man answered. “It’s off the hook out there. I don’t see how we can even rotate through a sentry post.”

Pissed and with no one else to vent at, Brandt stomped across the room and grabbed the doorknob. Even it was icy cold. Too bad. They had a perimeter to set up. He jerked the door open and gasped. Nature had sucked every bit of warmth out of the air. And the snow? It no longer floated down from the crevice above. The wind must have shifted blowing the storm right at them. And given the fact the chalet abutted against the cliff wall, the wind had nowhere to go but churn around the building.

Now Brandt knew what it felt like to stand in the middle of a shaken snow globe.

He shut the door just as quickly as he opened it. Unprepared for blizzard conditions, Brandt had to admit that not only couldn’t they post a sentry, but there was absolutely no way they were leaving the chalet tonight.

“All right. Let’s set up camp,” Brandt announced. His men smiled in response.

“I’ll get the grub,” Harvish said, heading to the small kitchen.

Talli pushed off the upstairs railing. “I’ll break down the bed to make several racks.”

“And I’ve got a pack of cards with our name on it,” Lopez announced. Off Brandt’s glare, he clarified. “Only for anyone not on guard duty.”

Brandt couldn’t blame his men. They’d been in “go-mode” for what? Five days running. First the no-holds-barred chase to find Amed and then the attack after relentless attacks since London.

His gut told him to keep moving. Get the hell out of Slovenia and regroup. Nature, however, had other ideas. So getting some guarded rest was about the best they could do.

He could only hope the weather was as much a bitch to anyone trying to follow them.

Aunush stood perfectly still, allowing frustration to swirl around her. She let her anger go and ignored the arrogant self-assuredness of the Chinese zhong wei, first lieutenant. Rage beat off her sniper as well, yet she did not encourage it. Even Nannan chaffed at the wei’s presumption.

However, seldom was a fight worth the effort. They were messy, time-consuming, and inefficient. She already knew how she was going to respond to the wei’s insistence they could not travel up into the mountains during the raging storm. However, now she needed to be sure the wei thought she was castigated enough to capitulate.

“We must scale at least the first ridge by tonight,” she pretended to insist.

The wei shook his head. “I have confirmed with the shang. We go no farther.”

“Then we will have lost all advantage,” Aunush pushed, fueling her words with a false sense of outrage.

“He has arranged a helicopter for the break of dawn,” the soldier explained. Again. “We shall sweep down upon them before they know we are attacking.”

“Up there? With no other sounds? They are going to hear our rotor wash miles away.”

The wei took a step closer, pulling to his full height, which still missed hers by several inches. “And where do you think they will go?”

“Where did they go at St. Basil’s?” Aunush said, taking a step forward. “Or in the GUM department store?”

The edge of the man’s ears burned red.

“Brandt isn’t just Special Forces. His experience has given him a certain...perspective,” Aunush stated. “If we attempt a full-on assault, he will slip our noose.”

“As you did ours?”

Aunush had to quash a scathing retort. She breathed through her nose and out her mouth. There was no point in arguing, she reminded herself. She had her plan.

She shrugged, feigning defeat. “Your decision.”

“That is right,” the wei snorted, indicating to the hotel doors just a few feet away. “And do not think to try and slip away in the night. We will find you.”

“I have no doubt,” Aunush agreed. As a matter of fact, she was counting on it.

Brandt jerked upright in the chair, shaking off his rack time. He pulled the Velcro flap off his watchface. After four in the morning? What the hell? His eyes, still trying to focus in the low light, found a figure near the door. Davidson.

Rising, Brandt stretched out a few hundred kinks and crossed to the younger man.

“My watch was due at three a.m.”

Davidson shrugged. “Figured you needed the rack time.”

“You don’t figure, Davidson, you follow...” Brandt stopped short of calling them orders. That word opened up a can of worms neither of them wanted opened. “We divided up the rack time.”

Those damaged lips pulled up into what passed for a grin. “Sarge, you put me to bed like a third grader at eight p.m. I’m well rested, I swear.”

The kid did look pretty damned chipper, scars and all.

“All right,” Brandt conceded, “but I’m still taking over for you.”

Davidson didn’t move though. “You might want to check on somebody that didn’t get any sleep, first.” He indicated toward the woman sitting cross-legged near the burned-out fire. Rebecca. What was she up to?

“I’ve got it,” Davidson said, resuming his position near the door. “Sun should be coming up soon. It’s still snowing, but seems to be letting up on the blizzard thing.”

Brandt moved across the room to Rebecca. He grabbed a poker from the fireplace tools and jabbed the smoldering embers. Once first light hit, they’d have to douse the fire to prevent any smoke from giving away their location. So they might as well get as much warmth out of the wood as they could.

Even so, Rebecca tugged her jacket tighter around her shoulders. He grabbed the blanket he’d been using and draped it over her back before sitting on his heels next to her.

Laid out in front of the researcher were two puzzles. The first were the broken fragments of the tablet they’d recovered from St. Basil’s. They were positioned exactly as they had been back on the pedestal. In front of the stone were the letters from Nikolay’s family. Rebecca chewed absently on her lower lip. Her laptop lay off to the side. Unusual.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

Rebecca seemed startled at his words and looked up at him wide-eyed. “Oh, Brandt.” She then felt the blanket over her. “Sorry, thanks.”

Her eyes drifted back to the pages in front of her.

“Going to share?” he asked, knowing once she got into this mood, a single sleepless night was just the beginning.

“Not sure if I really have anything,” she said, working on that lip again.

Brandt sat down cross-legged. He could already tell this might take a while. “How about I decide?”

Rebecca let out a long sigh. “Okay, tablets first.” Brandt’s interest was definitely piqued. The tablets were supposed to be the key to finding Amed, yet he hadn’t heard anything of the sort yet.

“Unfortunately, so far the writing on the tablets really is talking pretty standard God is good, God is great stuff.”

He didn’t think he’d let his irritation show at her casual dismissal of his faith, yet Rebecca nudged him with her elbow. “Sorry. I mean it talks a lot about God’s covenant to man and man’s covenant with God. Some other stuff about a prophet to come to fulfill David’s promise to his people.”

“Christ then?” Brandt clarified.

“Yeah, sure,” Rebecca said, then suddenly became very intent on rubbing her eyes. The action was just a distraction though. Just like she did anytime the subject of Jesus came up. He wanted to ask her again what had happened down in the back of that cave under Rome, but why would she tell him anything now? He wasn’t exactly her favorite person, at least not anymore.

Instead, he let Rebecca stretch her muscles until she finally continued on. “But nothing more specific that would have any bearing on the Rinderpest. Although I’m sure that scholars are going to have a field day parsing each and every word of these tablets out. There are just so many ways to interpret even the simplest sentence.”

She then pointed to Nikolay’s letters along with the handwritten translations of each. Bunny had done the work after they’d eaten dinner and Lopez hosted a somewhat skeptical Texas Hold ’Em poker tournament.

“These though?” Rebecca stated as she pointed to the family letters. “These are kicking my ass.”

From the droop of her lids, Rebecca really had spent the night poring over the family correspondence. Exactly what had her so interested?

Rebecca studied the multitude of letters laid out in front of her. Sure, Brandt was pretty used to her wacky theories. Used to her plucking strands from one mystery and weaving it into another. But this time?

“We’re going to be pulling out as soon as the sun is up,” Brandt reminded her.

She sighed. There was no point in delaying. She might as well get the scoffing over with.

“All right,” Rebecca said. “This is going to sound crazy.”

Brandt’s eyebrow went up. “Why else would I be sitting here? I come to you for the crazy.”

God it hurt when he got her, really got her. She’d missed that. Too much.

Focusing back on the letters, Rebecca pointed to the first row. “As you can see, these letters are pretty much just small talk. Family stuff. A little about Moscow and Nikolay’s travels after he left Russia. Apparently nothing of significance.”

“I thought we’d decided that like eight hours ago,” Brandt added.

They had, but something about the letters bugged her. She was no expert on family correspondence, but this just felt...

“The small talk is just too, well...perfect,” Rebecca stated as she picked up a letter. “All is well here. We have frequented the cathedral to pay homage to your work but would like nothing more than to share the journey with you.”

Brandt looked at her like maybe she really was crazy.

Rebecca picked up another. “This stuff is like reading episodes of Happy Days or Leave It to Beaver.” She rushed on to read another letter. “Your mother is doing well. Her hearing is going, but we just speak louder.” She glanced up to Brandt. “I mean, come on, I know that things can get lost in translation, but that cannot be real.”

“This is Nikolay’s nephew supposedly writing these letters, correct?” Brandt asked.

“Yeah.”

Brandt took the letter from her. “Which means that Nikolay’s mother is the nephew’s grandmother. Wouldn’t he call her ‘Grandmother’ or ‘Babushka’?”

Damn it. She’d missed that. She’d been so focused on the diction that she’d missed the reference. Staying up all night did not hone your powers of observation.

“So if we make the leap that these letters were not, in fact, written by his nephew,” Brandt asked, “then who wrote them?”

She felt more sure of her working postulate now that Brandt agreed with her, yet was reluctant to really let the cat out of the bag.

“Rebecca,” Brandt sighed. “You’ve got a theory and we both know it’s going to sound ludicrous, so spit it out.”

“I think...” Rebecca backtracked. “Given that these letters were written most likely in the seventies and—”

Brandt’s hand covered hers. “Spit. It. Out.”

Withdrawing her hand from under his, Rebecca sighed. “I think it is...Osip.”

“Osip?” Brandt asked, really not expecting that name to pop out of her mouth. He probably would have been less surprised if she’d said President Jimmy Carter.

“He would have been in his late twenties, early thirties,” Rebecca rushed on. “I saw Osip’s handwriting in Pushchino, plus during the Cold War, with the huge crackdown on religion, they would have had to been extremely careful and—”

“Okay,” Brandt said, having to talk over her. “So is there a way to break whatever code they were using?”

Rebecca opened her lips, but no words came out. It was one of the few times he’d stunned her to silence.

“Code?” Brandt prompted.

“Yes...I mean, no,” Rebecca sputtered. “Well, yes and no. Yes, I think there is a code. No, I haven’t broken it yet.”

Brandt studied the page in his hand. “Well, they certainly aren’t using any kind of high-level Soviet Venona codes.”

Those were one-pad virtually unbreakable codes substituting numbers for letters. This cipher clearly was within the text itself. However Nikolay and Osip used even a simple letter substitution code, it could take days to weeks to figure it out.

“No,” Rebecca stated. “They were both religious men. I think they may be talking about their individual searches for the rest of the tablets.”

That would make sense. The letters did contain an inordinate amount of detail on their daily travels. In just one letter Osip mentioned the cathedral, St. Petersburg, and Crimea. Either this “nephew” was a Russian travel agent, or they were on the hunt for something.

“I take it the sights that Osip is talking about in Russia have important Jewish significance?”

Rebecca crossed her legs again, finding a passage she was especially excited about. “And not just Osip. Even though we don’t have Nikolay’s original letters, we can tell by Osip’s response that Nikolay was traveling all over the place too.” She brought the paper closer to read. “Osip said, ‘I can only imagine that Cyprus was beautiful. I hope that you brought back many mementos.’”

“That did sound pretty promising,” Brandt said, then followed up with his real thoughts. “If we were back in the seventies and didn’t have a plague hot on our heels. This isn’t getting us any closer to where Amed hid the Rinderpest.”

Rebecca frowned, however Bunny stirred on the couch across from them, lazily opening her eyes. “Did you look at the later letters? I think they got more cagey.”

Brandt leaned forward and grabbed a letter from the last row of pages. He read a random passage. “‘I am so glad to hear that your trip to Wadi was so successful. Your travels truly are a revelation. I can almost see the place through your words.’”

Sitting up, Bunny wiped the sleep from her eyes. “We both assumed that author of the letter referred to Wadi as in Wadi Karnataka, India.”

You could almost see the lightbulb go off over Rebecca’s head. “What if they meant Wadi Zered?” Off Brandt’s confused look Rebecca continued. “It is a valley that ran between Edom and Moab,” Rebecca added for those nonbiblical scholars in the room, “ancient kingdoms that occupied lands that later became Jordan.”

“Jordan?” Brandt asked, suddenly far more interested. Jordan fulfilled several of their search criteria. The country lay along the path of Moses’s exodus from Egypt. Yet it was now under Arab control. Not that Brandt believed that the Jordanian government would condone such a terrorist act as storing the Rinderpest, however those sympathetic to Amed within the government? Those who could look the other way at abnormal shipments? That Brandt believed.

Still Jordan wasn’t a small country. It was twice as big as Slovenia. That was a lot of ground to cover.

“Anything that narrows that down?” he asked as Lopez made his way down the stairs from the bunks.

“Any more of that stale, nasty-ass lumpy oatmeal left?” the corporal asked.

Bunny rose, pointing to one of the later letters. “I think that one has—”

“Shh,” Davidson hissed from the door.

Brandt tensed as Bunny turned to the private. “What—”

“Get down!”

Brandt was already on it, grabbing the younger woman by the wrist and yanking her to the floor as Lopez leapt over the stair’s railing, drawing his weapon before his feet hit the floor.

A window shattered as a bullet sped through the room, striking the solid rock fireplace and ricocheting back toward Davidson. The private ducked, covering his head.

That bitch. Brandt never should have assumed the weather would keep her at bay. The chick had a hard-on for them bigger than Bush’s for Saddam.

“Douse all the light!” he shouted. Lopez and Davidson obliged, although Brandt wasn’t sure if it did them any good. They’d been light-tight before the attack. The guy did not find them because of the fire or the lamps. That sniper must have an infrared scope. Of course, the bastard had a night-vision scope. Probably even one that had a wind gauge, because why the fuck not?

Plunged into darkness, Brandt heard movement from his men on the second floor, as he turned to Lopez. “You are getting the Bombardier ready for evac.”

“Sarge, I don’t know...” Davidson said as he cracked the door open. “Unless I set up somewhere to provide cover fire, I don’t see how anyone is making it across to the Bombardier.” He slammed the door shut as another shot flew through the crack and then dug a trough in the soft wood floor. “Like I said.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Lopez said as he army-crawled his way across the room. “But no one, and I mean no one is going to like it.”

Anything had to beat hugging the rug until the enemy decided on a full-out assault. Didn’t it?

Aunush let her elbow touch the sniper’s. Not enough to interfere with his aim, but enough for him to know how much she truly appreciated his skills. Dawn was only a few minutes away, but darkness still claimed the mountains as snow fell in thick sheets. The only sound beyond the muffled pop of the silenced sniper rifle was the crunch of ice behind her.

She didn’t flinch as a gun muzzle dug into her temple. Nor did the sniper, he just kept firing at the chalet. The only concession she made to having a gun to her head was to lower her thermal-equipped binoculars.

“What took you so long?” Aunush asked.

The wei’s hand shook with fury, digging the metal deeper into her temple. “What did I warn you if you tried to escape?”

“Please,” Aunush stated. “Escape? More like leaving bread crumbs across Slovenia.”

Her eyes darted up to witness the wei’s confusion. Clearly he wasn’t quite as adept at Western culture as he thought.

“The broken bathroom window? The tiny, almost imperceptible blood trail to the stolen car?” The muzzle fell back a millimeter as the wei considered her words. “Then the extremely obvious break-in at the Slovenia’s World’s Elite Winter Sport storage facility? Where the only items stolen were two electric snowmobiles?”

The gun pulled away. “You have endangered the mission.”

“Really?” Aunush asked as she handed him the binoculars. “Those seven green splotches in that house? That’s Brandt and his team.”

The wei peered through the lens, then snapped them down. You could tell he wanted to punish her. Really, he probably wanted to kill her except for that lingering doubt at the base of his skull. Could he have found their mutual enemy? Could he take them out without her?

The answer to both of those questions was no.

“Remember,” the wei said, clearly trying to stay in control, “we have your Watcher back at the hotel.”

Oh, shudder the thought. Aunush simply held her hand out for the wei to return the binoculars as the sniper fired every twenty seconds or so to put pressure on Brandt.

“So,” Aunush asked the wei. “Do you have a rocket launcher or something to add to the mix, or are you going to let my sniper do all the work for you?”

With a snap of his fingers, one of the soldiers brought over what looked like an AK-47 rifle on steroids. Aunush watched as the Chinese soldier put the tripod base on the QLZ-87 grenade launcher. Basically the Chinese, not big on originality, had copied the Russian rifle model and then developed it into a magazine-fed grenade launcher. Maybe not original but innovative. The thing had easily fit on the back of the electric snowmobiles that Aunush had conveniently left for the rest of the team at the storage facility. She’d even put the keys in the ignitions just in case they didn’t see the connection.

That was how she and the sniper, along with the Chinese team, had made it up the mountain without Brandt being any the wiser. The electric motors were nearly silent. It was said you could stalk deer on a clear winter day and never have them hear you coming. After having her bones rattled on the long journey up the slopes, Aunush wasn’t so sure about that claim, however they had made it up the mountain to their perch on a peak across from the chalet without detection.

Now, however, Brandt was well aware of their presence. Although strangely his team was huddled together by the fireplace. Strange. But his odd tactics mattered little.

As the sun rose to the east and the soldier set up the grenade launcher next to her, there was no reason to deny herself that sweet, sweet moment of revenge.

Davidson’s fingertips bled as he gripped a sharp outcropping of rock.

Lopez grunted below him. “No hurry, dude.”

Ignoring the pain shooting down the back of his hand and settling into his wrists, Davidson found another handhold and hauled himself another meter. He glanced up the long chimney to finally find light. Not much farther.

Which was a good thing. Between the strain of the climb and the cold, he would be lucky to be able to pull the trigger, let alone hit something. As they neared the top of the rocky shaft though, the crevices became more frequent and easier to hold. They were at the lip of the long crack in the rock that served as the chalet’s chimney.

“Ready,” Davidson announced.

Lopez projected down the shaft. “Three.”

Davidson braced his feet on Lopez’s shoulders, releasing his hands so he could swing the sniper rifle from his back and prepare to fire. He kept reminding himself that he didn’t have to hit anything. He just had to give that other sniper pause. A seven-second pause. Exactly seven seconds.

If he missed...if the sniper still fired despite his attempts...if Brandt and the others didn’t haul ass as fast as they thought they could...then Lopez’s whole plan fell apart. Or at least the first salvo of his plan would fall apart. There were plenty of other opportunities for this to go south in the second phase.

“Two.”

Davidson tucked the rifle up against his shoulder, picturing where the sniper was set up. It had to be on the eastern peak directly across from the chalet. The guy would have good shelter. Then Davidson moved on to calculating the wind-shift between the peaks. And then mainly praying his damaged fingers could still work in the extreme cold.

Prepping for the shot, Davidson took in a long, deep breath, then exhaled as the air in front of him steamed. He let it dissipate and then dug his heel into Lopez’s shoulder.

“One!” Lopez announced as he pushed up, forcing Davidson out of the chimney.

The world was a blur of snow, but Davidson didn’t count on a visual. He trusted his instincts and fired once. But not in time. A rocket-propelled grenade’s red streak reddened the pristine snow as it shot across the crevice between the peaks.

The first wrinkle in Lopez’s plan.

“Run!” Davidson yelled to the team below as the corporal lowered him behind the lip. “No!” Davidson yelled, but Lopez wouldn’t shove him back up.

“We’ve got to trust the plan,” the corporal explained.

As the mountain shook from the explosion, Davidson wasn’t so sure about that.

Brandt literally flung Rebecca ahead of him and dragged Bunny behind the Bombardier to shelter. Just in time as the chalet burst into flames. The beautiful little cottage now a conflagration.

The first hitch in Lopez’s “sniper Whack-a-Mole” plan. They hadn’t counted on RPGs, although seriously they should have. But why the hell hadn’t the enemy opened with those? Why go with sniper fire if they had the muscle of RPGs?

“But I think Osip killed Nikolay for the fragments here,” Rebecca protested. He ignored her. “Brandt, the fragments are here.” He ignored her again. Whatever was here or wasn’t here wasn’t their problem. Surviving was.

“Sarge, orders?” Harvish asked from up front. Brandt didn’t ignore him.

“Stick to the plan,” Brandt said.

“Until it comes unstuck,” Talli added.

Their seven-second plan was probably fucked, however, it was the best one they had.

Seven.

Harvish opened the front door to the Bombardier.

Six.

The point man climbed in, staying low, not leaving a target to shoot at.

Five.

Talli opened the passenger side door for them and then slipped in beside Harvish.

Four.

Brandt urged Rebecca into the backseat.

Three.

Bunny climbed in.

Two.

He joined his team, closing the door behind him.

One.

The roar of the Bombardier’s engine filled the alpine air as Davidson popped back out of his hole. He didn’t bother to even aim. He just fired and fired again and again, trying to give those shooters across the divide something to focus on other than killing his team.

Lopez tried to pull him back down, but Davidson refused to budge. He braced his feet against the stone wall to support his weight and continued to fire, honing in on his target. Searching the snowy white cap for signs of movement. Or better yet a splotch of red.

“Damn it,” Lopez growled. “Get down here.”

Davidson didn’t bother to argue, not with the Bombardier still sitting there like a sitting duck. Why the hell weren’t they moving? The rest of the team was supposed to be gone, down the ridge by now.

He’d effectively stalled the opposing sniper, but that damned RPG gunner fired again. And if Davidson knew anything about trajectories, it was heading straight for the Bombardier.

Rebecca watched through the back window with a sick fascination as the rocket shimmied its way across the open air, glistening in the early morning light. If she didn’t know better, it seemed harmless. Just a bright sparkler coming at them.

“Incoming!” Talli shouted.

No kidding.

But the vehicle was practically buried in snow. The engine couldn’t overcome the weight of what the storm had dumped on the Bombardier’s struts. Any path they had cut last night was long buried.

“Fuck it!” Brandt cursed and reached over, leaning on the Bombardier’s throttle.

The engine screamed, stripping gears, tearing itself apart, but the vehicle jerked backward, tipping them over the ledge just as the rocket streaked overhead, sending a shower of sparks on the Bombardier’s roof before exploding against the plateau exactly where they’d been a second ago.

Her relief was short-lived as the Bombardier started picking up speed, coursing down the slope, backward. Rebecca gripped the seat, stifling a scream.

So it came as no great surprise when Harvish announced, “I’ve lost steering!”

Davidson fought Lopez, who tugged on his leg. He couldn’t stop shooting. Even though the other sniper was occasionally popping off a shot, Davidson had to keep that RPG gunman busy.

“Dude, get down here!”

Ignoring the corporal again, Davidson fired and then took a split second to look down the slope as the Bombardier careened across the snowy decline. If it had been Lopez driving, Davidson would have guessed the trajectory was planned. But since it wasn’t Lopez, he assumed the vehicle was out of control.

At the least though it was heading in the right direction. Down the mountain. Back to civilization. Away from the sniper. Away from the RPG.

Davidson swung his rifle back in time to see a figure on the far slope stand up in order to angle the rocket launcher toward the fleeing Bombardier.

Calibrating within a split second, Davidson fired. He hit the man square in the forehead. He and his damned RPG launcher tipped over the tip of the peak, tumbling to the valley below.

A bullet kicked up off the chimney right in front of Davidson.

The other sniper had been waiting for his moment. Too bad he missed.

Davidson ducked down beneath the solid stone.

“Finally,” Lopez sighed.

“Had to take care of something,” Davidson answered, finding it hard to get settled. He had to wedge in next to Lopez.

“More important than this?” the corporal asked.

What could be more important than making sure the rest of the team got away safely? More to humor the corporal than anything else, Davidson followed the light of Lopez’s flashlight.

Okay, maybe there was something more important.

“This is...” the wei sputtered. “This is unacceptable.”

Aunush wasn’t sure exactly how many black ops the man had run, but the RPG operator’s death had been a foregone conclusion to her. She had tried to warn the Chinese how incredibly accurate the other sniper’s aim was. Had they listened?

So Aunush had given her sniper instructions to take his time. Find his window and then take it. She doubted he’d actually hit the other sniper though. Even with her sniper’s skills the wind was against them, but the sniper came so very close, forcing the other shooter back down his rabbit hole.

Of course by now the sedan-sized snowmobile was out of range. No matter. They were not about to lose the thing. Its rattling motor and screeching transmission could probably be heard all the way back to Ljubljana.

Making sure the sniper was covering her, Aunush headed down the shallow slope to the sheltered snowmobiles.

“Well?” she asked the wei.

For some odd reason the man didn’t seem quite so gung-ho to chase down Brandt as he was before. Unfortunately, his country’s existence depended upon it. Aunush swung her leg over the electric snowmobile’s seat and then revved the throttle, although it didn’t quite have the same thrill as the purr of a combustion engine. However, the nearly silent motor would still come in handy.

The sniper climbed onto the snowmobile next to her.

Without a look back to the Chinese, they gunned it down the slope. These two mountain peaks dovetailed together. Within minutes hers and Brandt’s paths would cross for a final time.

Davidson carefully used his knife to pry the tablet fragment from the surrounding stone while Lopez waved away the smoke from the chalet fire burning beneath them like a cauldron.

“Great hiding place,” the corporal coughed.

Which it actually turned out to be. At least for the fragments. For many of the same reasons Lopez chose the chimney to execute his plan, Nikolay had hidden his pieces of the tablets here. Completely inaccessible except from the top of the stone chimney. Who would think to look here? How many had come to this alpine cottage looking for these pieces of the Ten Commandments? Only to leave empty-handed. Davidson dug out the last piece and handed it to Lopez.

“All part of the plan, my friend,” the corporal grinned.

Even though Davidson no longer had an eyebrow to raise, Lopez got the message.

“Still,” the corporal pressed, “it’s pretty damned cool.”

Yes, it was. Davidson couldn’t argue, but now they had to move into phase two of the plan. Which happened to be about five times shakier than phase one.

Lopez’s face lit up however. “Let’s do this!”

“Tree!” Rebecca screamed from behind the him.

But Brandt couldn’t do jack shit about it. Streaking backward down the mountainside with absolutely no steering was turning out to be, well, challenging.

The Bombardier hit the damned tree, throwing everyone forward and then back as the vehicle spun sharply, continuing its runaway course down the slope. Spinning, the winter world went by them in circles.

A windshield shattered. Did a stray branch break? Then the window next to Rebecca cracked, in the perfect shape of a bullet hole.

Fuck.

“Stay down!”

Fighting vertigo, Brandt tried to spot the shooter. There. Coming from the left. A snowmobile. Where the hell was the sound though? Several other snowmobiles crested the ridge, angling straight for them.

Using the point of his elbow to clear the rest of the window, Brandt fired, but as they spun away he was sure he’d missed. “Talli!”

“Working it,” the shooter said as he leaned over Harvish, leveling his rifle against the blown-out driver’s-side window frame.

Not bothering to wait for the vehicle to make the full turn, Brandt fired, hitting a snowmobile in the ass. Compensating for the arc, Brandt fired again, hitting the snowmobile’s flank again.

Why the hell wasn’t the gas tank blowing?

Another snowmobile cut across his path. Brandt fired, but more importantly studied the vehicle. No wonder they weren’t exploding as they should. They had no fucking gas tank to explode. The fuckers were electric.

From the other side of the Bombardier, Talli fired, but it seemed no use as a swarm of silent snow gnats surrounded them. Flitting side to side. Small and maneuverable.

Unlike the spinning Bombardier that might as well have been a barn door with a huge bull’s-eye painted on it. And with no steering ability whatsoever, there were absolutely no evasive maneuvers to be had.

They were so screwed.

Brandt still fired though. Keeping in mind this was all part of the plan.

A horrible, horrible plan, but still a plan.

“Brandt!” Rebecca screamed.

He jerked around to find a snowmobile right alongside the back window. Brandt could never fire in time, yet a shot rang out as bright red blood stained the guy’s chest. The snowmobile veered off, heading toward the trees.

Brandt found Harvish, his gun arm across Talli’s back. “Figured if I couldn’t steer, I might as well shoot.”

Good figuring. Before he could thank his point man, the other six gnats seemed intent on revenging their fallen comrade.

Hell if Brandt was going to let that happen.

Davidson gulped air, trying to catch his breath as he slid down the mountainside. Literally slid. The metal shield beneath his knees barely skimming the powdery snow.

“Shield boarding!” Lopez yelled above the wind whipping at them.

Great. Another extreme sport. Davidson’s fingers ached from the cold as they gripped the shield’s leather straps. This wasn’t just shield boarding, but doing so at a nearly ninety-degree downward angle. By the YDS mountain grading system? The system that warned skiers of how dangerous a trail was. This slope would be rated a triple, triple X.

Death is imminent even if fully prepared, would have been the warning. And he and Lopez were anything but.

Teeth chattering, Davidson leaned a tiny bit to the left, guiding his path to avoid a mogul up ahead. Of course Lopez hot-dogged it, sliding up the side and then flipping back down next to Davidson.

“Ha!” Lopez announced. “I’d like to see Shaun White try that!”

So would Davidson since it would mean he would not have to be streaking down the mountain next to the Olympian. He would be safely and warmly watching from a safe distance away.

Davidson eyed a slope that more gently made its way down the mountain, but he knew they couldn’t take it. Not if they wanted to fulfill Lopez’s plan. Of course they didn’t even know if the rest of the team was still alive. They just had to go on faith.

Make that go full speed ahead.

Leaning down, making his shape more aerodynamic, Davidson pulled ahead of Lopez as the corporal cursed. If they were going to do this, they might as well make it interesting.

Aunush laid the snowmobile up on one strut, letting the metal undercarriage take the bullet meant for her. Damned if Brandt and his team weren’t making the most of firing from a circling vehicle. They were simply laying down arcing fire. Like a large metallic porcupine.

And given what had happened to the last man who tried to approach the vehicle to fire directly inside, none of the Chinese had dared venture closer. And she was not about to commit her sniper to such a foolhardy move.

His strength was long-range kills. Close-quarter was her specialty. And patience. The Chinese were busy firing, taking tiny bites out of the vehicle.

Why bother?

They had a lot of mountain to still cover. And given the reckless course Brandt’s team was taking, she probably didn’t need to lift a finger to herald their end. They seemed quite capable of killing themselves.

A scream from one of the forward men brought her attention forward. The man struggled to try to change course and then he was just...gone.

“There’s nothing!” Rebecca called out, not bothering to cover her panic.

“Where did they go?” Brandt asked, still firing.

“No,” Rebecca corrected, she wasn’t talking about the snowmobiles. “There’s nothing ahead.”

Just a blushing sky with nothing on the horizon but air. The Bombardier’s spin brought Brandt’s window to the same view. His firing stopped.

“Fuck.”

Rebecca had to agree.

The end of the world approached. Even the pings of their assailant’s gunfire stopped as they pulled to a halt before they too reached the edge of the abyss.

Bunny grabbed her hand as they turned from watching through the back window to the front.

There was ground beneath them. Then there wasn’t.

They were airborne. Really, truly airborne. There was nothing under their struts but air. And unfortunately this wasn’t the end of the world. No, the ground was still there. It was just about fifty feet below.

She swallowed hard as Bunny’s fingernails dug into her skin. Rebecca wanted to shut her eyes, however the sight was beautiful. The dawn brought the sun peeking out from the storm clouds, and the mountain below was dressed in a pristine white shawl. Perhaps this is what heaven looked like. All they needed was a bit of harp music to accompany their flight.

Then the beauty faded as the snow-covered slope came rushing at them.

“Heads down!” Brandt ordered.

But Rebecca couldn’t comply. Instead she watched as they hurled to the ground, hitting hard with their forward struts as they slammed into the snow, rattling them down to their marrow. One of the metal bars broke like a twig, flying off as the rear of the Bombardier landed with a boom.

They swerved to the right and then to the left, but they were on their way again. Actually facing the right way. No spinning.

A roar filled the vehicle as the rest vented their relief. All except she and Brandt. They locked eyes. He reached a hand out. She went to accept it except Harvish whooped, “I’ve got steering back!”

The point man went to correct their erratic course, but Brandt stopped him.

“No,” he said. “Let them think we’re still a runaway.”

Given their haphazard path, that was not going to be difficult to prove.

Aunush clamped down hard on the throttle, revving the engine until it shook beneath her. She released the brake, gripping the vehicle with her knees as she shot out, gaining speed until her snowmobile carried her over the edge.

Burying her heels against the floorboard, Aunush pulled up on the nose. Her arms shook with the effort as the world flew by, but she had to land at the apex point of the struts or she would not be as lucky as Brandt. His vehicle was solid steel. And even it couldn’t take the punishment of that landing whole. Aunush wouldn’t just break a strut. She’d break a neck.

The ground came way faster than it should have, but she brought the snowmobile down on both struts. Of course she nearly broke both wrists doing it.

Pulling out of the landing, Aunush glanced over her shoulders. Her sniper cleared over head, landing a good ten meters forward, and he was already speeding off. The wei wobbled in the air yet somehow managed to land his snowmobile and move out. The next two men were not quite so lucky.

Neither could get their noses up high enough. The first one plowed face-first into the mountainside and then flipped on top of himself. He didn’t move. The other flew from his snowmobile, luckily landing in a thick snowbank. He scrambled up, righting his vehicle.

Up top the remaining three men skidded to a stop, not making the leap.

The wei shouted something in Chinese. She wasn’t sure if he was scolding them or gave them orders to find another way down as the men pulled away from the ledge and disappeared from sight. The wei certainly acted as if they were obeying orders.

Either way they were down to eight.

Not the number she wanted going into this chase.

Although that did mean fewer to clean up after their victory.

That truly was Aunush’s gift.

To always see the silver lining in situations.

Brandt fired at the advancing snowmobiles. This certainly was easier going straight. Or at least straight-ish. And they’d lost almost a third of their pursuers. Today? That was a freaking win.

However, no matter how much they kept the enemy at bay, this was a game of attrition. The enemy couldn’t miss the Bombardier. A blind man with Parkinson’s couldn’t miss the vehicle. And with the glistening snow spreading out in all directions, exactly how could they ever get away from those fleet, silent snowmobiles?

As a bullet ricocheted off the side of the car and embedded itself in the roof, Brandt looked to the path ahead.

“Rebecca?” he asked.

She put up a hand. Not rude, just letting him know she understood his urgency, but pestering her was not going to help. He glanced to the topographical map they’d found at Nikolay’s. The man had charted the area down to the last crevice.

The architect better have been accurate or they were dead.

“Inch us to the left,” Brandt told Harvish, “but make it look accidental.”

The Bombardier sluggishly drifted left, snow flying into their windshield from the broken strut. Brandt watched as their trail of snowmobiles followed suit, shifting to the left. He noticed they didn’t send any chase vehicles in front of them, at least not after that last jump.

That was okay. He just needed them close.

“Talli,” Brandt instructed, “act like your gun jammed.” He turned to his point man. “Harvish, really make a show trying to get the controls back.”

Brandt kept firing from the right side of the vehicle. They had to make a show of it. The enemy had to believe this pursuit was still in the bag.

“Rebecca?”

“I’d say even a little more west,” she suggested.

Harvish faked a little right like they’d hit a hidden bump before skidding them to the left another few meters.

Brandt paused to reload even though his clip wasn’t exhausted just to tempt his pursuers even closer. They really needed them to take the bait. The contingent behind them surged forward.

“Now!” Rebecca yelled. Harvish made a hard left, nearly tilting them on their side. One of the snowmobiles hit them square in the side. The Bombardier came out of that scrape the better. However, it was the three snowmobiles on the right that got the biggest surprise.

Instead of driving onto sleek snow, they plowed into a rocky outcropping. Two of them crashed into the stone, shattering their vehicles. The other, hanging slightly back, was able to gun in and go up the embankment, flying over the outcropping and landing on top of the fucking Bombardier.

Well, that was not part of the goddamned plan.

A bullet came through the roof, narrowly missing Rebecca’s torso. Bunny flew back, hitting the side of the vehicle to avoid another spray of bullets. Brandt and Talli fired back, but the damned snowmobile must have been blocking their shots.

“What do I do?” Harvish yelled above the barrage of gunfire.

“Stick to the plan!” Brandt yelled back. He paused in firing as the bullets stopped.

Had they gotten the assailant?

Then automatic weapon sprayed down. Pain shot up Rebecca’s calf as Bunny screamed, slapping her hand over a neck wound.

“Stop!” Brandt cried out.

Harvish slammed on the brakes, flinging the snowmobile out in front of them. The Bombardier chugged right over it, smashing the weaker metal into the snow. Only there wasn’t a body. Rebecca raised her head above the backseat to be sure. Only the snowmobile was gone.

“He’s still up there.”

“Well, motherfucker,” Brandt said as he cocked his gun. “Start dancing.”

Without the snowmobile to shield their assailant, Rebecca could hear the man jumping from foot to foot, trying to avoid the team’s gunfire. Still the assailant fired, making every square inch inside the Bombardier a death trap.

“Fuck this,” Brandt said. Rebecca tried to grab him before he did what she feared he would do.

Heaving his upper body out of the vehicle, Brandt twisted, bringing his weapon to bear. The assailant must have heard him because he tried to turn to meet the threat, only he was a dime short and a day late.

Normally Brandt would have a problem shooting a man in the back, however a man on top of his vehicle firing an automatic weapon at his team? Yeah, he had no problem shooting this guy. The force of his shots threw the man over the side of the Bombardier.

Ducking back inside the vehicle, before the men on the snowmobiles got any ideas about taking their target practice on him, Brandt clutched the seat in front of him. The Bombardier skidded to the right. Clearly whatever steering control Harvish had was minimal.

“Almost there,” the point man yelled as they approached a narrowing of the snowfield. Rebecca looked behind them. The remaining snowmobiles crowded tighter to fit.

“Everyone down!” Brandt yelled.

Just before his head dipped behind the seat, Brandt witnessed two figures rising from the snow.

Davidson flung the snow-covered blanket from his shoulders as the Bombardier flew past them. Davidson didn’t waste any time, firing at the trailing snowmobiles. They tried to scatter, but the narrow gap held them in the kill zone.

Lopez shot as well, taking out a snowmobile on his side.

This had been the linchpin of the corporal’s plan. They’d known they were grossly outnumbered and that the enemy must have had far superior equipment, as much as it pained Lopez to admit.

So the corporal had devised a plan to take advantage of their strengths. Apparently their team’s greatest strength was its ability to agree to do some really insane stuff. Even Rebecca and Bunny had signed off on it.

Twisting at the hip, Davidson continued to fire as the last of the snowmobiles passed them. Another enemy fell from his vehicle. A third careened wildly out of control, smashing into the rocks that flanked them.

They hadn’t gotten them all, but now the assailants numbered only three and even those didn’t follow the Bombardier. Instead, they took the first slope heading away from the narrow passage.

“Was that a plan or was that a plan?” Lopez asked as he dug his shield out from the snow.

“Yes it was,” Davidson agreed following suit, claiming his shield. “But we’ve got one more phase before we can call it a success.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lopez said, running, bent over, pushing his shield in front of him until he got enough speed, and then he hopped onto the metal. “Last one to the bottom buys the brews!”

With a lingering glance over his shoulder in the direction the enemy had fled, Davidson joined the corporal.

The Disciples did not seem quite the type to give it up so easily.

Rebecca let Bunny hug her, hard. Harvish and Talli were busy doing high fives. They’d done it. Somehow they’d navigated the maze of a plan, threaded the needle, escaped by a hair—whatever you called it, the sensation felt pretty damned good.

The Bombardier also seemed to be getting its second wind. The glorious machine ran smoother, actually going in a straight line. The broken strut sticking out like a proud scar. It was the luxury SUV snowmobile that could.

The only one not in full celebration mode was Brandt. A frown still etched his face as he looked in the direction those three had fled. It worried Rebecca as well, not knowing if that stupid sniper was one of them. But for this fleeting moment she shoved all concern aside and simply enjoyed a moment of pure victory.

Adding to the exuberance of the moment was the sight of Lopez and Davidson snowboarding toward them. Wait. Not snowboarding.

Lopez was in the lead, waving like a maniac. Through the broken windows he yelled, “Shield boarding! The X Games are going to eat it up!”

Of course he almost bit it, having to drop down to his knees, grabbing the leather straps to right his course. Even Davidson seemed bit by the shield-boarding bug, weaving back and forth and showing off just a little.

The horrors of the past day were chased away by the bright morning sun and the knowledge that they’d done it. Actually done it.

Then the sound of a shot filled the alpine air. Rebecca and Bunny dropped to the floor of the Bombardier, which had become almost a second home. But there was no return fire. Cautiously Rebecca lifted her head to find the men searching the surrounding area.

Which meant it must be the sniper. Somehow he’d found them again and set up far from them.

Another loud shot rang out, but no bullet materialized. She lifted herself up to look out the window, checking on Lopez and Davidson. They were far more vulnerable out there. While both were crouched down, hugging the metal, neither seemed injured.

The sniper was too damned good to miss both men and the Bombardier. So what was he up to?

The next loud shot was answered by a bone-chilling crack.

Bunny’s eyes dilated. “No!”

Rebecca looked to Brandt, whose head whipped to the right.

“What’s going on?” she asked as the sniper fired again, and another crack filled the air. Then, reluctantly Rebecca figured it out.

Farther up the steep slope, a huge sheet of snow slid down the hill, putting pressure on the other loose snow, dislodging it. At first the snow’s movement was slow, almost like a lazy yoga move, but with each passing moment the snow slide rapidly developed into a full-on avalanche.

“Get in!” Brandt yelled to Lopez and Davidson, throwing the passenger side door open. Davidson, being the closest, maneuvered his shield over. Brandt grabbed him by the back of the jacket and hauled the younger man inside.

Lopez though was much farther away. “Go!” he yelled, waving them off. “To the trees!”

Rebecca followed Lopez’s finger. A stand of pines wasn’t far off. That might be able to break the avalanche’s momentum.

Brandt looked like he wanted to argue with the corporal, however Lopez had already turned to the right, increasing the distance between them. The sergeant turned to Harvish and said, “Floor it.”

Beneath her feet, Rebecca could feel the Bombardier’s engines rev, but the thing had been put through snowmobile hell. It strained, you could hear it in every cycle of the pistons, however they didn’t go any faster. The rogue snow picked up speed, filling the air with the sound of a brewing storm. At first a quiet whooshing that built to a menacing rumble that reached a crescendo.

That sonic quake more than anything told Rebecca they’d never make it to the trees in time.

Davidson watched in silent horror as the avalanche advanced on Lopez. He should have stayed out there with him. The snow tumbled upon itself, building force and speed. Just as it was about to overtake Lopez, the Bombardier’s engines kicked in.

The vehicle surged forward, clearing the trees. The sound of branches torn from their trunks reverberated. The snow chewed through the small patch of forest more efficiently than a buzz saw, but not so efficient that it could catch them.

Harvish gunned the engine, getting them around the edge of the trees and back toward Lopez. Davidson searched the area as the avalanche poured down the slope not a few feet from them.

Then a whoop filled the air as Lopez crested the roiling snow. He held his leather strap in one hand and held his other high above his head. “Avalanche riding!” he yelled as he streaked past them. “Tell me when my eight seconds are up!”

Davidson didn’t want to tell him, but the only way he was able to stay upright was that the avalanche was losing steam. The slope had leveled out, presenting less downward trajectory for the snow.

They had dodged not just a bullet, but a snowy death as well.

Then another shot rang out.

No.

The snow, which had seemed content to stop its descent, shifted again.

Another shot hit halfway up the mountainside, dislodging a large drift of fresh snow. It let loose almost with glee, barreling down the slope. This avalanche’s sheer volume crushed the trees, leveling them within moments, leaving nothing between its fury and the Bombardier.

Brandt didn’t get pissed off at God for much, but seriously. Two avalanches? He could only pray that the thick metal of the vehicle could take the brunt of the blow. They were fresh out of tricks.

Lopez veered off to the right, dropping out of sight. Whether taken by the avalanche or performing some stunt, Brandt wasn’t sure.

Then the first wall of snow hit them, picking the back of the Bombardier up and forcing them onto their front struts. Only there weren’t two struts, so the force of snow crashed them over onto their right side, then flipped them end over end.

The front windshield, already riddled with bullet holes, shattered. Talli was thrown free. Harvish wasn’t far behind as the backseat’s bolts sheared off, slamming the seat through the dented metal of the Bombardier’s roof. Inside was no longer the safer option.

“Evac!” Brandt said, grabbing Rebecca’s elbow. Davidson urged Bunny to the other side of the vehicle. As the metal ripped open revealing a pinkish sky, they got the hell out of there.

Outside wasn’t much better as the snow tumbled and pushed. Brandt found his feet and headed perpendicular to the flow. Just like a riptide, an avalanche was only powerful if you were in its path. He could see a rocky overhang ahead. Not far. They could make it.

They had to make it.

Then Rebecca’s legs were knocked out from under her as she fell to one knee. They didn’t have time for her to gain her feet. Brandt gripped her wrist hard enough it probably felt like he was going to break it as he dragged her behind him.

It was only a few more feet.

Then another loud crack pierced the air.

This time it wasn’t a wall of snow coming, it was a steamroller aiming straight for them.

Okay.

Officially, the fucking plan had come unstuck.

Aunush watched through her binoculars as somehow the weak researcher finally got up and ran alongside Brandt. They sought the shelter of those rocks, but the torrent of snow the sniper had created in a directed avalanche overwhelmed them both.

With eager anticipation she watched as tons of snow poured over their location. Sweeping to the east, the others of his team were in similar dire situations. The only one who seemed to come out of the multistaged avalanche was the corporal. He was still riding high upon his shield.

She went back to Brandt and Monroe’s position. They were the only ones who mattered. Aunush needed to be certain that she had truly cut off the head of the snake. Without the researcher they would not have the historical acumen to follow any path Nikolay might have set them upon. And without Brandt they would not have the might to see the mission through.

The avalanche slowed and then finally stopped. A ringing silence filled the air. Not a bird chirped. The wind died down to nothing. As if Nature herself was waiting to see the results of her handiwork. Aunush scanned the area where the jutting rocks used to be. They were so buried that she could not even know exactly where they lay. All the better.

Let it be an unmarked grave.

“We must go down and finish them off,” the wei insisted.

Aunush checked the perfectly smooth snowfield. Not a sign of movement.

“And how exactly do you plan to dig through thirty feet of snow?” she asked, cocking her head. “Especially when the others are still at large?”

The man’s cheeks blazed red. Or was that from the cuts and scratches that covered his face? “I am done listening to your—”

The wei never finished his thought since he no longer had a mouth. A sniper shot from this close? The man was lucky to still have his head. As the wei’s body crumpled to the ground, Aunush turned to his two remaining men.

“Would anyone else like to object to my leadership?”

Both men promptly shook their heads.

The braver of the two cleared his throat. “What do we do now?”

She was so glad he asked.

“We wait to see if we need to activate our secondary protocol.”

The man looked like he wished to know more, but Aunush only grinned. It was too delicious to share.

Rebecca clung to Brandt as the darkness threatened to consume them. Her ears rang so loudly that it was difficult to know if the avalanche had really stopped or if it was just wishful thinking.

Brandt’s hand moved to his belt as he unhooked his light and turned it on. She went to speak, but he put his finger up to his lips. Right. Sound could set off another avalanche.

He swung the beam around them. The rocks had kept the avalanche from crushing them outright, however even the stone groaned under the snow’s weight. On every other side the snow walled them in. Brandt put a hand against the white barrier, but it didn’t give at all.

She gulped back panic. They were alive. They had oxygen. Not a lot though as she looked at their tiny enclosure. Brandt clawed at the snow and got a bit to move, but it piled up at his feet.

He turned to her, sorrow in his eyes as he shook his head. There would be no digging their way out. Given how long the avalanche had sounded overhead, Rebecca could bet there was way more snow above them than they had room to store it.

Brandt put his hands on her shoulders and whispered, “We’ve got to stay calm. Conserve oxygen.”

And heat. Rebecca was already shivering. She noticed that Brandt didn’t promise anything like how soon they would be rescued or how everything was going to be fine. He wasn’t that guy. He wouldn’t lie to keep her spirits up. While she wasn’t well versed in avalanche statistics, she did watch the news. She did know how low the rescue rate was even under the best of circumstances. With dozens upon dozens of workers using heavy equipment. All they had was the other five members of their team, if they had survived the avalanche. And what equipment did they have besides Lopez’s shield?

Wordlessly Brandt sat down against the rock and spread his arms. Rebecca lowered herself beside him, allowing his arms to wrap around her. If they were to die, at the least it would be together.

Davidson dug through the snow, finding a hand. He dug faster, shoveling snow with both hands.

“Hang on,” he reassured as those exposed fingers wiggled. She was alive. Talli joined him as Harvish dropped to his knees and helped despite a ragged, bleeding bullet wound to his shoulder.

Within moments they had her torso uncovered. She wrapped her frigid arms around him as he pulled her from the snowbank. Davidson rubbed her back as she snuggled her head against his neck. Talli threw a blanket over her.

Bunny looked up into Davidson’s eyes. “I think I’m done with the snow.”

Then she leaned in and kissed him. His lips didn’t know how to respond.

“Get a room,” Harvish teased as she pulled away. “Or spread the love, I’m just saying.”

Bunny shook her head before burying it against Davidson’s skin.

Davidson held her stiffly, not really knowing what to do or say.

“Hey!” a shout came from behind, saving him from the awkward moment. Lopez trudged up the slope dragging his shield behind him. “Save a little for the next X Games champion!”

The corporal’s smile fell though as he surveyed their group. “Where’s Rebecca?” he asked. “Brandt?”

Davidson held Bunny closer as he answered. “We have no idea.”

Brandt kept his breathing low and shallow. At such high altitude that was a recipe for blacking out, but he wanted to take in as little oxygen as possible. And give off minimal carbon dioxide. In tight, enclosed spaces like this carbon dioxide poisoning would probably get them before they ran out of oxygen.

Not exactly a pleasant thought.

Rebecca stirred in his arms. She’d fallen asleep after the first hour. The stress and the trauma had taken its toll. He stroked her hair, soothing her restlessness.

God, this was so fucked up. The worst part wasn’t even that they were trapped with little oxygen and even less hope of being rescued. No, it was because while they were physically together, they would die apart.

Even after everything that Brandt had seen, the dark hearts at the center of religious zealots, he still believed with all his heart in Jesus’s promise. He believed in the sanctity of marriage. For him, his vows truly were a covenant with God.

And he had made it with a woman besides Rebecca.

Brandt couldn’t even picture Maria’s face in his mind’s eye. She was a stranger.

His child though? His son? That he could see as clear as day.

Carefully so as not to disturb Rebecca, Brandt flicked back on the flashlight and opened his chest pocket. Tenderly so as not to rip the edge, he took out the picture of Maria’s last sonogram. To be able to see a life before it was even born was practically a miracle in itself. Although they didn’t have long to wait. The baby’s due date was in a few short weeks.

Brandt took in a deep breath. The boy would not grow up a bastard. This marriage without love would provide for the boy even if Brandt died here. The child would get all of the military benefits due. Given Brandt’s line of work, and the frequency with which he found himself in such situations, how could he not give such comfort to his child?

But at what cost to Rebecca?

He tucked a stray blond strand behind her ear. He’d robbed her of her future to secure his son’s.

Like he said, the situation was fucked up.

Rebecca reached out and took the picture from Brandt. The grainy photo showed the most perfect little baby. Brandt’s baby.

“He’s got your chin,” she whispered.

“You think so?”

“No,” she laughed softly. “Not really.” The baby didn’t look a thing like Brandt, but what baby looked like their parents at this age? The child also didn’t look like some kind of brunette bombshell either.

“Rebecca...” Brandt whispered. “I am so sorry.”

She shook her head though as she handed the picture back. “Don’t.”

The child had been theoretical. An intellectual chit in her mind’s machinations. She’d shuffled the weight of the baby against Brandt’s love of her. She’d measured and divided up worth, still not understanding how Brandt had left her.

Now? After seeing that picture? There were no scales in the world or the heavens above that wouldn’t find in favor of the baby.

Tears streamed down her face as she realized that she’d lost Brandt. For good. There was someone, so tiny, so precious, who needed him more than even she. Rebecca looked up into Brandt’s eyes to see him crying as well.

Brandt crying. If that didn’t prove his love for her, despite everything else to the contrary, nothing else would.

“Forgive me,” he breathed out.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, then ducked under his arm. “But we’ve got to stop this.”

“What do you mean? We’re just—”

“We know exactly what we’re doing.” She scooted back from him. “What we have been doing this whole time.”

Brandt looked away.

“You’re married,” Rebecca stated, trying to keep the tears from her voice. “And we’ve been trying to have our cake and eat it too.”

Brandt slowly nodded. All those subtle touches. How not by accident they kept getting paired off. There still was nothing platonic about their relationship. They were like magnets finding their way together no matter what lay between them.

“They can’t find us...” Rebecca almost lost her nerve and dove into his arms, but she had to be strong. They both had to be strong for that little baby in the picture. “They can’t find us dead, arm in arm. In an embrace.”

“Who said anything about dead?” a tinny voice announced.

What the hell?

Brandt swept the light around their tiny hiding spot.

And between two rocks a thin metal tube jutted through the snow.

“Well?” Davidson asked Lopez. “Are they alive?”

“Um, yeah,” the corporal answered. “And having some kind of touchy-feely moment.”

Davidson let out a sigh of relief that started in his soul and flushed away the ache in his heart. Bunny squeezed his hand. “Told ya.”

Her skin glowed in the morning sun, bouncing off the freckles and making her red hair glow like a warm fire. He turned away, unable to take in the sight, totally happy to have the distraction of freeing Rebecca and Brandt.

“Hang tight, you guys,” Lopez spoke into the mic. “Now that we’ve got your four-one-one, we should be down there in a few.”

The corporal pulled out the long piece of metal that had their quasi-communications device attached to it. They’d cobbled the thing together from the Bombardier’s shattered radio. The whole thing had been Talli’s idea. They’d used the broken struts to poke into the snow until they hit rock. From there they’d attached some insta-heat packs to the tip of the strut, melting enough snow to form a mini-tunnel to send down the jury-rigged mic. They couldn’t waste time digging until they knew for sure they’d found the right spot.

Talli and Harvish carried four “shovels” from the Bombardier’s crash site. Basically they’d taken pieces of damaged metal, bent two edges over, and duct-taped them into a functional handle.

Lopez grabbed his with gusto. “First one to break through doesn’t have to write up the after-action report on this one.”

Davidson had never seen men dig so fast.

Brandt tried to focus on what the hell Davidson was saying, but after the forty-eight hours he’d had? No chance. Just getting the hell out of Slovenia hadn’t been a remake of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. It had been Snowshoe, Broken-Down RV, and Stolen Crop Dusters. Not the most efficient extraction, but it had gotten them out of Europe and on their way to the Middle East.

He glanced to the back of the plane where the women were holed up poring over the new fragments of the tablets. So far all indicators pointing to the tablets, and therefore Amed’s storage facility for the Rinderpest, was located in Western Jordan. Rebecca and Bunny were working to narrow down that rather large search area a bit.

For the moment though they were flying to Queen Alia’s International Airport. It was the westernmost airport in Jordan. From there they would head to the Kempinski Ishtar hotel and spa. Not for R & R although they could all use it, but because it was located on the Dead Sea just a few miles off of the route Moses took through the desert to the Promised Land. It was a good enough as any place to start. Plus a nice big sprawling luxury resort like the Kempinski was used to their fair share of strange American tourists.

And his group couldn’t get much stranger.

They all looked like they’d played a game of hockey against the NHL and taken a few sticks to the face.

“Sarge?” Davidson asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” Brandt apologized since he hadn’t heard the last ten sentences Davidson said.

The younger man pointed to the screen of some random laptop they’d acquired in their journey from Slovenia to here. “As I was saying, the Knot...”

Brandt waited, but Davidson’s face screwed up into a grimace, accentuating his tapestry of scars.

“The Knot?” Brandt prompted. The word wanted to stick in Brandt’s craw too, but if Davidson had any information from the organization that had hounded and hunted them down last year, Brandt would take it. He was fucking tired of being blindsided by that Disciple bitch.

Davidson cleared his throat. “During my time with them, I never heard of the Disciples of Moshe, however there were rumors of The Chosen. A group that predated the Knot.” Davidson absently licked where his lip should have been before continuing. “A group that the Knot was actually afraid of, but I’d assumed them to be like the boogeyman, made up to keep members in line.”

Apparently Davidson was grossly mistaken, given the number of bullets that had been fired at them since London. The Chosen were as real and dangerous as the Knot had believed.

“Anything more specific than ‘the Chosen will get you if you don’t eat your spinach’?” Brandt asked.

“My father...I mean Petir,” Davidson corrected.

Brandt felt, just a little, for the kid. He’d been picked up by the Knot after being abandoned by his birth mother at a church in Baltimore. Davidson had never known any other life than that the Knot showed him. How could you not call somebody father after being raised by him for two decades?

“Tok...” Davidson stated and then stalled again.

Now that name, the name of the man who had ordered the execution of Svengurd, that name made Brandt’s jaw clench. Even a year later Brandt could see the startled look on his point man’s face as a bullet made a hole in his forehead.

That same bastard who kidnapped Rebecca had been Davidson’s “brother.” Talk about a fucked-up family tree. The struggle to separate his love for the “brother” from the horrible actions of a religious terrorist was clear on Davidson’s face.

Would Brandt have turned out any differently from the private if he’d been raised by a bunch of fanatics? And not just fanatics, but fanatics descended from a millennia-old cult? That was some serious baggage.

“He did what?” Brandt asked, avoiding speaking the bastard’s name. He couldn’t do that without some serious hostility behind it.

“When we were children, Petir was chiding Tok for something,” Davidson continued, “invoking the Chosen, but Tok challenged him. Demanded that Petir prove the Chosen existed.”

“And did he?”

Davidson pointed to the laptop showing a picture of a previous king of Jordan, Abdullah I bin al-Hussein. “Petir told Tok once he crossed to the afterlife, to ask King Abdullah of the Chosen’s power if Tok did not believe him.”

Brandt scanned Abdullah’s biography. The king had been instrumental in helping the British in World War I and had encouraged his Arab neighbors to enter into a peace treaty with Israel. It looked from all accounts that his assassination had been politically motivated to keep that peace accord from ever happening.

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with the Disciples,” Brandt commented.

“Look at the date,” Davidson urged.

July 20, 1951. Besides Hank Williams being a pretty big hit back then, Brandt drew a blank.

Davidson switched the screen to reveal the history of the Dead Seas Scrolls. They were “discovered” between 1947 and 1956. Abdullah’s assassination fell right in the middle of those dates. But it still didn’t make much sense. A lot of things had happened between 1947 and 1956.

“When Tok pressed Petir about Abdullah, he just shrugged and said that one had to have stood by the king’s side to know the truth.”

“I’m lost,” Brandt admitted.

Before Davidson could answer, Lopez came over the intercom. “If everyone could please take their seats, we will be landing shortly.” Brandt turned back to the private, but the corporal wasn’t done. “And to make sure that I have the same landing difficulty as in Slovenia, I will be placing a blindfold.”

“Lopez,” Brandt growled.

“Fine. I will only close one eye. So buckle up.”

Brandt complied, indicating for Davidson to do the same. Whatever point the kid was trying to make, they would find out at the hotel. If they made it that far as the plane bucked and bounced on the landing.

Rebecca let the last rays of the sun bake down on her skin. The Dead Sea lay before them, twinkling a dark blue. The shoreline was encrusted with bright white salt. A tourist floated in the water, buoyed by the sea’s high salt content. Hence why the sea was “dead.” Very little if anything could grow in its briny waters. Across the calm sea lay Israel. If only relations between the Arab world and the Jewish nation could be so tranquil.

The hotel’s grounds included over a half mile of shoreline. Besides direct access to the beach, their private courtyard featured palm trees and their very own pool in case you wanted to take a dip without getting your hair salted. Not that any of them were going swimming anytime soon.

Although it was a slightly different experience developing a plan of attack while lying on a chaise lounge chair...with over-stuffed pillows. Rebecca could get used to it. And Bunny? Bunny didn’t seem inclined to leave their private villa anytime soon. The girl clearly needed the cold chased from her bones.

“Back it up,” Brandt asked Davidson. “I still don’t see what the assassination of Abdullah has to do with Amed’s cave.”

Davidson had tried to explain several times now his concerns, but it wasn’t until Rebecca got Wi-Fiaccess to read the files herself that she understood.

“May I?” Rebecca asked Davidson, who seemed more than happy to turn over the floor to her. “I think that Petir was implying that the Disciples killed Abdullah or at least manipulated the killer.”

“But why?” Brandt asked. “I thought it was about sabotaging the peace process.”

“Yes,” Rebecca answered, “that is the official story, but if Petir thought it was the Disciples, I am inclined to believe him.”

Brandt got up from his lounge chair and paced. “That still doesn’t explain why.”

“It comes down to the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Rebecca explained. “They were unearthed during the same time period.”

“People,” Brandt pleaded, “connect the dots. I need a location to hit.”

Rebecca brought up a map of the Dead Sea. Long and thin, the sea not only currently provided a long border for Israel and Jordan, but historically it created a natural boundary for many other ancient civilizations. Not that Brandt would care much about that. He would care though that the Dead Sea had been a major obstacle to Moses finding the Promised Land.

“The Dead Sea Scrolls were found a few miles inland from the Dead Sea at an ancient Jewish settlement called Khirbet Qumran between 1947 and 1956.”

“Then why aren’t we looking over there?” Brandt demanded. Although he definitely kept to the other side of the courtyard. They hadn’t been closer than a few feet since they left Slovenia. Each keeping up their side of the “you are a married man” bargain.

“Wait for it,” she chided, trying to overcome the awkward distance between them. He did not seem amused. “The Dead Sea Scrolls were written far after the time frame we are looking at. They were written once the Jews found the Promised Land. We need to be searching on this side of the Dead Sea because Moses more than likely would have wanted to hide the tablets before they got to the Promised Land.”

“I’m still waiting,” Brandt grumbled.

“Fine,” Rebecca sighed. She usually like to give a thorough historical primer before getting to the meaty stuff, but with Brandt’s vein at his neck nearly bounding out of his skin, now was not the time. “Did you know that one of the first Dead Sea scrolls discovered was called the Manual of the Disciples?”

“What?” Brandt said as every head turned her way. Even Bunny sat up in her chair.

“That’s right. It was later renamed the Community Scroll, however it is the only scroll known to have been altered from its original state,” Rebecca explained. “It was either cut in half, stolen, or burned, depending on which account you want to believe.”

Slightly more patient, Brandt worked out the history. “So you are saying that within the Dead Sea Scrolls there was a section concerning the Disciples?” Off her nod he asked, “And Abdullah was connected to this how?”

“He was a scholar, deeply invested in bringing his and even his neighbors’ history to light. In the convoluted history of the scrolls, it is even rumored that King Abdullah made a bid for them.” Rebecca looked up to find Brandt watching her. “As did the Syrian Orthodox Church. Which I don’t think that is coincidental.”

The sergeant ground his teeth. “But how does this help us find the cave?”

“Let’s fast-forward,” Rebecca said as she brought up another web page.

“Yes, let’s,” Brandt encouraged.

She noticed that Lopez, Harvish, and Davidson had pulled their chairs closer. Talli probably would have too except he was out, sitting on the top of the hotel’s tall tower, keeping them safe.

“Jordan had possession of the scrolls for a year between 1966 and the Six-Day War in 1967 when the Israelis took over the Jordanian museum. Ever since then, Jordan has claimed that Israel has not been displaying the entire scrolls. They have even petitioned the UN to get the completed scrolls back.”

“Great, and I really don’t mean to be a broken record here, but how does that get us closer to the Rinderpest?”

Rebecca typed in a few more commands to bring up an old newspaper article from the 1960s. “Because shortly after the Six-Day War, Abdullah’s grandson closed down an archeological dig on the east bank of the Dead Sea, sealing it, forbidding any to dig there again.”

“So we need to go to that site?” Brandt’s voice was filled with enthusiasm.

“No, of course not,” Rebecca said shaking her head. This is what happened when he hurried her. “Bunny, show him the passage we translated from the new fragments.”

The young woman read from her pages of translations. For someone from a younger generation, Bunny liked her handwritten notes. “The passage of most interest is this one...‘Yea shall you wander. Yea shall you seek. Though it is through God’s work yea shall not enter the Promised Land.’” Bunny stopped to look to the men. “If these truly are fragments of the Ten Commandments, God is foretelling Moses’s transgression in pulling water from a rock, thereby angering God and forbidding Moses to enter the Promised Land.”

“Got it,” Brandt said. “Numbers twenty, verse eight.”

Bunny looked up at the sergeant, surprised by his biblical knowledge. Rebecca, though, knew from experience his strong Catholic upbringing. However, his focus was on the story of Christ. Still, he could pull out some arcane knowledge when he needed to.

“Yes, along with twenty-eleven and twenty-twelve,” Bunny confirmed. “However, this passage goes further than the biblical description. ‘Neither shall the tablets upon My finger that has touched, know milk and honey. They too are not for the Chosen but for the sea and the ages and the stretch of time.’”

“And this is helpful how?” Brandt asked, although not quite as terse as before.

Bunny just continued to read from the passage. “Moses shall lay to rest upon a great Mount so that he, although forbidden to enter, may eternally look down upon the Promised Land and set guard upon the Decalogue. To the place where no fisherman may fish. No hunter may hunt. A place so desolate that no man may stumble upon the shores.”

“Clearly God wasn’t aware of the Dead Sea’s ability to attract tourists,” Harvish stated.

Brandt shot a look to his point man. The look that said “the adults are talking now.”

He turned to Rebecca, itching to get going. Sitting, or pacing, around a tranquil, clay-tiled courtyard frayed his nerves. Every moment they weren’t actively searching for the Rinderpest was a moment it could be released.

“Don’t those passages just confirm what we already figured?” Brandt asked. “The tablets were buried somewhere on the east shore of the Dead Sea.”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, not if we put everything we know together.” She looked to him to make sure he wasn’t going to cut her off. Trying to give her the leeway to sum this puppy up, Brandt leaned up against one of the lion fountains and crossed his arms. After all, he didn’t want to give her the perception she could take forever.

“First,” Rebecca said, “we now have a stationary point to start from. Mount Nebo.”

“Where Moses was buried?” Brandt clarified. “But it’s got a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the entire Holy Land.”

“Yes, however, upon the western side there is a significant crest that would block the Promised Land, so we can assume he was buried on the northern face.” She brought up a map of Jordan. She read out all areas to the south and east. It left a rather wide slice of the country. Rebecca though cut that area nearly by three quarters, eliminating everything north of the sea. “The passage makes it clear that Moses’s resting place had to be within sightline of both the Promised Land and the Dead Sea.”

That still left miles of coastline, but Brandt didn’t press her. Once the woman got a map out, she was usually pretty damned specific about it.

“Then we add in Abdullah’s dig sites,” Rebecca stated as dozens of areas popped up. “Now look to where Abdullah did not dig.”

There was a small corner of the country, right at the tip of the Dead Sea that held no sites. Not a one. Even to Brandt that seemed weird. The Holy Land was a patchwork of archeological digs. To have an entire area that large without one had to be purposeful.

“So you think Abdullah knew where the tablets were and didn’t allow anyone to dig there?”

“No,” Rebecca said. Sounding awfully chipper for a woman who kept shooting down every one of his theories. If they hadn’t agreed to keep a polite distance between them, he would have given her an “encouraging” hit to the arm. “We think he somehow obtained the Disciple scroll, and based on information from the papyruses, just as we are gathering information from the tablets, he conducted secret, government digs in the area.”

“And you deduced this how?” Brandt asked, smelling genius on the horizon.

Rebecca cocked her head, that knowing grin on her face. She pointed to an area right at the border between Jordan and Israel. “A rather funny place to put a Da’irat al-Mukhabarat al-’Ammah outpost, don’t you think?”

Why yes, it would be odd to put a Jordanian General Intelligence Department outpost way out there. The secret police usually hid their headquarters in populated areas. Not way out on the edge of the Dead Sea.

“And the only photo we could find of this outpost,” Rebecca said, calling it up on her screen, “shows that it was primarily built underground.”

The hairs on Brandt’s arm stood up. The place was perfect for Amed. This supposed “outpost” would have power to run the refrigeration units the Rinderpest would need and provide great security. No one but no one in Jordan would think to disturb a General Intelligence Department office. And those within Jordan’s secret police would be the most likely to help a radical terrorist like Amed.

He looked at Rebecca. “You really couldn’t have just led with this?”

“Nope,” she answered with a warm grin that cooled rapidly until she ultimately looked away. Brandt missed the radiance of that smile, which was probably best.

Time to punch the fucking clock.

Rebecca looked out the window as the Renault Kangoo, possibly the worst-named SUV in the world, drove through the darkened streets of Jordan. Tan building after tan building passed by. While she didn’t speak Arabic, the shops were pretty clear. Clothes, grocery, photographers. Like so many other third-world countries, the paint was flaking off the buildings and the windows were smudged, some even broken. That oil money didn’t necessarily make it all the way downstream to the populace.

The low, tired buildings stood in stark contrast to the opulence of the resort. It was hard to reconcile the two could exist in the same country. Here on the outskirts of town, dust choked the air and the dry air threatened to split your skin. They passed the last billboard, a drink advertisement with a woman in a burka. Again, so different from the resort that had predominately English signage and directions.

As soon as they were outside the town proper, Lopez made a left off the paved road and headed out into the desert. Rocks popped and crunched under the wheels. Did the sound bother Rebecca so much because it sounded like distant gunfire, or was it just really, really annoying? It couldn’t be helped though.

Once far enough out into the desert Lopez turned the headlights off, driving by wan moonlight and GPS. Luckily there wasn’t much more than desert and more desert this far west.

Civilization had died away with the freeway. They passed a sign stating that they were trespassing on Jordanian government land. Talli informed them it also held a warning that anyone crossing into the area could be shot on sight.

So what was new?

The Dead Sea glistened under the waxing moon’s rays. So sedate. So blasé about the danger to the world. But then again, to the ancient sea what was a Rinderpest plague? How much history had that hypersaline body of water witnessed? How many deaths? How many births? Had those molecules of water witnessed Joshua burying the tablets along its shore?

Soon the loud popping turned to a softer, grittier noise. She looked out the window. They were now traveling over the salt-encrusted shoreline. Lopez arced them north to follow the sea.

When they’d first gotten in the SUV, Rebecca had wanted go over the dense history of the region, but Brandt had waved her off. His only words, “The die is cast.”

So now everyone sat silent. None was under the impression this was going to be easy. Somehow the Disciples had tracked them from Russia to Slovenia. Everyone expected them to show up, as a matter of fact.

“Is that it up ahead?” Lopez asked, leaning over the wheel, squinting as he took his foot off the gas.

Through the dim light, Rebecca could make out a set of one-story buildings. Or was that just wishful thinking? Then a cloud passed over the moon. Once the light returned, it glimmered off a small placard next to the door.

“General Intelligence Department. Office number five eighteen,” Talli translated.

The SUV rolled to a stop.

“Guess this is it...” Bunny stated into the silence. Not even Brandt moved to open his door.

“I don’t like it,” Harvish said. Sure the place looked deserted, but that didn’t mean there weren’t either a platoon of Jordanian soldiers under the outpost or a contingent of Disciples just waiting to pick them off.

“No shit,” Brandt snorted. However, the exchange did seem to invigorate the sergeant as he opened his door. “The only person who would like this situation would be a fucking lunatic.”

Ah, Brandt and his inspirational speeches.

Rebecca went to get out, but Brandt blocked the door from swinging open.

“Not this time,” Brandt stated not all that kindly. “You, Bunny, and Davidson will stay put along with Lopez as driver.” A chorus of protests rang through the car. Brandt just held up a hand though. “And that is final.”

“At least let me get out of the car so we can discuss—”

“Nope,” Brandt cut in. “There could be open Rinderpest in there plus who knows what else. It is just Harvish, Talli, and me. Period.” He gave a hard look to Lopez, who shut his mouth mid-word, then to Davidson, who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Sounds good to me,” Bunny said, leaning farther back in her seat. “I am in no rush to see what’s down there. I’m perfectly happy translating from the car.”

Really? So much for the sisterhood and all.

Perhaps the younger woman and the men could be dissuaded so easily, but Rebecca hadn’t come all this way to be shut out. Besides, Brandt needed her. Needed her knowledge. How far would he have gotten if not for her? And maybe Bunny a little bit, but mainly her.

Brandt must have seen the look on her face as he leaned in. “This isn’t about the tablets anymore, Rebecca. It’s about the Rinderpest. I need you to take a backseat, literally.” He then looked to Davidson. “And I’m sure if someone would like to get back into my good graces, he will make you understand this is the only play at this stage.”

Lopez took his hand off the driver’s door handle. “I’ve got your back.”

“We’ll be here when you return,” Davidson assured Brandt.

Rebecca couldn’t believe Davidson was caving so easily.

“If I find the tablets, I will bring them back,” Brandt reassured Rebecca, then turned to Lopez. “If we aren’t out in five minutes, and I mean three hundred seconds, I want you to head west to Israel. Get in touch with the American consulate and get the hell out of the Middle East ASAP.” Brandt really emphasized his next words. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Fully,” Lopez answered.

Rebecca wanted to reach out, grab Brandt’s hand. What good would it do though? She knew that set to his jaw. That tone in his voice. He would brook not argument. And what case could she make?

She hated it when Brandt was right.

Brandt fell in behind Talli, who fell in behind Harvish. Since there was absolutely no vantage point besides the squat outbuildings for about twenty miles, there was no sense in Talli sitting out of the insertion. Besides, they had Davidson on the perimeter. Which unfortunately made Brandt feel more secure.

He had to get his head back into the game, though. He had to trust that between Lopez’s speed and Davidson’s accuracy they could keep Rebecca and Bunny safe.

With purposeful speed and accuracy, the men made their way across the short distance to one of the outbuildings. In the wan moonlight, Harvish checked the door’s frame for booby traps.

A curt shake of the point man’s head indicated there weren’t any. Or at least not any that could be found in this underilluminated environment. They just couldn’t risk turning on a light. If there were any assailants inside the building, Brandt would rather keep the element of surprise than not.

Harvish put a hand on the doorknob. It turned easily under his palm. Brandt snapped back, far more worried. Because the GID was really going to leave even an outbuilding to their super-secret outpost unlocked. Right.

Off his nod, Harvish jerked the door open, charging into the building. It was small and boring. Whatever had been stored here had long ago been taken away. It was basically an empty warehouse. They checked the walls and floor just to be sure. They hit the other two smaller buildings to find the same thing. A bit fat nothing.

With slightly more caution they approached the main building. Harvish ran through his checks before the point man swept into the room. Talli came next, taking the left as Brandt swept in, clearing the right side of the room. Still running silent, they didn’t report their findings. Besides running silent there wasn’t much to report. Just a dingy, empty reception area with a cluttered desk and five really uncomfortable-looking steel chairs. Guess the GID wasn’t exactly known for its hospitality.

Behind the desk lay another door. Perhaps that direction would be a bit more promising.

Without hesitation, the point man strode to the exit as Talli shut the outer door. Since they were enclosed, Brandt turned on his gun’s light. Harvish followed suit, carefully checking this new doorframe for any signs of tampering.

Still none. Harvish turned the knob, also unlocked.

They were so screwed.

Unfortunately, they only had one direction to go. Forward.

They burst into the next room to find it equally boring. It appeared to be some kind of intake room. A table stood in the center with a chair on either side. If the reception room had been shabby, this room hadn’t been painted in thirty years. Under the layer of peeling dirt, brown paint showed shades of blue and green. Beyond a picture of King Abdullah I, the room was devoid of any other adornment or comfort.

The GID must really have taken their training by the KBG to heart.

They went through the sole exit door with similar results. Only this time they found a poorly stocked kitchen and break room with a fifties-style television. Swiftly they moved through several other rooms. Each the same. Standard-issue military bare essentials. This latest room had bunk beds practically stacked upon themselves. Berths for at least ten men. Which if they rotated through three shifts could mean that the facility could sustain thirty men.

But where were they?

“Um, Sarge?” Harvish said, breaking their silent entry.

Why the hell not? There didn’t appear to be anyone to hear them. “Yes?”

“There’s no door out of here.”

Brandt double-checked his point man, running his hands along the walls to check for hidden exits, but Harvish was correct. They’d hit a dead end.

“Then where’s the entrance to the underground levels?” Talli asked.

Hell if Brandt knew.

Rebecca stared at the facility’s door so hard that she truly feared she would blind herself. She was even afraid to blink in case she missed Brandt’s return.

“One hundred seconds,” Davidson reported.

Only two hundred more to go before the corporal’s orders were to get them as far away from here as possible.

“Lopez,” Rebecca asked, “can’t we take a cruise around the place?”

While Lopez looked tempted, he shook his head. “Sarge said to stay put.”

“No,” Rebecca corrected him. “He said to stay in the car.”

“She’s right,” Davidson piped up.

Lopez’s frown deepened. “I don’t think that was the spirit of the order.”

“And since when are you this enslaved to the rules?” Rebecca challenged Lopez.

“Like, never,” the corporal answered, turning on the car. The car rolled forward slowly, making an arc around the squat facility.

Bunny leaned forward next to Rebecca. “What are we looking for though?”

Rebecca was about to answer that she had no idea when Davidson piped up. “A grate of some sort. If the main building has a lower level, they had to provide ventilation, and given the fact that the place looks like it was built in the fifties, they had to vent to the outside.”

“All right then,” Lopez said. “Davidson, you and Bunny check the right side. Rebecca, you and I are on the left.”

Opening her eyes as wide as they would go, Rebecca tried to use every ounce of illumination to study the desert as the SUV slowly rolled forward. But all Rebecca could make out were a bunch of rocks and clumps of salt. Nothing man-made. Nothing to indicate another possible way into the structure.

Then the front tire clanged against something, which was followed shortly by an answering clang from the rear tire. Lopez smiled as he stopped the SUV and backed it up. Rebecca tucked her leg under her to lift herself high enough to see over the hood to the dark metal grate in the desert floor.

“Now what?” Bunny asked.

Rebecca didn’t have to wait for Davidson to pull his pack out and start molding a C-4 charge. Whether to breach into the facility or to create an escape hatch, they were going to blow that grate.

“But we only have like another hundred seconds,” Bunny protested.

Lopez though, he just grinned. “Darlin’, a lot can happen in a hundred seconds.”

And Rebecca knew he wasn’t kidding.

Brandt cursed under his breath as they backtracked through the whole damned building. But no matter his foul language, the structure refused to give up the entrance to the underground portion of the outpost.

He glanced to his watch. Ninety seconds. Did he give up the search, admit defeat, and bug out with the rest of the team? Or did he let the time expire and tear this place apart, one crumbling wooden beam at a time?

“Maybe we’re looking at this wrong?” Talli suggested.

“I don’t doubt it,” Brandt grumbled. They were missing something. And it was far bigger than just where a door was hidden.

“If you were the architect of a subterranean base, where would you put the entrance?”

“Depends,” Harvish asked. “Do I want the men stationed here to know where it’s at, or is it for higher up the food chain?”

“But was this place really used? I mean, sure it looks good, almost too good,” Talli suggested.

Brandt swept his light across the kitchen. It was pretty damned clean. No trash. No dirty dishes. You put thirty men in a space this small and it was going to get messy.

“And where’s the head?” Talli asked. “The showers?”

His man was right. All the other “necessities” were covered, with one important exception. An outpost has got to have a toilet.

“So this is all for show, like a model home,” Brandt concluded. “While all the real work happened downstairs.”

“Where does that get us though?” Harvish asked.

Brandt looked to Talli. The man shrugged. “I think the entrance would be the entrance then, right?”

Without another word they moved to the reception area, however it was equally unhelpful as before. They tossed chairs, the desk, even a map of Jordan, but nothing.

“Fuck!” Brandt shouted with less than sixty seconds to go, slamming the heel of his hand against the wall. Wait. Did that sound hollow? He knocked along the wall. Sure enough a large portion of it sounded hollow.

Harvish did the same along the intake room’s wall. They mapped out a large hollow area hidden behind the walls.

“These rooms aren’t the right size,” Talli said. Sure enough there was a good four-by-four-foot space taken up by these false walls.

Brandt hauled back and kicked at the area. Drywall splintered. He kicked again, getting his foot caught in the debris. Yanking his leg back, he pulled out a whole section of the wall, only there was no staircase. There was an elevator.

“The gate is on this side,” said Talli, exhibiting some actual enthusiasm as he hit the reception wall with the butt of his rifle.

Within seconds they had the false wall out of the way, which it turned out looked like it just needed to be pushed in to open. Oh well, it felt good to knock something around. Harvish lifted the elevator’s latch and rattled the metal lattice open.

Brandt looked to the front door and then to his watch. Forty-five seconds. They could never go down, survey the underground structure, and make it back in time.

“Sarge?” Talli asked as the two men stood in the elevator, waiting on his go order.

His gut ached at the thought of the others driving away, but perhaps it was best.

Now the die was truly cast.

Davidson shoved the blasting cap into the wedge of C-4, then stuck the mini-bomb against the metal grating. This was the third such explosive they’d placed and the farthest away from the building. The underground portion of the complex sprawled out under the desert. And possibly even extended under the Dead Sea. One of those ventilation shafts had been pretty damned close to the shore.

“Twenty,” Bunny announced. As in seconds.

He ignored her as he secured the bomb in place. Even if they had to evac, that didn’t mean they couldn’t help Brandt. He’d set the charges with a remote trigger that he could blow up to five miles away.

“Ten,” Bunny counted down. “Nine. Eight.”

“We aren’t really going to leave are we?” Rebecca asked as Bunny’s tone became more and more ominous.

“Five. Four. Three. Two,” she said, frowning. “One.”

Everyone looked to Lopez. The question clear on their faces. Was he going to obey Brandt or go against a direct order?

“What?” the corporal asked.

“Well?” Rebecca pressed. “Are we going?”

“Going where?” Lopez asked.

“Brandt ordered us to leave if he didn’t come out of there in three hundred seconds,” Davidson reminded the corporal.

“Oh that,” Lopez said. “I haven’t even started counting yet.”

Rebecca flew from the backseat and wrapped her arms around Lopez’s neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Sometimes you’re all right, Ricky.”

“Just all right?” Lopez said, starting the car again. “I’m like all awesomeness, all the time.”

Davidson couldn’t help but grin despite the fact it sent a sharp pain up the side of his face only to settle as a throb in his temple. He looked to Bunny, who didn’t seem quite as pleased. Reaching out, Davidson took her hand.

“This’ll be over soon,” he tried to reassure her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bunny answered.

There was no arguing with that.

You know how people said they were digging a tunnel to China? Yeah, the Jordanians took them literally. They’d long passed the drop-dead time to get back to the car. Lopez should be speeding away by now. Which was just as well. The damned elevator rattled and whined, coming to a near stop and then sputtering again.

Perhaps the GID thought they could make any enemy frustrated enough before they got to the actual underground base they could get the jump on them. Finally the elevator bounced to a stop, a final stop. Harvish opened the lattice door and headed out into a short hallway that ended at a staircase.

Who the fuck builds a staircase at the base of an elevator? Apparently King Abdullah the First. They trotted down the steps and then passed into a long hallway.

They were about halfway down it when Harvish brought his hand up into a fist. Brandt and Talli stopped in their tracks. Was that a pool of light up ahead? Had they reached the actual outpost? The point man brought his two fingers to his eyes and then swept them past Brandt’s line of sight. Harvish then counted off on his fingers. Four. So there were four men up ahead.

Four wasn’t too bad a number. Better than the thirty that could have been there. He’d take four. With a nod Brandt gave the order to enter. They charged ahead, right on each other’s sixes. Four chairs circled a small table.

In Arabic, Talli shouted for the men to get their hands up yet none complied. It didn’t take a brainiac to realize why as Brandt turned one of the chairs around. The men were dead. Way dead. Maybe not as dead as St. Basil, but still pretty damned dead. Not even bodies in the desert would be this mummified in two weeks, so they weren’t victims of Amed.

They were victims of someone though since each had taken several shots to the chest.

“Whoa,” Harvish announced as he looked to the decrepit equipment in the corner. “World War II is calling. It wants its tech back.”

Brandt would have glared at the point man, but he wasn’t wrong. The stuff was Cold War issue at best.

“Might was well try to fire it up,” Brandt said to Talli. The man complied, and shockingly the computer booted up...to display a black screen and a bright green cursor. “Is that DOS?”

Talli tilted his head. “I think it might be its precursor, QDOS,” he said as he typed in a few basic commands. Error upon error message sprang up. Well, if they couldn’t count on the tech, perhaps this antiquated workstation held an actual paper trail.

Brandt tossed the drawers, flipping through file after file as Talli struggled with the computer. Harvish checked the two doors that led from the small office.

“Each leads to a hallway. Each looks like they branch.”

Which was what Brandt was afraid of. Seldom did one build a small underground complex. In his experience, they were usually sprawling. How many acres did this thing stretch? Each and every nook and cranny could hide the Rinderpest.

“I’m pretty sure it’s down that hallway,” Talli stated, pointing to the nearest door.

Brandt glanced to the screen, but it was still filled with blinking green error messages. “And you got that from...?”

Talli indicated to low on the wall where a chunk had been taken out. A line was gouged out of the hall too. And unlike the dead men, that damage had been done recently.

“Looks like someone was in a hurry,” Harvish stated as he touched his finger to a small pool of oil. He rubbed the liquid between his fingers. “I’d say they hit the wall with a hydraulic lift of some sort.”

Could they really be that close to the Rinderpest?

If the pit in his stomach was any indicator, it had better be because his gut was telling him they didn’t have much time left.

And damned if his gut was never wrong.

“Over there!” Bunny yelled, pointing across the SUV to a small glow of light.

Rebecca grabbed hold of the armrest as Lopez gunned them across the desert to the grate in question. She leaned out of the window to peer down at the metal grate. Sure enough, light was coming from deep underground.

“Can I?” Davidson asked as he squeezed in next to her.

They’d already rigged each of the grates with C-4, so what was Davidson up to? Carefully he wrapped string around a lipstick camera. “This is so Mickey Moused, but we might be able to pick something up.”

“We should have brought the endoscope,” Lopez grumbled.

To have a high-tech, flexible, cablelike camera would have been great, however who knew back in London they would be trying to spy beneath the Jordanian desert? Instead, they were just going to have to be content to lower the equivalent of a nanny cam on a string.

Lopez turned on a small palmtop tablet. The image was blurry and showed metal wall after metal wall. The picture jarred only to stabilize. The camera seemed pointed down a horizontal vent.

“Can’t we get some kind of visual?” Bunny asked.

Davidson indicated to the strings in his hand. “I can’t force it to go forward to another opening. The best we can do is track their light signature.” Then Davidson frowned. That was the look of a man about to come up with a great idea. “Let me try to turn it,” Davidson said as he looped the string over his finger and worked the lipstick camera like a puppet and he the master.

Wobbly at first and then with more precision, Davidson gave them a full spin of the vent. It looked like they were at the intersection of four ducts. “I think,” Davidson said, readjusting the camera, “that the light is coming from that direction.”

Which turned out to be straight ahead.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Lopez asked. Davidson promptly reeled the camera back up.

They moved north to the next grate that did not show any light. At least not yet. Davidson lowered the camera, repeating the maneuver.

“Nothing,” Lopez sighed. “Maybe they turned off—”

Then the screen bloomed with light. They still couldn’t actually see anything, but someone was moving down there. And given the swiftness and surety, it was Brandt.

And if he was moving, he was alive.

That thought had to get her through the next three hundred seconds.

Brandt trotted to keep up with Harvish. They’d lost the trail on the marred wall, but the farther they went the more obvious the wheel marks of the hydraulic lift were in the dust. They’d only stopped to check side rooms. Except for the occasional dead body, they were clear.

Whatever the Jordanians were doing here, their job had been done decades ago. Had they given up looking for the tablets? Or had that never been their purpose here? This close to the Israeli border, maybe this really was just a GID outpost.

And strangely the hallways seemed to angle back up toward the surface. Who spent all the time and money to build a deep underground structure and then have it rise back to the surface? But not a lot about this complex made a whole bunch of sense.

As long as they found the damned Rinderpest intact, Brandt wouldn’t care.

Harvish made a left, sweeping his light over the floor, following the relatively fresh wheel marks. Guess Amed didn’t expect anyone to track him this far. And with good reason. They’d had to traipse all over London, Russia, Slovenia, and Jordan to find it.

Suddenly Harvish shut off his light and pulled to a full stop. Brandt and Talli followed suit. As soon as their lights were doused it became obvious why Harvish had halted them.

A dim light streamed out of the room ahead. Brandt cocked his head trying to hear anything beyond his breath but came up empty. He put his hand on Talli’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Talli then put his hand on Harvish’s shoulder.

They were in attack formation.

Now to attack.

“Where did they go?” Rebecca asked in Davidson’s ear. “Why did they turn off their lights?”

He didn’t know the exact answer to either question, but Davidson could bet it wasn’t good. Brandt would only have turned on their lights if he felt they were alone and safe. Which meant Brandt no longer felt they were alone or safe down there.

Not good. Not good at all.

“We’ve got to figure out how to help them,” Rebecca said, clearly already walking her own questions forward.

How though? He was twirling that lipstick camera around like a ballerina from a jewelry box and had squat.

“Turn it off,” Bunny hissed beside Lopez.

The corporal switched the device off, plunging them back into darkness. The moon was covered by clouds, cutting off their only source of illumination. They all sat still for a few breaths. But no reason for Bunny’s panic showed itself.

“Bunny, what—”

“There,” she hissed, pointing toward the sky.

Davidson had to squint to make out a plane, flying without it running lights, swooping in low over the desert. The rear bay door opened and half a dozen or more figures parachuted out. At such low altitude, it had to be the Disciples, and it looked like they’d gained some fresh recruits. Again.

One of the chutes seemed to be carrying two people. At such low altitude that was extremely dangerous, but then again these were the people who created directional avalanches, so Davidson wouldn’t put anything past them.

The only advantage his team had was that the plane had come in from the east. They might not have seen the SUV since it was partially blocked by the outbuildings. Parachutes floated on the wind as the assailants landed swiftly near the front door of the outpost. Weird. It was as if they knew exactly where they were going.

“Look,” Bunny said, pointing to the south. The headlights of several vehicles raced in their direction. No wonder the parachutists didn’t both to check the compound—they had backup right behind them.

“We’ve got to warn Brandt,” Rebecca whispered.

“Anything we do,” Lopez explained, “is going to leave us vulnerable.”

“Ricky, we’ve got to try,” Rebecca insisted.

The corporal frowned. “Brandt would so not want us to get killed saving his butt.”

How could they warn the sergeant without giving away their position? They had so little equipment. And even if they had a gad of tech, what would it help? They needed to get a message to Brandt and only Brandt.

“What?” Rebecca asked Davidson. He hadn’t even realized an awkward smile had spread across his lips until she called him on it.

“Sometimes low-tech is just what you need.”

Rebecca’s eyebrow arched at him, but he didn’t answer her. Instead he just worked those strings of his.

Brandt swept his gun from left to right and then back, seeking, searching for enemies, however this new room was just as barren as the rest. Well, with the exception of a body. A fresh-ish body. A body that had died within the last ten days. Given that the corpse was dressed in street clothes, more than likely one of Amed’s men.

More proof that the Rinderpest was here. Actually here. Not theoretically here. Not hopefully here, but Amed’s boots had walked across this ground.

The stark, bare-bulbed work light however did not shed where that might be. Then Harvish pulled back a piece of sheet metal to reveal a ragged hole blown in the wall.

Gotcha, fucker.

Amed must have stashed the Rinderpest and then killed his accomplice.

“Did you hear that?” Talli asked.

Brandt cocked an ear. The rush of discovery had taken over his senses. But even with all his attention focused he didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.

“There,” Talli said, moving to the vent. “It’s faint, but it sounds like...”

Then Brandt heard it. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause.

Fucking Morse code. The sequence continued until it finished and then repeated, over and over again.

They are here.

There was no doubt who the “they” were. Also no doubt that his team had disobeyed a direct order and stayed long beyond the three-hundred-second window. He wasn’t quite sure if he should court-martial Lopez or kiss him on the mouth.

“We’re on the clock, people,” Brandt stated, indicating to the hole. Getting the Rinderpest and destroying it was all the more important with the enemy at the gates. He would deal with the “they” later.

Harvish and Talli hustled through the hole.

Brandt followed them into a small chamber that lay just on the other side of the official outpost. This chamber’s walls were covered in salt. Covered. It was like being inside a saltshaker. The floor, the ceiling, everywhere you could see, touch, or smell was crunchy and just a bit acrid.

The only exception to this glistening white oddity was a small refrigerator unit. Through its glass door Brandt could make out four bright yellow vials.

The Rinderpest.

It glowed an otherworldly canary color in the dim light. So much destruction in such a tiny container. Despite their small volume, those vials contained enough bacteria to wipe out an entire continent’s livestock. Enough to throw the world’s economy into a tailspin with chaos, riots, and civil war not far behind.

Just like any villain, though, Rinderpest had its vulnerability. Heat. The bacteria had to be kept chilled until it found a susceptible host. Warmed or worse heated, boiled, Rinderpest was about as harmful as the mold on blue cheese.

“Do it,” Brandt ordered Harvish. The point man pulled out a flare from his belt and then yanked opened the refrigerator door open. Sparking the flare up, Harvish pointed the flame toward the vials.

The brilliant clear yellow rapidly turned a tarnished, turbid brown. Satisfied the bacterium was going down without a fight, Brandt guarded the door as he instructed Talli, “Let the others know that we have joy.”

“Th ey’re taking care of the Rinderpest,” Davidson whispered.

Rebecca breathed out, tears spilling down her cheek. Not only was Brandt safe, he’d found the plague and apparently was destroying it. Now they just needed to get him and the rest of his team out of there safely.

Surprisingly, Rebecca found that her hunger for the tablets evaporated. History for once could stay put in the past.

“Plus he made it pretty dang clear he wants us to get the hell out of here,” Davidson added.

“Which is going to be a little hard to do,” Lopez answered. Those other vehicles were approaching fast. “It would be one against four.”

“We can’t leave him,” Rebecca interjected. The corporal had to come up with a better plan than making a run for it.

Lopez turned to her with a grin. “Like I’ve come this far, I’m not going to see it through?”

Bunny however looked ready to emulate her namesake. “Maybe we should make a run for it and get the authorities out here?” The younger woman glanced to her feet as everyone stared at her.

It wasn’t her fault though. Any reasonable, rational person would think the same thing. The only problem was the car wasn’t filled with any of those besides her.

Rebecca patted Bunny’s knee. “Even if we could, I don’t think the Jordanian authorities would be all that helpful.”

Lopez snorted. “Then we’d just be facing three assault forces.”

Rebecca shot the corporal a look. That was not helping.

“Or maybe we do need to get going?” Davidson stated.

All eyes turned to the young man.

“I think the thing Brandt needs right now more than anything is a distraction. Something to divide their forces.”

Before they could debate what that might look like, a bright light shot up out of the nearby vent along with a jaw-rattling bang.

Thank God he’d replaced the sheet metal before the fucking Disciples tossed a flash bang into the outpost’s storage room. His ears still rang, but at least he wasn’t blinded. It wouldn’t take them long to get through that piece of metal.

“Harvish?”

“Coming along, Sarge,” the point man said. “Think it’s safe?”

Brandt looked over his shoulder. The vials were now the color of untreated sewage. “Do it.”

Even if the Rinderpest wasn’t 100 percent deactivated, they had to finish the job before they were overrun. The risk of exposing themselves to any of the active bacteria paled in comparison if they allowed even a drop of the Rinderpest to leave this facility.

Harvish smashed the vial, splattering the liquid onto the bottom of the refrigerator. He then took the torch to the liquid itself. Boiling the shit out of it. Cremating it out of existence.

“Don’t stop,” Brandt ordered, “until you’ve melted the fucking glass.”

He wanted that Rinderpest gone.

“Talli?” Brandt asked. Now looking forward to their post-Rinderpest lifespan. “Anything?”

“Except for this alcove where I believe the fragments of the tablet were kept, there’s no break in the walls.”

Not exactly what Brandt wanted to hear, but that was kind of the definition of a cave wasn’t it? A chamber with no fucking outlet.

Guess it was time to make a last stand.

Brandt dropped to one knee as another grenade went off it the adjacent room.

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

Davidson ducked his head as a shot bounced off the roof. They’d created a distraction all right. Lopez was driving in and around the buildings like some kind of drunk Pac-Man.

“Turn right.”

The corporal obliged, of course going about ten miles an hour too fast for the turn as they skidded out, their rear bumper hitting the building. Even so, Davidson let off a shot, shattering one of the chase cars’ windshields.

Then they made another sharp left, cutting off the sight.

A shot shattered their rear window. They were damned lucky that it wasn’t the vaulted sniper after them or that bullet would have probably taken one of them down.

Davidson didn’t bother to give Lopez instructions. The corporal turned the wheel hard to the left, slamming on the emergency brake, spinning the SUV in a tight circle. Davidson let the world blur before him. The desert, the building didn’t matter. Only one thing did.

The glint of the man’s watch.

Davidson let loose the shot. As the SUV kept spinning, Davidson didn’t need to look back at the man to know he was down. He’d heard the garbled scream.

Once out of the spin, the SUV leapt forward, speeding between two of the outbuildings and then into the desert only to skid around a right turn and head back to the main building’s entrance.

No other gunmen.

This hadn’t been a large enough distraction. The Disciples hadn’t sent up any reinforcements. Brandt was still facing the full contingent down there.

“We’ve got to create a bigger ruckus,” Davidson said. “Draw them out.”

Lopez looked to the detonator on the seat. Davidson picked it up. They both looked to Rebecca. They shouldn’t of course. She was a civilian, but then again so was he. And this mission was so off-book, it wasn’t even funny.

Rebecca frowned for a moment. Then a fierce grin emerged. The woman in the backseat wasn’t the same woman Davidson had met a year ago in the Amazonian jungle.

The change became her.

“Hell yeah,” Rebecca said. “Let’s blow some stuff up.”

“Enough!” Aunush yelled as the men fired at the metal. She pushed her receiver in hard against her ear. “Say again.”

The transmission was garbled nearly beyond recognition. The man sounded wounded...fatally if she wasn’t mistaken. Somehow the additional guards provided by the master had gotten themselves killed. Just as well. They had seemed tepid at best.

But he was trying to say something else. Something about C-4?

Then she heard it. An explosion. Not huge. A target bomb. The noise sounded like it came from far above. Why would they target the ground level? Then another sounded and another as the walls began to shake.

Were they trying to bring the roof down?

No matter their intent, her prize was just beyond that metal slab.

“We cannot afford any delay,” Aunush hissed, hearing another explosion. This one closer.

The sniper though didn’t fire. Instead, he held up a handful of grenades.

He was right. The time had come to commit fully to God’s grace.

Backing out of the room, Aunush headed for a good fifty feet from the grenades the sniper was planting before stopping. Not that Aunush didn’t trust God, she just found He helped you best if you helped yourself first.

The walls shook all around Brandt. Chunks of salt fell from the ceiling.

So, okay, now it really was just like being in a saltshaker. Large blocks of wall tumbled down, sending shards of the crystalline material flying like shrapnel. Little known fact. Salt was fucking sharp.

And it turned out, not all that strong. The far wall began to crumble. Actually the salt tumbled away to reveal...a passage?

“Go!”

Harvish tossed aside the torch and dove through the opening. Talli crashed through as the ceiling threatened to cave in. Brandt was only halfway across the chamber when an explosion caught him in the back, picking him up, carrying him through the hole, throwing him a good ten meters down the hallway.

The ride was great. The landing not so much.

Shell-shocked and nauseated, Brandt couldn’t resist as Harvish and Talli picked him up by the arms and hauled his ass out of that tunnel as it collapsed around them. They made it out of the decimated passage, stumbling into a huge cavern.

Shaking off his men, Brandt tried to find his feet, but lost them again, dropping down to his knees. Salt stung his palms as he steadied himself. Now was not the time to pass out. Not the time at all. First he had to stop his stomach’s attempt to leap out of his abdomen, and it wouldn’t hurt if it didn’t sound like the National Church Bell Ringing annual competition wasn’t going in inside his skull.

“What the hell?” Harvish stated in an almost reverential tone. Really? The guy had made fun of St. Basil’s tomb.

Then Brandt looked up.

What the hell...was exactly right.

Aunush brushed away the dust as the sniper helped her up.

They’d wanted to blow the damn metal, not the whole facility. She shoved the sniper’s hand away. “What have you done?”

She stalked down the hallway to the storage room. To her surprise it was still intact. The grenades had done their job and taken down the large metal blockade. But what was revealed beyond made her take pause.

Even with all the destruction, the chamber clearly had been a salt cave. Tentatively she stepped over the threshold and into the most hallowed chamber.

“There is still the risk of a complete cave-in,” the Chinese guard warned.

Aunush ignored him. She also ignored the smashed refrigerator with its petty contents. She had eyes only for the small alcove. Stepping over mounds of salt and rubble, she made her way to the resting place of the tablets.

Her hand hovered over the sacred spot. Even though the air was choked with dust and smoke, Aunush sucked in a deep breath.

They had found it. The ark that was no ark.

The house that God had built for his greatest gift to man.

“The Rinderpest is gone,” the Chinese guard snarled. “This has been a waste of time.”

Aunush swung around, pulling her gun in the same motion, shooting the guard in the forehead. As the man dropped, dead before he hit the salt-covered ground, his guards pulled their weapons. She noticed though they did not even attempt to fire as the sniper had a gun on each of them.

She indicated to the far wall where there clearly had been a passage.

“I’d suggest you put down those weapons and start digging.”

The two men looked to each other, then turned over their guns.

Smart men.

Aunush looked past the men to find Nannan at the opening. His eyes sought hers.

“How does it feel to be the first Watcher to actually touch the Words?” she asked.

For the first time since she’d met the pinched-faced man, Nannan smiled.

As he had every right to.

Brandt leaned against the chalky wall still trying to get his bearings.

“You guys are seeing this too, right?” Brandt asked, not sure if the sight before him wasn’t just the result of a major concussion.

But as Talli walked around, slowly spinning in a circle, looking overhead, it became clear this was no mirage.

Above them stood—well, not stood because it was above them. No, what hung above them was a city. A full-on city.

Covered in pristine white salt was an ancient city. If you tilted your head just so, you could make out the city’s wall. The shops, the guard tower, and much farther down the cavern, the palace.

Again though...what the hell?

This was impossible, right? A salt-encrusted statue should not be above your head. And the place reeked of sulfur too. What was up with that?

As much as Brandt tried to dismiss the sight before him he couldn’t. These were no random stalactites. What covered the cavern was man-made. Those were real houses. Real markets. Real people?

He squinted, his vision finally expanding past a pinpoint. Amongst the buildings were people. Or at least the extremely detailed forms of people. Their robes flowed as if they were running down the street. Only they were frozen midstride, coated in salt.

“This is...” Talli’s voice shook and then took on the tone of a prayer. “And He shall turn the city upside down, and rain down on them brimstones hard as baked clay, spread layer on layer, marked from your Lord.”

“I don’t recognize the passage,” Brandt admitted, but with his head throbbing both from the explosion and the sight before him, he probably couldn’t recognize the Lord’s Prayer.

“Because it’s from the Quran,” Talli said in a rush. He turned to Brandt. “This all around us, above us...this is Sodom.”

“That was not me,” Davidson said, again.

Rebecca believed him. That explosion had been like ten thousand times worse than their little C-4 mini-bombs. The sound of crashing walls had filled the desert air. Sand and rocks bounced along the ground, dancing to the tune of the explosion.

Then nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

She scanned the world around them. No light came from any of the vents. They were all dark.

Had Brandt survived? Had Davidson’s bombs detonated the much larger one? Had she doomed Brandt and Harvish and Talli? Had she doomed them all?

“I think we should—” The words weren’t out of Lopez’s mouth when a shot pinged off the hood of the car. The corporal gunned the engine and as usual the SUV responded, leaping forward, but then it came to a stop. A hard stop.

Lopez revved the engine as the SUV finally made it over a hump of some kind. But what kind of hump? Wasn’t this desert flat as a board?

More shots as Rebecca felt the sensation of sinking. Literally sinking, not metaphorically.

“Damn it,” Lopez cursed. “We’re in a sinkhole.”

And with each passing second they were sinking even farther. Far deeper than their four-wheel drive was going to be able to overcome. They couldn’t exactly flee out into the desert, not with a gunman, make that two gunmen, as a shot ricocheted off the shattered rear window.

Davidson held up the remaining block of C-4.

Lopez stopped gunning the car. “Looks like the only direction we can go is down.”

“Oh God, this isn’t happening,” Bunny moaned.

Clutching the younger woman, pulling Bunny farther down into the well of the car, Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut because yes, this really was happening.

Brandt couldn’t have heard right.

Sodom. As in Sodom and Gomorrah. From the Bible. Lot’s wife turning into a pillar of salt and all that.

He’d asked Talli a few times to clarify, but the man had just wandered deeper into the cavern. Harvish too seemed mesmerized, nearly running into a wall because he was looking straight up.

Shaking his head, Brandt forced himself to snap out of it. Sodom or not. A city turned upside down and turned to salt or not, they needed to get the hell out of here. They still had an enemy on their tail. They still had team members topside. They still had to get home.

With the Rinderpest destroyed their first priority was to—

Lashing out, Brandt caught himself on the wall as the cavern shook violently.

“Get down!” he yelled as the other men snapped out of their trance and hit the deck.

A loud crack emanated from above. Rocks and chunks of Sodom fell from the ceiling, crashing all around him. Brandt backed as far as he could until a wall stopped him. He normally wasn’t a Chicken Little, but it didn’t just sound like the world was coming down all around them, it was coming down all around them.

Covering his head, Brandt waited for the inevitable.

Something besides huge pieces of the city fell from overhead, landing with a reverberating boom not a few feet from him. Wan moonlight streaked from above, mottling the dust that clogged the air.

He wiped his hand in front of him trying to clear his vision.

Again it seemed that blow to the head was messing with his mind because he was pretty damned sure there was an SUV in front on him. That was not inevitable.

Then Rebecca’s face popped up in the window.

“Brandt!” she cried. “Look out!”

Rebecca reached a hand out as if she could do anything to save Brandt from the man with the gun.

Luckily, Davidson could.

One shot and the man was no longer a threat. That didn’t stop the other men from coming out of a passage, nor did it stop the men from ground level from shooting down at them.

She popped open the door. “Get in!”

Shots pinged from all sides as everyone with a gun shot at something. Brandt dove into the vehicle as Lopez stepped on the gas. The momentum of their sudden acceleration slammed the door closed behind the sergeant.

“Get ready, Bunny,” Lopez said as he sped straight toward Harvish and Talli.

“Ready for what?” Bunny asked, but then as Lopez swerved to the side, bringing her door right alongside the men, it became obvious.

Bullets pierced the roof as Bunny opened her door and the other two men piled inside. They weren’t even seated when Lopez fishtailed them again, driving deeper and deeper into the cavern system.

“Where are we going?” Brandt asked.

“How would I know?” Lopez asked, never taking his foot off the gas. “I just figured the direction with less bullets was better than the direction with more bullets.”

Next to her Brandt checked his arm, dabbing blood away from a bullet’s trail. “Yeah, good idea.”

“I second that,” Harvish said as Bunny ripped off a part of her sleeve for him to use on the wound on his neck.

The SUV was clearly feeling the punishment of the nearly two-story fall, rattling and creaking as Lopez asked it to accelerate faster than even at its best it wasn’t designed to go.

“Something doesn’t seem weird to you?” Brandt asked Rebecca.

What didn’t seem weird? The brightest idea they had to get away from armed gunmen was to blow a hole in the ground and hope that they landed somewhere safe only to find Brandt and the others about to be attacked.

“Nope, nothing.”

Brandt point up.

Craning her neck, Rebecca looked out of the front window. Wait. Did the ceiling have bas-reliefs? Was it an elaborate work of art? No. This was no scaled-down version of an ancient city. It was an ancient city.

“What the hell?”

Brandt couldn’t help but chuckle. “That is the question of the hour.”

But Rebecca’s mind worked far faster than his or even Talli’s. She reached out and picked a large chunk of salt from his shoulder.

“Sodom,” Rebecca breathed out. “That is Sodom above us.”

“From the Quran,” Bunny added. “The description from the Quran.”

“Of course,” Rebecca answered. “The Quran made mention of the city being turned upside down. Of course, most scholars thought that was metaphorical...”

Even though Rebecca didn’t finish her statement, it was pretty damned clear. Most scholars, of course, were not driving under the city itself. With the exception of the salt being crunched under their tires and the groaning of the engine, the car fell silent as they raced beneath the biblical city.

“I thought Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed in a rain of fire?” Harvish asked.

Rebecca shook her head, preparing to answer, but Davidson beat her to it. “It depends on which passage you read and its interpretation.”

Brandt was well aware of this fact. It was what had set him to study the Bible on his own. His own questions about how could the Bible contradict itself, yet still be the true Word of God? Seldom were you ever afforded the opportunity to see the reality in the flesh.

Or in this case the salt.

Davidson stared up at the wonder above them. Raised by the Knot, he had been exposed to some of the world’s most cherished religious relics. Yet this, this Sodom surpassed nearly it all. Not just in size but in magnitude. This was God’s might incarnate. His power shone in each and every grain of salt.

He’d turned an entire city upside down.

He knew that others would debate that fact. Try to claim this was some kind of re-creation. But there was no doubt in Davidson’s mind. God’s hand was clear. If he had been looking for a sign from the Father above, Davidson was pretty sure he could stop searching.

Then a bullet parted his hair. Ducking down, he swung his vision to the rear window. A speck at the other end of the cavern prepped for another shot. Davidson didn’t need his scope to know that it was the sniper.

Perhaps Davidson shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that God’s message for him was one of mercy. Perhaps God had meant this a warning for all of his wrongdoing with the Knot.

The only thing Davidson knew for sure was that sniper needed to get taken out. Pronto.

Before he could grab his rifle, Lopez yelled, “Window! Up!”

Davidson had absolutely no idea what the corporal meant until he turned around to see where they were headed. An extremely narrow archway lay ahead, and Lopez wasn’t slowing down. Davidson had no idea if the SUV could even make it through the gap, but the side mirrors certainly weren’t.

Hand cranking, Davidson brought the window up just as they hit the pass. Metal screeched against the salty walls as the mirrors snapped off like late autumn branches. They were nearly through the gap when the rear bumper snagged. With a horrendous metallic scream, the bumper was ripped off.

They were free though, and Lopez swerved to the right, out of sight of the sniper.

“That is how you do it!”

“Look out!” Rebecca yelled from the backseat, pointing to an object ahead of them.

But Lopez had no time to brake. They ran straight into...

“A salt donkey?” Lopez asked as granules of salt rained down upon them. “Was that really a salt donkey I just hit?”

Apparently it was. And the farther they got into this cavern the more “objects” were in the way. Lopez swerved and cursed, then swerved again.

“Slow it down,” Brandt instructed.

Even slower the going was still difficult. They passed sodium chloride cows, pack mules, and the worst, people. All encrusted in salt. Then they crested a ridge. Lopez slammed on the brakes. Their SUV stopped at the lip of a valley. A valley with a city tucked within its borders.

“Well then,” Lopez said, leaning his arms against the steering wheel. “Welcome to Gomorrah.”

“Do it!” Aunush yelled to her men above. She could hear the engine roar. What were they waiting for?

The demolished Jeep in front of her was probably why. Their first attempt to get a vehicle down here had ended rather, well, messy. This time they had weighed down the back of the Jeep so it didn’t land nose-first. Or at least that was the hope.

Even through their fear, the men must have sensed how very close they were to the prize. They had found Sodom. It was all around them. The Ten Commandments could not be far behind. And the enemy was ahead of them. That could not be let to stand.

Finally the Jeep’s brake was released and the vehicle sped toward the sinkhole. They must have given it enough acceleration since it hit the slight incline and sailed, airborne for a moment, then fell through the large hole. The rear axle tilted down just as she had predicted, and the Jeep hit the ground hard, but intact.

Her team, so very thinned since convening in Bulgaria, loaded into the Jeep.

They did not have much farther to go. Not as the signal on her screen blinked at a slower and slower rate.

Time to play catch-up.

Rebecca studied the salt figure before her as the SUV made its way slowly through the heart of Gomorrah. Every feature of the woman in front of her was captured perfectly by the grains. Even the tiny crow’s feet at the edge of her eyes stood out. The folds of her dress draped against her leg. The shocked O that her lips formed. No one that day so long ago had expected to be turned to salt.

Stop it, Rebecca rebuked herself. She was a scientist, not a tourist. She did not take things at face value. Her mind searched for a biological reason these cities had been encased in salt. Perhaps the climate? The hypersalinity of the Dead Sea? Scholars had long debated the factual reason for Sodom and Gomorrah’s demise. From famine to earthquakes to plague, each had been floated as the possible cause, but without proof it would be an argument to last the ages.

Now though it got a little tougher to chalk it up to natural disaster. Especially with Sodom upside down. That would take some interesting physics to explain. If they ever could. It would take teams of scientists decades to sort through the findings here.

So preoccupied by the mystery, Rebecca hit her temple against the seat in front of hers as the SUV lurched forward.

“Lopez,” Brandt rumbled, “I said ‘at a crawl.’”

“Wasn’t me, Sarge,” the corporal said as the SUV rolled to a stop. Lopez turned over the ignition several times. The engine knocked loudly yet wouldn’t turn over.

“What’s wrong?” Brandt asked.

Lopez indicated to the hood of the car that was dented and cracked, then to the trail of gasoline they had left behind them. “Take your pick. A jacked-up engine block or the leaking fuel tank.”

“Does it really matter?” Harvish queried, pointing to the clogged city street in front of them. “We’re in the worst phantom traffic jam known to man.”

“Hike out?” Talli asked.

Bunny groaned audibly beside Rebecca. The younger woman might not want to have to walk, but Rebecca was secretly thrilled. To have all of this history around her, yet not be able to get out and investigate? To not see so much in passing, her muscles ached to get out and explore, really explore the cavern.

However, she knew exactly what Brandt would have said to that request. “Hell no,” would have been the politest of the various responses. Now though? Rebecca waited with bated breath for his answer to Talli.

Brandt shifted in his seat, looking behind them and then in front of them. Finally he sighed. “Looks like we’re hoofing it.” He turned to his men. “Pack what you can easily carry, destroy the rest.”

Rebecca’s enthusiasm was slightly dampened as Brandt’s words harshly reminded them all that they were being followed. Hounded, really. And the Disciples could not be taken lightly. Especially not here. If they really were as connected to the days of Moses and beyond, Gomorrah was practically their home court.

Which meant Brandt was going to like what she had to say less than he normally did. As everyone unloaded from the SUV and the other men fulfilled their orders, Rebecca joined Brandt.

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Brandt said before she even opened her mouth.

It didn’t matter though what he wanted to hear. It mattered what needed to be said.

“I think I know where the tablets are hidden.”

“Good for you,” Brandt said, checking the chamber of his sidearm.

Rebecca paused, collecting herself. He did this to rattle her. Throw her off her game. Make it look like she was being demanding or irrational. When really it was him who couldn’t accept their new reality.

“And if I can figure it out, the Disciples can.”

Brandt grinned fiercely. “Which I am counting on.”

So he’d already thought ahead to the Disciples’ end game. However, Rebecca didn’t think he’d thought it all the way through. “I get it,” she said. “You want them to head to the tablets while we head for hopefully a far exit.”

The sergeant nodded as he tucked another gun into the back of his belt. “We may not get another break like this.”

“But then what?” Rebecca asked. “Say your plan works and we get out. The Disciples will still hunt us down.” His eyes flickered to hers. “You know that, Brandt. Even if we don’t uncover the larger secret of the tablets, just finding this place is enough. We are marked.”

“True,” Brandt conceded. He was a big enough man to admit when someone else was spot-on. “But out there we will have the full weight of the American military.” Brandt pointed to the salty city that surrounded them. “In here we’ve only got about five hundred rounds between us. I’ll take my chances with the option that has aircraft carriers.”

He watched as Rebecca’s eyes scanned his face. Brandt made sure he had his don’t-bother-arguing-with-me face on. Unfortunately, she’d never been really great at reading that one since, well, since the day they’d met.

“Please,” she asked. Not demanded or threatened to run off on her own. Damn it. He hated it when she went all reasonable. It made it all the harder to dismiss her.

“It does mean we know exactly where the Disciples are going to be,” Lopez added.

Harvish stepped up as well. “And I’ve got some C-4 with their name on it.”

“That looks like a pretty damn nice perch,” Davidson stated as he pointed to one of the high towers in the middle of the city.

“I can take the far tower and create a kill zone around the SUV,” Talli suggested.

Brandt couldn’t be more pissed off or proud of his men at this point. Everyone was trashed, shot, bruised, cut up, yet each stood ready to stand off against the Disciples. Fortunately their enthusiasm was not the only factor. Brandt’s word was final.

Rebecca must have sensed his mood because she hurried on to say, “I know we’ve got a civilian—”

“A civilian?” Brandt asked. “I’ve got two civilians,” he clarified, indicating to Rebecca and then nodding to Davidson. “And technically a war crimes prisoner...nothing personal.”

“No worries,” Davidson answered, slinging a rifle onto his back.

Rebecca’s cheeks flushed. “I could say I’m leading us out of here and just take us to the hiding spot.”

Now this he liked better. When Rebecca tried to go all calculating on him. “You could,” he said. “But you won’t. You wouldn’t risk our lives like that without our consent. Face it, you’ve got no card to play.”

Those cheeks flared a bright red. Did Rebecca forget how well he knew her? She looked away.

“So when I say we are hoofing it out of here,” Brandt stated firmly, “we are hoofing it out of here.”

He surveyed the group, getting an accepting nod out of each of them. Except for one. “Where’s Bunny?”

Everyone looked around. Davidson checked the SUV, shaking his head.

Bunny was gone.

Fuck.

“Do not even look at me like that,” Rebecca stated. “I had nothing to do with Bunny running off.”

Brandt’s glare lifted. He must have known if Rebecca was going to have anyone run off it would have been her. If she couldn’t even do it, how could she have sent someone else in her stead? And certainly not Bunny.

“I take it if you and the Disciples could find this hiding place, Bunny could as well?” Brandt asked.

Rebecca nodded. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Just someone well versed in ancient Hebrew studies. “Yes. I believe the tablets are at the temple.”

“But the Jews didn’t have formal temples back then,” Davidson corrected. “And certainly not in Gomorrah.”

“No,” Rebecca clarified. “Not a Jewish one. I am talking about the Temple of Moloch, the false god.”

“Why there?” Talli asked. “Why not somewhere significant to the Jewish faith?”

Rebecca reached for her laptop on the backseat to find it gone. Bunny apparently didn’t leave empty-handed.

“You know what, we’ll take out history lesson on the road,” Brandt said, then turned to Rebecca. “Point Harvish in the right direction.”

As they moved out, Rebecca indicated toward the center of Gomorrah. “The temple is that large round building with the statue of the bull god on top of it.”

“Not hard to miss,” Brandt rumbled next to her.

Davidson headed down a side street. “I’ll take up position.”

“We’ll take up position,” Talli said as he trotted off in the opposite direction.

“Great,” Lopez said. “Now we’re got sniper sibling rivalry.” The corporal rolled his eyes. “That’s going to end well.”

Looking ahead to the city frozen in time, Rebecca wasn’t so sure any of this was going to end well.

The sniper slammed on the brakes to their SUV as they came to a narrowing of the cavern. Several side mirrors lay strewn on the ground along with a back bumper. The exit was narrow. Narrower than their Jeep.

Really? The vehicles that survived the drop down to the cavern floor were three inches too wide. Three inches.

“Try it,” Aunush ordered.

Keeping his foot on the brake, the sniper revved the engine and then surged them forward. They slammed into the wall as their tires spun in the salty ground. Rubber burned but they traveled no farther.

“Stop,” Aunush ordered. “We must accept that God wishes us to do this on foot.”

The sniper backed the Jeep up enough to let them through the passage. He led the other men from the cars, scouting the route ahead. They had one lone Chinese soldier left. The man had proven quick, agile, and most importantly obedient. He was the one who had gotten the Jeep down safely, gaining them precious minutes. Minutes that may prove critical in the coming battle.

Aunush allowed the men to move forward out into the next cavern as she spoke with Nannan.

“What lies beyond must be Gomorrah.” She waited for the Watcher of the Word to nod. “And you then know what we must do.”

“Secure the tablets and bring them to the master.”

“No,” Aunush stated. “We secure the tablets but then follow their instruction.” Nannan sucked in a breath, his eyes wide at the implications. Good. Let him be shocked and scandalized. “You know of the prophecy, Nannan.”

Slowly Nannan regained his breath, his features softening as he walked the next few hours forward. “I do.”

“And in all honesty do you believe the master can fulfill it?” Off of the Watcher’s head shake Aunush continued. “Then no one but you and I can walk out of this cavern.”

“What of your sniper?” Nannan asked.

Aunush glanced through the front window. She watched the sniper, crouched, muscles taut, directing the men to spread out. Making certain the way ahead was safe. Safe for her. If anyone would understand her decision it would be him.

“No one.”

“I still don’t get it,” Lopez said. “Why hide the tablets in Gomorrah?”

Brandt wondered the same thing. The difference between the corporal and him? He didn’t care. He just wanted to get in and out. Screw history. Screw the Disciples. He just wanted to see sunlight again. And as hard as it would be, he wanted to see Rebecca walk away from him. At the least she would be alive.

“Lopez, you’ve got to remember that Moses wanted to keep the tablets hidden,” Rebecca explained. “And deep within each of the religions is a warning to avoid, at all costs, the sites of God’s punishment. And Gomorrah was certainly at the top of the blacklist, so what better place to hide the tablets than Gomorrah?”

“True, true,” Lopez agreed. “But why this ancient god’s temple? There must be a million other places to stash it.”

“Ah, but back then the Jewish God and Moloch were in something of a prize fight,” Rebecca answered in that “so excited by history” tone she got. “The Bible calls Moloch out by name half a dozen times, warning and chastising any son of Israel from worshipping him. Many scholars believe the whole ‘thou shalt not have any graven image’ commandment was specifically aimed at Moloch’s worshippers.”

Lopez didn’t seem to be buying it though. “Still, why put one of your religion’s most valuable artifacts in the enemy’s camp?”

“Choosing Moloch’s temple was a bit of pride I think,” Rebecca explained. “Moses basically wanted to establish dominance. A kind of ‘see who won’ kind of thing.”

“Like pissing in the enemy’s pot,” Lopez added.

Brandt shot a look at both of them.

“No disrespect, of course,” Rebecca added. That had been the only way a practicing Catholic like himself and a card-carrying atheist like Rebecca could work. Or should she say, have worked. It was her respect of his faith. While she didn’t share it, she could respect it. Which was more than he could say for Lopez, even though he came from a Catholic family a mile long. To say the corporal was going to have a long session in the confessional booth was an understatement.

“And Bunny is as familiar with this particular temple since it was one of Lochum’s favorite anecdotes during first year Religions of Ancient Times class.”

Brandt ground his teeth. None of this would be happening if he’d just put a damned leash on Bunny.

“Not your fault, Sarge,” Lopez said. However, everything was Brandt’s fault. It said so in the regulations. Lopez wouldn’t let it go though. “Bunny was the least likely out of all of us to rabbit.”

Brandt grunted.

“Oh come on,” Lopez protested. “That was a damned good pun.” The corporal turned to Rebecca. “Right?”

“Ricky...” Rebecca warned.

Before Lopez could retort, the group had to split up to go around three figures. A father, mother, and young girl. A family. They held hands, fleeing down the street until their lives had been struck down.

He didn’t like what that portended for them.

“Got something,” Harvish announced up ahead.

Thankfully Brandt broke from the conversation and joined his point man. Harvish pointed down to a set of steps. Footprints. Small and fresh. Just about Bunny-sized. Rebecca caught up and examined them, then looked up the flight of stairs.

“This is the way.”

Giving the nod, Brandt fell in the back of the group as Harvish led them in Bunny’s footsteps. Not good when the flighty redhead was guiding your path. With a measured pace, they climbed the steps.

Brandt glanced over his shoulder to find a rifle muzzle sticking out of the tower to the right. He turned to the left to find a matching gun out of the tower there. Would they be enough? Would the little “surprises” Lopez had left along their trail?

With the Disciples? Brandt seriously doubted it.

Rebecca carefully placed her foot on the next step. Each time she felt the salt edge give away, Rebecca felt a little queasy. Well, in honesty that wasn’t the only thing that made her stomach churn. Littered on the stairs were prostrate worshippers. With their knees on the steps, they had laid their bodies over the upper steps, their hands clutched in desperation.

Once it had been clear that the city was under attack, its inhabitants had turned to their god, praying for deliverance. They did not find it.

As she mounted the last step, Rebecca found the temple’s courtyard filled with more supplicants. Pulling her eyes from the grim sight, Rebecca sought the high walls of the temple itself. Even now, formed of minerals, you could see the intricate, devotional carvings. And each detailed their god, Moloch, nearly three times the height of a man. Most of the time the Gomorrahian god was represented by a man with a bull’s head. Almost like a minotaur and a devil crossed together.

Farther up, at the top of the temple stood a towering statue representing the god himself. Moloch dominated from his high seat, arms crossed over his chest, glaring down upon his city. An angry god. A vengeful god.

Flames lapped around the base of his statue. No great surprise since fire was another hallmark of Moloch, especially since he demanded that families sacrifice their firstborn to his fire. Rebecca wasn’t all that fond of current organized religions, but at the least there wasn’t institutionalized human sacrifice. According to ancient records, these sacrifices were also considered entertainment. Not even Nero had gone that far.

In many ways, Rebecca could understand why Moses would instruct Joshua to hide the tablets here. To place God’s Word at the heart of this cruel ancient god’s seat of power.

Ahead the temple’s door was ajar with a small pile of salt from the large lock that Bunny must have forced open. Lopez’s grin fell as he raised his weapon. Harvish ducked his head inside quickly and then came back out to report.

“There’s light in there.”

Then Bunny was in there. What had she found?

“Let’s join the party then,” Brandt ordered.

Rebecca watched Harvish slip past the temple door, then Lopez. Her feet stalled though. Brandt stood behind her, not moving. He didn’t hurry her, but nor did he seem all that patient.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked quietly.

Yes, it was.

Looking up at the towering bull god, Rebecca realized that this was actually it. She truly might find the rest of the Ten Commandments within this ancient ruined city. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

After her last adventure in that cave under Rome, her life had become not her own. Fundamentally her world beliefs had shifted. She was not the same woman as before she discovered those secrets.

And here she was at the threshold of another. Her feet balking at taking on another ancient mystery. Yet here it lay. Ripe for the picking.

Never had the old adage been so true.

Be very careful what you wish for.

Brandt entered the temple with more than a little trepidation. Very little had to do with the Disciples surely on their way. It had more to do with sulfur smell in the air. Even without the wretched odor, the place reeked of evil.

From the depictions of their cruel god to infant skeletons fused into the walls of the temple, Brandt wanted nothing to do with this place. It reminded him too much of that Capuchin crypt. Steeped in depravity, nothing good could come of this place.

Harvish stopped and pointed to an interior door cracked open. Artificial light streamed from the inner chamber. That had better be Bunny. Off his signal, Harvish moved into the inner temple and the rest followed swiftly behind.

To Brandt’s surprise, the interior wasn’t a testament to this false god. Instead the place was...trashed. Huge statues of the bull god were shattered nearly beyond recognition. What Brandt could only assume was the sacrificial altar was now nothing more than a pile of salt.

Bunny turned at the sound of their entrance, answering the question they all had. “I found the temple like this.”

Then it must have been Joshua. Even though charged with hiding the tablets in this vile temple didn’t mean he had to like it. Every instance of the false god had been scrubbed from the walls. The shrine completely devoid of Moloch’s influence.

“Are they...?” Rebecca asked as she mounted the dais to join Bunny.

The younger woman moved aside to reveal a pillar of salt. Upon its surface lay the remains of the two tablets.

Tears flooded Brandt’s eyes. He had to blink them back before they spilled out. He’d never felt God’s presence more than standing in this blasted temple. Hidden for millennia, God’s Word was equally true now as it was the day upon the Mount when it had been written.

Taking only a second to indicate to Lopez to watch the door, Brandt stepped up onto the dais, joining the women.

Bunny had already put the fragments from St. Basil’s into the puzzle. Rebecca was busy fitting the stone chunks that Lopez and Davidson had retrieved from the chalet into the pattern.

Once added, the two tablets sat nearly complete, only a few minor chips missing.

The completed tablets were a wonder to behold. And not just for the weight of their history but in their complexity. There were bold passages and then dozens of other, smaller writings surrounding them. Script practically filled the entire surface of the stone. So many more of God’s words than any had imagined before. He hadn’t just given them the Ten Commandments. He’d given them ten upon ten upon ten commandments.

Rebecca’s fingers traced the largest of the passages.

“Be all that read these words know they come from the hand of your God. They are that which is all that has come before, that is now, and will forever be.”

Rebecca pulled her finger back, feeling as if she were eavesdropping on a message not meant for her. Her eyes scanned the rest of the tablet. There appeared to be more writing on the stone than was within the Old Testament. No matter if you believed the words were inscribed by God himself, this was the single most complete contemporaneous document to Moses’s time ever discovered.

She looked over to Brandt, his eyes glazed over in tears. No matter her doubt. He believed. You could see it in his ragged breath and wide open eyes as Brandt tried to take it all in, body and soul.

“There’s more,” Bunny interjected. “Farther down there’s a set of prophecies. I couldn’t quite make them out before, but with the tablet assembled...”

Rebecca’s eyes were drawn back to the pedestal as Bunny read from a passage off to the side that wrapped around to the back of the stone.

“Know I will come into the world. Not as your Lord God but as the Messiah. I shall walk amongst you. Heal you. I shall touch the head of a lion and call a lamb to my side. I shall...”

Bunny’s finger reached the edge of the stone. Rebecca tilted her head and continued the passage. “I shall hear your sins and cure them. I shall come in the form of...”

She reached the bottom of the stone. “We’re going to need to turn it over to read the rest.”

“Okay,” Lopez said, “Then do it.”

Rebecca stepped back though. This was too important to rush. “No, we’ve got to take rubbings of this side, then secure it all together so that we can turn the entire stone over and repeat the process on the other side.”

Sure this was all a bit heady, but science was science. It didn’t matter that they read them now. The contents had to be documented for all of mankind.

“All right,” Brandt said. “Then let’s—”

An explosion sounded from farther out in the city.

Did Rebecca mention how absolutely awful the Disciples’ timing was?

Aunush held the man down as he screamed, flinging himself from side to side. He must have hit a trip wire. His left leg was gone, just gone. That had been a precisely placed bit of C-4. The Chinese soldier tried to place a tourniquet on the stump, but the man flailed, spraying bright red arterial blood across the crisp white walls.

The damage though was the sound of his screams. Those the enemy could pinpoint.

Then a shot blasted next to her, putting a bullet directly between the eyes. The man slumped, quiet at last. Aunush looked up to find her sniper holstering his sidearm. At least someone was thinking.

“What are you waiting for?” Aunush snapped to the other men as she wiped the blood from her palms. They hurried back into formation, although she noted that the men gave the new point man a bit more berth than before. Just as well. During this end game caution might be their best friend.

The sniper offered his hand. Aunush accepted his gesture. The sniper swept her to her feet so quickly she was slammed into his chest. He did not move away as her breasts pressed up against him. Nor did she back from him.

Perhaps after they found the tablets, dispatched Brandt and Monroe, there might be a little time before she needed to tie up loose ends to explore the sniper one last time.

They were in Gomorrah after all.

Brandt pointed to the tablets. “Get those fragments stowed.”

“But—” Rebecca tried to protest.

“Now.”

You see, every fiber in her body wanted to fight the order, but he had to issue it. Rebecca opened her bag and placed the tablet fragments inside. Of course he also noticed that she slipped a fragment, the fragment she had just been reading, into her pocket. Something for a little light reading on the journey he guessed. He didn’t care though, not if it got them moving more quickly.

She even shushed Bunny, overriding the younger woman’s complaints.

These salt walls seemed too flimsy to stand up to a full-out attack, however Brandt was hoping the Disciples didn’t have a full-out assault left in them. The Disciples might have gotten some fresh shock troops, however their leaders? The ones who had been on Brandt’s ass since London? They had to be as tired as of this as Brandt was.

As another explosion sounded, this time much, much closer to the temple, the time for running was over. It was time to make a stand.

“Rebecca and Bunny,” Brandt stated, “I want you both at the back of temple, behind that pile of rubble.” Moloch might not have been worth much, however his cracked and toppled statues could stop some bullets for them. He grabbed the redhead by the arm as she passed. “And I swear if you try to bolt I will personally track you down—”

Bunny though had fire in her eyes. “And what? Trap me in a burning tomb? Let me die by fire?” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “I did this for him. For Tolst and Lochum and every other person who sought the truth.”

“The truth?” Brandt tried to contain his anger. He failed. “Your stunt has probably cost all of us our lives. Killing six more people. Our blood on your hands. How’s that truth of yours now?”

She went to retort, but Rebecca pulled her away from the argument. “Come on.”

He shouldn’t have risen to Bunny’s bait. He knew better. Civilians.

They were either trying to kiss you or kill you.

Nothing in between.

Davidson breathed in and out. Measured. Even.

The Disciples were approaching the temple. After so many booby traps they had certainly traveled with a more cautious pace. By his count they’d lost two men and two others were injured, slowing the entire team.

Or was that what the Disciples wanted him to think?

Underestimating them would be their undoing.

So Davidson waited. Waited until he had the leader, the she-beast, in his scope before he let loose with a shot. Killing off one or two more men would not swing the balance of the battle.

Again and again the woman and her sniper had outflanked them. But now his team had run out of room to maneuver. They needed a game changer. An event, a blow so profound it knocked the wind out of the enemy. Like losing his brother.

Davidson brushed aside the thought. Now was not the time to think of the past. Now was time to hunt.

Several men inched their way up the temple steps. The woman was nowhere to be found. Davidson forced himself to keep his breaths steady. It would not do to have a sharp inhale throw his kill shot off.

The most forward man reached the outer temple door.

Davidson kept his finger from the trigger. Harvish, Lopez, and Brandt could handle a few shock troops.

Then the crack of a shot split the air and one of the men fell.

Davidson swung his scope to the right. It was Talli. He fired again, scattering the men. Then a blast came from a tower far across the plaza, tagging Talli in the shoulder. And the firing didn’t stop there. Bullets peppered Talli’s nest.

Every instinct Davidson had told him not to fire. To stay hidden. To hold back for the shot he knew he needed to take, but Talli was getting hammered. Without cover fire the guy was toast.

Taking aim, Davidson leveled his rifle at the enemy’s perch and pulled the trigger. The high-powered shot went straight through the salt wall. A scream told Davidson he’d hit his man. The blood saturating the white tower told him he’d killed him.

Then another shot, coming from behind Davidson, sent him spinning to avoid a bullet. Still the shot caught him in the hip. From the pain screaming down his leg, it had ricocheted off the bone.

The enemy had two shooters in the sky just like they did.

Davidson let go of the wound and aimed at the lower tower, firing once, then twice. A man clutched his chest and fell from the window. Whistling air through his teeth, Davidson struggled to stay conscious. The pain crashed over him in waves, threatening to sweep him along with it.

But he couldn’t faint. Because the shot that had got him had been lucky. Neither of the shooters had been the man Davidson had faced before. For one thing they were too close. And too sloppy.

Which left the question. If the guy wasn’t up in the towers...

Where the hell was the sniper?

Rebecca covered her head as bullets flew above them, hitting the mineralized wall, pelting them with salt shrapnel. Bunny knelt beside her, sobbing quietly. What did the woman expect? At least when Rebecca wanted to fulfill the quest to retrieve the tablets she knew there would be bullets.

Okay, maybe she didn’t realize this many, but she knew the Disciples would find them. The religious fanatics always did.

She risked a glance over the mound of broken statues, quite aware of the irony that the false god Moloch was in fact protecting them, whether he wanted to or not. Harvish was holed up behind a pillar near the door, making sure that no one came rushing through. Lopez and Brandt flanked on either side, making use of the scant cover left to them.

They were just three against how many?

A chilling thought seized her, nearly freezing the sweat on her skin. The Disciples had a long history. Clearly. They hadn’t been born at the foot of crucifixion, they had been born upon Mount Sinai or at least the base of it. Which meant they might know of Sodom and Gomorrah. Perhaps not their exact locations, but the layout of the cities? That they might know very well.

Which gave the Disciples a considerable edge.

“Conserve your ammo!” Brandt yelled to Lopez, who of course was firing a few miles per minute.

So besides greater manpower and weapons, the Disciples also had better tactical knowledge. Yeah, Brandt had been right. Way better to have confronted the Disciples with an aircraft carrier at their back.

Murmuring drew Rebecca from her thoughts. Bunny must be praying or something. But she found the younger woman holding the small chunk of tablet Rebecca had held back from the rest.

“Know that not all shall hear the words of the Messiah. Hearts will harden to the message.” Bunny translated from the passage on the other side of the stone. “Stones the size of boulders will be thrown. Yet their message is my message.”

Rebecca put her hand over Bunny’s. “We’ve got to be ready to move.”

“To where?” the younger woman asked as tears streaked down her cheek.

Shouts and gunfire consumed the entrance to the tomb. There would be no getting out that way. Rebecca scanned the walls around them. They seemed as solid as the rest.

“Let me die doing what I love,” Bunny pleaded.

Having no better option, Rebecca released her hold, then pointed to several words. “Be careful of rushed translating. ‘Hearts’ could easily be ‘souls.’ And ‘thrown’ is most likely ‘hurled.’” Bunny looked up at Rebecca. “Hey, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”

Rebecca put on what she hoped was an encouraging smile. It must have done its job as Bunny nodded.

The younger woman sniffed once, cringing as the gunfire intensified, then continued. “I shall send others before my Messiah. Prophets all to spread my Word. Then shall come my son...” Bunny cocked her head. “No, that may be ‘child.’”

Looking over the woman’s shoulder, Rebecca went back and read the entire text. Hebrew was so context sensitive. And ancient Hebrew? Triply so. Her lips moved rapidly as she read the passage silently. Yet she too stumbled on the last word. The problem was they were missing a tiny sliver of stone. A rather important piece of stone that could have an arch on the first letter of the problematic word. If that bit of script went left it meant “son.” If the tail of the letter went straight it meant “child,” and if it went right, well that would be “daughter.”

“Perhaps farther down there is clarification,” Rebecca stated.

“‘This child shall come...’” Bunny grinned. “Well, that clears that up.” The younger woman continued. “Unto you. Once these tablets are discovered and known to the heathens, my child shall then—”

“Wait,” Rebecca interjected. “That second ‘child’ reference. I don’t think...”

Bunny brought the fragment of stone closer, squinting. “You are right. It does have a tail...”

“Pointing right,” Rebecca finished for her.

That couldn’t be though. That would make the Messiah a...

The implications drowned out everything else. The sound of gunfire, the men’s shouts, even the bitter taste of gunpowder in the air. Nothing existed except for that one symbol. That one impossible symbol.

“That could just be a chip in the stone,” Bunny said, her voice shaking. “There must be another explanation.”

Could there though?

“My ‘child’ shall come unto all the people, all the men, all the nations of the world and declare my Word.” Then Bunny stopped and the fragment dropped from her hand.

Rebecca snatched the stone from the floor and read aloud the next passage.

“She will come in peace. She shall deliver the olive branch. She will show my full might to the world.”

There was no mistaking the text now. There was no disputing the tablet’s meaning. Rebecca’s eyes sought Brandt. He was focused on the door, firing through the pocked surface. His jaw clenched. His eyes focused. But she knew the blow that these words would have on him. Look at Bunny. Her head was in her hands.

How could she ever tell Brandt that his Messiah was really a woman?

This is not going well, Brandt thought.

No shit, was the follow-up to that.

Out of all the scenarios Brandt had run in his head, the ending never went well. But never this badly. What the fuck was the point in having two snipers if they didn’t actually help? The damned chick leading this crew should have been dead by now and the other men scattered.

As the bullets flew, they didn’t seem very scattered to Brandt. However, the Disciples hadn’t come at them full-on either. Almost like they were baiting them into wasting their ammo. Which by the way was working.

Death by attrition. Not exactly what Brandt wanted carved into his gravestone.

He glanced over to check on Harvish. Blood ran down his arm. That very first wound he took in Moscow must have opened again. Brandt wouldn’t have given it another thought except halfway down the streak of red, something glistened.

Fuckers.

“Lopez and Harvish!” Brandt shouted. “Switch out!” The corporal cocked an eyebrow, but Brandt wasn’t in the mood to explain. “Now!”

In a flurry of firing, Lopez took over the primary position as Harvish backed away, taking up a stance near Brandt. He crept forward making sure that Lopez held the door.

“You’ve got a tracker on you,” Brandt informed Harvish.

“No, Sarge,” Harvish protested, “I swear, I’m clean. I’m—”

Brandt held up a hand to stop his point man’s frantic speech. “I know. It’s not your fault.”

To prove it, Brandt pulled off the bandage over Harvish’s arm wound. Silver sparked on the cloth.

“What the—”

“Microtransmitters,” Brandt explained, wiping the wound hard. Hard enough for Harvish to wince. Too bad. He needed to get the last remaining beads out. “They shot you up with them back at the GUM mall.”

“Sarge, I am so sorry. I never even—”

Again, Brandt held up his hand. That was the point of these transmitters. In retrospect he should have suspected something was up when the sniper hadn’t killed Harvish, instead just winging his arm. He hadn’t meant to kill the point man. He’d meant to tag him.

As Brandt squeezed more and more of the tiny silver beads from the wound, Harvish asked, “How the hell didn’t I feel them?”

“After a gunshot wound?” Brandt asked as Lopez set off a burst of bullets. The corporal was having way too much fun.

“That’s the point,” Brandt answered Harvish. “Either you chalk up the pain to the injury or if people find the beads they just think they’re bullet fragments.”

Brandt was trying really hard to hold his temper. One of his men had been a goddamned beacon this whole fucking time. No wonder the Disciples had the jump on them since Moscow.

Harvish helped milk the beads out from the top of the wound. “But how the hell are they getting power?”

“They are fueled by gyroscopic movement just like self-winding watches, only at a microscopic level,” Brandt explained as he ripped another strip from his shirt. If it kept going like this, he was going to running around bare-chested.

Brandt glanced over to the women’s hiding place. Their heads were down. Good. The last thing he needed was for one of them to go all hero on him. He had enough trouble keeping Lopez in line.

“Conserve!” Brandt yelled, for the hundredth time.

As Harvish went back to his post, Brandt hung back. They were missing something else, not just the microtransmitters.

There was something fundamentally wrong. Not the fact they had been tagged. Not the fact that they were duking it out in ancient biblical, salt-city Gomorrah. Nor the fact that they may or may not have found the tablets given to Moses by God. No, it was the fact that the Disciples were a little splashier than this. The attack on the temple was almost by the book. Where was the grand play? The big move? The sweeping strategy?

The bitch who had hounded them across a couple of continents didn’t make her bones playing it subtle. He’d best figure out their—

The back wall of the temple exploded inward. He twisted, holding his fire so as not to hit one of the women, ready to take down the attackers as soon as he had a chance, but he never got that opportunity.

Ducked down, two men grabbed Rebecca and Bunny, jerking them to their feet, creating human shields, then pulled them out the ragged hole.

Guess Brandt just got to see their major play in action.

“Hold the temple as long as you can, then fall back to our rally point,” Brandt shouted. As much as he wanted to take Lopez and Harvish with him, their best chance of getting the women back was to keep the Disciples’ forces split.

Which meant keeping their own force split. Which meant that they didn’t have two snipers in place at the back of the temple. Which meant Brandt was going out there.

Alone.

Rebecca bit the hand holding her. The man yelled, releasing his grip, then backhanded her. She stumbled sideways running into a “man,” shattering the salt figure.

Bunny fought as well, struggling against her kidnapper.

Taking a handful of salt, Rebecca threw it into the eyes of her assailant. He bellowed, kicking at her. She threw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. Bunny and she were not going to win this war. Not weaponless.

No, all they needed to do was buy some time for Brandt to come charging out here to save the day.

Right?

As she crawled on hands and knees, grinding the salty earth into her palms, she certainly hoped so. Then a glint caught her eye. Ignoring the man yelling at her, pawing at her feet, trying to recapture her, she looked up.

The barrel of a gun poked out of the tower above them. Her head snapped toward the temple just as Brandt’s gun muzzle flashed, firing, scattering the kidnappers as he charged the gap in the wall.

“No!” Rebecca screamed, but the sound of her desperate warning was lost as the sniper fired from above, hitting Brandt square in the chest, then again and again. The impact blew him back, out of sight. “Brandt!”

Long fingernails dug into her hair, pulling Rebecca up against a woman’s cheek. “If you do not want that to happen to you, I suggest you come with me, quietly.”

Rebecca though did anything but go quietly. Clawing with her own fingernails, she dug into the flesh holding her. Then the muzzle of a gun pressed up against Rebecca’s temple.

“I said quietly,” the woman hissed as blood dripped down from her hand onto Rebecca’s face.

Even though it would be suicide, Rebecca still wanted to struggle. To fight. To scream her anguish, but she had no doubt the Disciple would shoot. Rebecca let herself go slack, pulling in the pain and fear. Balling it up, preparing to unleash it when the moment came.

Which happened to be within a heartbeat.

Another shot echoed, kicking up salt at her captor’s feet. The woman danced back, releasing Rebecca. As another shot drove the woman away, Rebecca used all that adrenaline she’d stored and leapt across the distance between her and Bunny. Grabbing the younger woman’s hand, she tugged Bunny forward.

“Where are we going?” Bunny choked out.

“Anywhere but here,” Rebecca answered, scrambling to get to cover as shots peppered the area.

That had to be Davidson providing cover. But did it really matter with Brandt down? More than likely dead?

Even though her heart might want to stop beating, her legs were still working, getting as far away from the shooting gallery as they could carry her.

From his peripheral vision, Davidson watched Rebecca and Bunny duck into an alley. Safe from the sniper. Davidson quickly scanned his kill zone, as meager as it was, but he didn’t have a hell of a lot of time to set up.

Once he’d realized the sniper wasn’t out front, there was only one logical place for him to be set up. The back of the temple. But getting down from that tower and finding a new perch turned out to be a little harder with a slug in your side.

Davidson could feel the blood oozing through the makeshift wrap around his waist.

No matter. He was up here, and now that the ground was secured, he needed to turn his attention to the sniper. Davidson swung his rifle back to its neutral position, centered on the sniper’s tower.

Not waiting for a perfect kill shot, Davidson fired at the only thing he could. The sniper’s rifle. The metal barrel skidded over at impact, then got jerked out of sight.

That’s right, Davidson thought. You’ve got some competition.

Brandt tried to breathe again, and was met with the same searing pain. The double bulletproof vest had taken the shots, but they still did some serious damage. Lights flashing over his eyes, Brandt clenched his jaw. He was not going to pass out. Again.

But he had to get some fucking oxygen to his brain. Trying to avoid moving the two broken ribs, Brandt pulled in air between his teeth like he was sucking from a straw. Slow but steady. Keep those sharp ends of the fractures from puncturing his lung. Because really what could be better than a pneumothorax right about now.

“Brandt!” Lopez yelled again.

Feebly, Brandt waved him off. He just needed oxygen. And some oxycodone, but he’d take the oxygen.

Then he would get up and take off after Rebecca. He’d seen her streak past the breach in the wall, but couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

Fucking butch up, Brandt.

Sucking in more air, protecting his ribs with his arm, Brandt rolled to his side. See? He was halfway up. Okay, only a quarter up, but progress. And those crazy lights weren’t buzzing around in front of his vision.

Using his good arm, Brandt braced his upper body as he pulled his legs into a crouch. It hurt like fucking hell, but he would take the progress. Panting low and fast, Brandt prepped for the pain that was sure to come.

On the tenth breath he lurched upward. Unable to hold in a scream, Brandt found his feet. For a second. He fell heavily to the side. The wall the only thing stopping him from hitting the floor again.

But hey, he was vertical. Nearly blinded by those damned sparkly light blobs that insisted on blocking his vision, but vertical.

Now to get moving...

As the room lurched first to the side and then up and down, maybe he better take another ten breaths before putting one foot in front of the other.

Rebecca ran, wiping the tears from her eyes, hauling Bunny behind her. The world was a blur of white. The compact floodlights the Disciples had posted around the temple left very little room for shadows, or cover.

She felt any moment a bullet could fly out of nowhere and strike her down. Which wasn’t her imagination running wild. No matter how far she got from the temple, Rebecca was pretty damned sure that sniper could get her. Get both of them.

Bunny was nothing more than a rack of sobs on the move.

That had been Rebecca’s ex-fiancé back there. If anyone should be a wreck it should be her. But they just didn’t have the luxury of Rebecca losing her mind in grief. Even if she wanted to, she could hear Brandt’s voice loud in her mind.

Get your ass far away. Hide. Let us do our job.

Rebecca stumbled as she choked back a sob. Would she ever have that voice yelling at her again? For real?

Bullets peppered the wall next to her. Rebecca dove toward a cart in the road and rolled underneath of it. Bunny stood frozen though as the shots struck all around, creating a halo that outlined her frame. It wouldn’t be long until one hit her. Rebecca gathered her courage to dart out and somehow drag the woman to safety when a figure hurled himself in front of Bunny.

He took three shots to the back as he blocked Bunny with his body, pulling her down. The two hit the ground hard.

“That fucking hurts,” Brandt gasped as he looked over to Rebecca.

Brandt was alive!

How she wanted to rush across those few feet and hug him. But those few feet were deadly. And if the shooter repositioned at all, he’d be able to pick them all off.

Rebecca looked up to the towers surrounding them.

Where the heck was Davidson?

Davidson held pressure on his wound as he climbed the last of the stairs. Was it the blood loss or were the towers really getting taller? As much as he’d dreaded it, he’d had to reposition. The sniper had pulled up stakes, which meant Davidson had to do so as well.

Hefting his rifle up onto the window’s ledge, Davidson surveyed this new territory. They had moved deeper into the city, farther away from the SUV, farther away from the only known exit.

This however was the direction Rebecca had run off. Not exactly strategic, but Davidson couldn’t blame her. Without a weapon, he’d probably have run off in any direction that got him away from the sniper as well.

Luckily he was far from defenseless.

A noise drew his attention back toward the temple. A man burst from the doors, rushing down the stairs. Davidson took only a moment to confirm it wasn’t one of their men and took his shot. The man was dead before he hit the bottom of the steps.

Another figure rushed out of the temple. Davidson pulled up short as he made out Lopez. Harvish wasn’t far behind. They must have taken care of the rest of the Disciples’ assault team. When they hit the main street, they turned left, heading in the direction of the SUV.

No, no, no. Rebecca and Brandt went the other way. But how could Lopez know that?

Davidson shot...right at Lopez’s feet. The corporal skidded to a halt, raising his weapon, looking for the shooter. Davidson shot again, this time at his other foot. The corporal put his hand over his brow, trying to look up into the bright lights near Davidson’s nest.

This time Davidson shot farther down the road, at a steep enough angle to kick up plenty of dust. Lopez took a tentative step in that direction. Davidson shot again, even more down the road, guiding them toward Brandt and Rebecca.

Lopez picked up speed, following the trail as Harvish lagged behind. The guy’s sleeve was saturated in blood, and it looked like he’d taken a pretty good blow to the head. None of that mattered though as Davidson swung his scope toward the other side of the city where the sniper was holed up. In the labyrinth of streets, the rest of the Disciples rushed toward Brandt and Rebecca’s location.

He swung the scope back to check on Lopez’s progress. Davidson shot at the corner of a building to indicate they should turn right. Which Lopez did with Harvish limping to catch up.

Swinging back, Davidson watched the Disciples gain speed, hurling headlong toward the rest of the trapped team. There was no way Lopez and especially Harvish would make it in time.

Gulping back despair, Davidson brought his scope around to the sniper’s new perch. It was way, way, way outside Davidson’s range. The man had picked wisely too. There were several other objects between Davidson and the nest. No way he could knock the gun from the sniper’s grip.

No, Davidson was going to have to get inventive.

Brandt shielded Bunny as best he could with five cracked ribs. He should get her up and out of there, but he just didn’t have it in him. He barely had getting his diaphragm to move up and down, let alone running faster than a sniper could fire.

Looking across the kill zone, Brandt’s eyes locked eyes with Rebecca. He tried to hide the pain. He tried to hide just how tapped he was. But this was Rebecca. Of course she saw it. She saw it all.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She knew he’d stay and protect Bunny until he didn’t have breath left in him. Just as he knew Rebecca would try to do something about it.

“No,” he whispered. He wanted to shout, but the best he could do was a harsh whisper.

“Get ready,” she answered with a sad grin.

With her fingers she started counting down. Five. Four. Three. Brandt had no idea what she was doing or what he was supposed to be ready for. He was usually the on the other side of the countdown.

Two.

One.

With a heave, Rebecca put her back into the bottom of the cart and pushed forward. To Brandt’s amazement the wheels rolled forward. Slowly and only about an inch, but the damned thing was on the move! Every inch Rebecca moved the cart, the closer it was to Brandt and Bunny. They wouldn’t have to run to safety. Safety was coming to them.

The sniper, however, wasn’t taking this development lying down. He began shooting at the cart. Then as the forward movement began crumbling the wheels, the sniper took full advantage of it, shooting at the spokes.

A shadow passed in front of them. Rebecca had gotten the cart close enough to provide cover. Brandt shoved Bunny forward. The woman crab-walked the short distance, diving under the cart as one of the wheels collapsed, tilting the cart. There was barely enough room under it for the women to lay flat.

Which was probably just as well. Brandt didn’t think he could get off his belly if he wanted to. Army-crawling, he made his painful way to join Rebecca. Once he was secured underneath, Bunny tried to help Rebecca move the cart, but it was a nonstarter. With one wheel completely damaged and another crumbling before their eyes, they weren’t going anywhere fast.

The shots came more and more rapidly as the sniper now concentrated on blowing huge chunks of the cart away at a time. Methodically the sniper was destroying their cover.

“How can he shoot that fast?” Bunny asked, her hands over her ears.

“He isn’t,” Rebecca stated, pointing back across the city to the temple.

Brandt followed her gaze, but even once he found the huge bull god statue rising far above the temple, he didn’t understand what she meant. Then he saw it. A piece flew off the side of Moloch’s hip. And another. As a matter of fact, a large chunk of the guy’s side was missing.

But to what effect? Did Davidson just feel the need for some target practice?

“Oh no,” Rebecca moaned.

She wasn’t talking about the fact the wheels were almost gone and soon the very weight of the cart could crush them before or after the sniper chewed through the salt to fire on them directly.

Nope, Rebecca was talking about the five Disciples who turned the corner, racing in their direction.

That was the “oh no” she was talking about.

And for all his wanting to, Brandt could give her no comfort.

Rebecca refused to give up hope. Basically it was the only thing they had left. She trusted Davidson. He had to be up to something. But could he get whatever it was done before they were, like, executed?

The sniper stopped shooting, which wasn’t a good thing. Why should he waste bullets when a woman led four men down the street toward them? No, she didn’t actually lead the men, she sauntered in front of the men.

Rebecca was surprised to find the woman who had held her at gunpoint to be so young. It felt like anyone who had it in them to hound the crap out Brandt would have more years on them, or at least wrinkles. She was pretty, supermodel pretty except for that glint in her dark eyes. The cruelty there kind of took her from a ten to a three.

The smile played at the edge of her lips like this was a game and she’d just aced them. And perhaps the woman had, but no one should enjoy it this much.

The woman came within twenty feet of them and then stopped.

“I am Aunush de Verante, and it is normally polite to greet one another standing up.”

Great, and she thought herself a comedian.

“Why don’t you come out?” Aunush asked. “You will die either way. It might as well be with dignity.”

Rebecca looked to Brandt. While he did not meet her gaze, the edge of his eyes crinkled. The good kind of crinkled. Even Bunny must have noticed his expression because she stopped shaking.

“If it’s all the same,” Brandt answered, “we’ll stay here.”

Aunush bent her knees, lowering herself to nearly their level. “And why exactly would that be?”

“Because,” Brandt said, “it’s about to get very interesting.”

Davidson loaded his rifle as fast as he could, dropping shells in his haste. But how could he not hurry? The Disciples had Brandt and the others cornered, and Lopez was at least a minute away.

Jerking his rifle upright, Davidson took only a moment to aim and shot at the base of the huge Moloch statue. He’d already dug out a good chunk, but clearly it wasn’t enough. Who knew salt had such a high tensile strength?

Obviously God, Davidson reminded himself.

Right now though Davidson really need that tensile strength to give out. Another three shots, then four and five and six. He only had fourteen more before he had to reload, and by the set of the woman’s shoulders it didn’t look like Brandt had that much time.

Taking a precious moment, Davidson shed his fear. Shed the danger to Rebecca and the rest. Instead he sent up a prayer. A simple one.

Let me hit true.

He opened his eyes, found his spot, and fired.

It only blew a few inches of base away, but it was a vital few inches. The top-heavy statue listed ever so subtly. Then with a deafening crack, Moloch tilted precariously as his weight came down on the damaged base.

As hoped, the pedestal could no longer hold and gave way. With a lurch the bull god fell to the right, slamming into the closest tower, sending a spray of salt and debris in all directions.

Davidson swept his scope to the rest of his trapped team. Everyone looked to the toppled statue.

Wait for it.

That statue wasn’t just a distraction.

It was a weapon.

Brandt watched as that first tower broke off from the weight of the statue, then it hit the next tower, and then the next tower and the next. Davidson had set up a deadly game of dominoes. Better yet, this crashing tower of death was coming straight at the sniper’s nest.

The guy must have figured that out. Just like he must have figured out there was no way in hell he was going to make it down the staircase in time to avoid being crushed. Instead, he hauled ass onto the ledge and just as the other tower was hit, launched himself toward the roof of an adjacent building.

Brandt couldn’t see if the guy made it, although taking a wild guess he’d assume that the guy did, as the sniper’s tower tilted awkwardly, then broke off, scattering Aunush and her henchmen.

Davidson was a fucking genius, all except for the little problem that the tower was now coming straight at them.

Rebecca covered her head, although she wasn’t quite sure how that was going to help. Bunny had tried to crawl out, but Brandt had stopped her. That was only death. The only chance they had was for the cart to break the tower’s fall. To hope the half-wheels held.

Bracing, she felt the impact in her belly as her eardrums threatened to rupture. Rebecca pulled her body into a ball as the cart’s wheels shattered, sending the cart’s weight against their backs. But it held. Their little cart held.

It was the little salt cart that could.

Then Rebecca saw why. The tower had been long enough that its roof had landed against the stable next to them. It had taken the brunt of the tower’s fall.

The only problem? That roof was about to give and the entire weight of the tower was about to come down on them.

Going forward wasn’t an option, and getting out backward seemed impossible. As the trickle of salt down the stable’s wall became a torrent, Rebecca felt something on her ankle.

A hand!

It hurt like hell as she was dragged backward, but Rebecca wouldn’t complain. Just as the tower’s roof gave, Rebecca, Bunny, and Brandt were pulled past the cart. The tower crashed down on the cart, shattering it beyond recognition.

She rolled over to find Lopez giving Bunny a hand up. With the other arm, the corporal aimed in the direction Aunush and her men had fled. Rebecca got her knees just as the firing started. They had the rubble of the demolished tower between them, but that wouldn’t last long.

“Go!” Brandt ordered Harvish and Lopez. “Don’t stop!”

The two men hustled Bunny around the corner. Rebecca was halfway there when she realized Brandt wasn’t following them. As a matter of fact, he was still lying on the ground. Why wasn’t he up? Why wasn’t he firing?

As bullets flew overhead, Brandt looked straight up at the ceiling of the cavern. The salt had created its own pattern up there. The crystals swirled and seemed to almost flow into more and more intricate designs. It was quite beautiful. Which was kind of nice since it was the last sight he would ever see.

Two bulletproof vests or no, his body had taken more punishment than he had any right to ask it. Plus, he felt the pooling of blood underneath of him. One of those bullets must have skirted the vest and actually hit flesh. It felt like a through and through, but who really knew. The bullet hadn’t hit his spleen, that was for sure, since it had been removed after the last time he’d been shot.

At least he could die knowing that his son would be taken care of and that Rebecca was alive.

Then someone was at his side. Rebecca.

“Get out of here,” he said, trying to sound authoritative, but knowing he missed by a mile. A little hard to go all alpha when you were laid out flat on your back.

“How badly are you injured?” she asked, and then her eyes dilated as she must have spotted the blood.

Rebecca reached down to remove his vest, but he clutched her hand. “No.”

It was the only thing keeping his ribs together. Without the support of the Kevlar, he could kiss his lungs goodbye.

Her eyes rapidly scanned the area, trying to find something to help get him out of here. But Brandt knew she couldn’t. He wasn’t getting up without a gurney. Period.

“Go!” he urged, shoving her away as hard as he could, but clearly not hard enough.

She just wouldn’t leave.

Even when a bitter laugh sounded from the other side of the debris.

Rebecca knew she should leave. Get going while the getting was good, but she just couldn’t leave Brandt here. Not like this.

Besides, Aunush would just hunt her down. She had what they wanted. And not just the tablets in her backpack, but the knowledge of the secret they held. There would be no more dodging bullets now.

The woman mounted the ruined tower, domineering over them.

“Does your sniper have any more tricks up his sleeve?” Aunush asked.

Rebecca seriously doubted it. Davidson had long arms, but his sleeve and his tricks could only go so far.

“You know?” Aunush asked. There was no doubt what the question was.

“Yes,” Rebecca answered, not bothering to hide the fact. She bent over and gathered the pack and something she thought might be good to borrow. “I have the tablets here.”

Even though Aunush tried to act calm, her eyes dilated to near black. Her hand clenched at her side as if she could already feel the cool stone in her hand. She meant to possess them.

“I’ll give them to you if you let us go,” Rebecca bargained.

That harsh laughter again. “And why exactly would I do that? When I can just take them from you?”

No reason.

“You were ready to fire, right?” Rebecca whispered to Brandt.

He struggled to rise up onto an elbow. “Yeah, why?”

Rebecca brought his gun up behind the backpack. She’d never shot a gun before and had no idea where the safety was. Not that Brandt hadn’t begged her to learn how to shoot. Back then though she’d given up religious mysteries. She’d given up being shot at. She’d given up watching the man she loved bleed to death.

A gun was a reminder to her of all the pain and horror of the last year. So she’d sworn off guns as well.

Yet here she was.

She looked to Aunush. “I don’t know. Something about the Golden Rule?”

Just as the woman’s hand went up to give the order, Rebecca pulled the trigger. To her shock, she actually hit Aunush, right in the belly. Gasping in pain, she stumbled back clutching the wound.

“Fire!” she yelled, but the bullets that flew first came from behind Rebecca.

Aunush’s men scattered. Rebecca threw herself over Brandt as the air filled with the sound of speeding projectiles.

Lopez and Harvish hadn’t abandoned them.

“Forward!” Lopez bellowed as he laid down cover fire. Harvish scrambled toward them, ducking behind a doorjamb.

“Forward!” Harvish yelled, switching to firing as Lopez made his way down the street that in theory should have had no cover.

They pushed forward like this, bouncing back and forth between them until they were at Brandt’s feet.

Lopez put his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “We’ve got him.”

Rebecca knew she should have whooped or been relieved, but the only proper response she could think of was to burst into tears.

That whore, Aunush thought as they retreated behind the tumble of tower. Her sniper climbed out from the pile of debris to join them. Did it matter though? Brandt and the others had proven too resourceful.

Apparently God wanted to truly give her a challenge.

Aunush was nothing if not a practical woman. As blood seeped through her fingers, the odds that she could secure the tablets, slaughter the bitch’s team, and clean up her own mess were in the negative percentiles. That didn’t mean though that she couldn’t serve her God.

Of course that meant sacrificing all. The tablets. Even her own life. Surprisingly that thought did not bother her as much as she would have thought.

Her comfort came only from the knowledge that she could begin what God had started. He had wished Sodom and Gomorrah destroyed? She would see it destroyed. If that was what it took to protect the secret of the girl Messiah, Aunush would do it without hesitation. Even if she would never meet this Messiah of prophecy. Aunush must protect She Who Would Come just as every Disciple had done since the Tablets were handed down.

“Prepare the package,” Aunush ordered to the sniper, who jumped to obey.

“You dare not,” Nannan hissed.

She turned to the Watcher of the Word. He was a man, like Joshua. Someone who cared for the tablets. Not someone they were written about.

“Give me another answer, Nannan,” Aunush asked calmly. “Tell me how to protect the tablets without banishing them back to oblivion.”

“Your orders were to retrieve the tablets.”

“No,” Aunush clarified. “My orders were to protect the tablets. They could never be safer than what I am proposing.”

Nannan searched her face. He must have been looking for some sign of weakness. Hesitation. A chink in her armor that he could squirm his way through. He must not have found it.

“You would steal from us His Word?” Nannan demanded, blotchy faced. “God meant for His Word to be read.”

Aunush shrugged. “What was good enough for Moshe is good enough for me.”

She could understand Nannan’s dismay. He had not been raised to know his life would end in sacrifice. Not as Aunush had. Then again she thought hers would be upon the cross, but alas she would die as all the sinners of Sodom and Gomorrah had done before her.

There may have been some confusion regarding the twin cities’ destruction. Rumors had been rampant that God had struck them down by fire. As the pillars all around her said to the contrary, He had turned the cities to salt.

Now though? Now Aunush would make right those legends as the sniper placed a compact device at her feet.

God’s fury fulfilled.

Aunush held the detonator out in front of her. The question clear. “Who is with me?”

The sniper did not hesitate to put his hand over hers. Her two remaining soldiers did the same. They were born and bred to die by God’s righteous flame.

Nannan though, he hung back, glowering, his eyes darting for a way out.

Raising the detonator, Aunush smiled. “We go to God serving Him to the last, Nannan. How do you think He will react if you run now? At the moment He needs you most?”

The Watcher hesitated but only for a moment. Then his feet carried him to their circle. He placed his hand over the detonator.

Aunush glanced about for the sole Chinese soldier remaining to find him gone.

Like she had said. Smart man.

Davidson limped over to the SUV. He’d made the rally point, but there was no one else to greet him. Had his plan worked and saved the rest, or had it spelled their end? Leaning against the side of the car, Davidson slid down the cool metal and sat propped up against one of the tires.

Let the Disciples come. He had a few more bullets in his rifle and about an hour’s worth of blood left in him. To think of the life he’d led and that it brought him to die in Gomorrah.

Clearly God truly did have a sense of irony.

Then a loud thump rang through the cavern. Like a firework rocket, something streaked though the air, exploding against the roof. Bright reds and whites sprayed out above them.

Why would the Disciples do such a thing? It wasn’t a directed attack. As it stood, it wasn’t an attack at all.

That was until Davidson realized that the white sparkles were not dying out. As a matter of fact, they were growing. Once the second rocket hit the cavern roof in a dazzling display, Davidson knew the Disciples had launched the ultimate attack.

A suicide attack.

As the air around the missiles ignited, sending flames dancing across the roof, Davidson rose to his feet. The Disciples meant to bring the roof down, burying the secret of the tablets permanently.

But first the Disciples intended to incinerate every last one of them.

Brandt’s feet dragged along the ground as Lopez and Harvish practically carried him down the street. He’d feel ashamed only he didn’t have the fucking energy for even that. But now with the air above them on fire, what did it matter?

All the pain. All the sacrifice. For fucking nothing.

“Ouch!” Bunny cried, swiping at her sleeve that sparkled with white fire. As the flickering flame consumed her shirt, the woman swatted frantically.

“Don’t!” Lopez yelled as he slid Brandt’s arm off of his shoulder and draped it over Rebecca’s. Brandt tried not to lean into Rebecca heavily except for that whole gravity being a bitch thing and him having absolutely no resistance to it.

The corporal, however, still had some gas in the tank and ran over to Bunny, shouting, “Don’t!” He ripped her sleeve off. “It’s a magnesium fire!”

Which Brandt would have realized had he not been in five different kinds of shock.

Lopez dropped to his knees, digging a hole in the salt and dropping the flaming fabric into it, then covering it with a huge pile of salt. “The only way, and I mean only way to put out a magnesium fire is to completely cut off its source of oxygen.”

Clearly there were enough microcracks between the grains to sustain the fire as it glowed bright orange through the translucent salt, melting it into a clear shell.

“We’ve got to take cover,” Lopez said as tiny sparks floated down from the roof.

“And what?” Harvish asked. “So we can wait until the fire consumes all the oxygen in the cavern?”

That wasn’t an option. Actually, with the world tilting slightly to the right, Brandt couldn’t think of any options. A magnesium fire was nearly impossible to fight, even if fully equipped for one. And they clearly were not fully equipped on so many levels.

“It’s on me!” Rebecca announced, indicating to the back of her shoulder, but even then she didn’t let go of him.

Lopez rushed over to Rebecca as she tried to quell the panic. She’d felt the drop hit her back. Strangely though, it didn’t hurt. The corporal went to rip the jacket when he stopped.

“Wait,” he said, touching the spot. “This isn’t fire...its water.” Water?

There wasn’t any water in the cavern. Then she noticed Brandt’s head tilt up. She followed his gaze to the roof. Through the clear white flames she could make out cracks in the ceiling. Water ran, contrary to all logic, sideways along the ceiling, following the grooves and ruts of the salt.

In their travels they must have passed west enough to find themselves under the Dead Sea.

Little did it matter though where the water came from. It was here now. The scene above made it seem that water and fire were performing a tango meant only for them.

Only the occasional drop, then more and more as the seconds ticked down, broke free of the water’s sideways flow, falling through the white magnesium flame to the ground beneath. Where the drops fell, they dissolved the salt, washing it away as if it had never been there.

The statuelike figures around them became pocked with the water marks, dissolving away their pained expressions. There was a certain beauty to the whole, complicated set of events.

Only the men seemed none too happy about it. Lopez looked to her with widened eyes and Harvish had gone pale.

“We’re so screwed,” Brandt announced.

Really? Out of everything that had happened so far, water was the problem?

“The water will put out the fire, won’t it?” she asked, still confused.

“Definitely not,” Lopez said, moving her out of the way so he could take Brandt’s shoulder again. “Our only hope is to get the hell out of here.”

Without a car or finding a closer exit than the outpost, how exactly were they going to do that?

Adrenaline coursed through Brandt’s veins, dulling the sharp pain of his ribs and lessening the ache in his heart. He’d actually gotten his feet to work, helping the men to carry his weight so they could move faster. However, that wasn’t exactly going as planned as they ran through a veritable rainstorm. The water pooled in the street, creating a briny obstacle.

Fire, apparently not wanting to feel left out, splattered down around them. If you were hit, your only option was to ditch the piece of clothing on fire. What damage would be wrought once they ran out of clothes to protect their skin?

Brandt didn’t have time to think about that as Talli stumbled from a building, a gash still bleeding on his forehead. The man looked up to the white fire raging above them to the water falling from the ceiling.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

No one answered him because, really, did it matter? Talli must have agreed because he just fell in line as they rushed toward the rally point. And they may have made it except a huge chunk of roof blew out as a geyser of water sprayed into the cavern.

If the city was already dissolving, now it was full-on melting.

Another huge portion of the ceiling blew out, and a third chunk flew by so closely they had to duck as it slammed into a shop, as water pummeled them, not just pooling in the streets but making the passage a veritable river.

So great. Now they could die by fire, drowning, or being crushed to death.

Take your pick.

From atop the SUV, Davidson watched the others as they splashed their way to the vehicle. The water was rising fast. As fast as the roof was crumbling. Where fire had been pushed down by the debris it burned brightly, eternally really as long as it had oxygen. Not fazed at all by the gaining floodwaters.

Must be nice to be magnesium.

If anything it burned even more brightly underwater like party favors in a pool.

Davidson had taken to the highest ground he could. And since the buildings were now floating away that left the SUV, and even the roof of that was not necessarily all that safe anymore. Not with the water levels rising every second.

The bulk of the roof of the cavern still held, but for how long? He didn’t have much time to contemplate as the group neared barely ahead of a rush of water. Rebecca scrambled up onto the SUV’s bumper, using it to hop up onto the hood of the car.

“Help me,” she pleaded as she turned back to Brandt.

“What’s wrong?” Davidson asked, joining her.

“He’s been shot seven times,” Rebecca answered matter-of-factly.

Lopez snorted, “Yeah, but which one of us hasn’t?”

Davidson took one of Brandt’s shoulders from the corporal and helped haul the sergeant onto the car. Up close and personal everyone’s injuries became more obvious. No one was unmarked.

“Hurry!” Talli shouted, however the roar of the upcoming wave kind of warned them what was coming.

He couldn’t even make sure Brandt was secured when Bunny’s foot slipped off of the bumper. Davidson lashed a hand out, catching her before she went down. Talli helped him get Bunny up onto the hood of the car, which was as far up as they could get before the surge hit.

The crash of water sent everyone sprawling. Davidson grabbed a hold of the windshield wiper with one hand, the other anchoring Bunny. Gasping as the salty water receded, Davidson shook the moisture from his hair, smiling. The band was back together. They could figure out a way out.

Then a giant chunk of ceiling broke off above them, plummeting into the river, sending a second even larger swell of water at them. Bunny was lifted from the hood and dragged out and over the SUV. Davidson gripped as tightly as he could, but her slick fingers slid millimeter by millimeter.

He looked into her eyes as calm certainty replaced terror.

“I can’t swim,” was the only thing she said he lost his grip and she spun away, out of sight.

“Don’t!” Brandt yelled, shredding his intercostal muscles on the right side. And for what? Davidson was already in the water, clothes, boots, and all.

“We’ll take care of Puppy Love later,” Lopez said as he grabbed hold of Brandt’s arm. “But let’s get you out of harm’s way first.”

“No,” Brandt struggled to say, but the overwhelming nausea came out of nowhere, knocking the breath from him. It took everything he had not to retch right there.

Once on the roof of the car, Rebecca knelt beside him. “Can’t we give him something for the pain?”

Brandt shook his head, but Lopez shrugged off his pack, digging around for the right syringe. “I’m good,” Brandt insisted, but no one looked like they believed him.

“Great, so fight me off,” Lopez said as he rolled up Brandt’s sleeve. Of course he couldn’t fight the corporal off, so Lopez jammed the needle into his arm, pumping him full of morphine.

“Whoa!” yelled Harvish as the SUV rocked under them.

Fairly quickly the vehicle settled back onto its tires. No one was fooled though. Give those huge leaks above them a few more minutes and not just surges of water would lift them. Soon the river flowing around them would be high enough to unmoor the SUV and they’d be nothing more than a steel log on a wild set of rapids.

Then of course the inevitable when there was no more room for the water.

When the cavern was full. What then?

“Don’t be such a downer,” Rebecca said next to him.

“What?” Brandt asked, not sure if the morphine had kicked in, making him talk in his sleep.

“I know that set to your lips,” Rebecca answered. “You are walking the situation forward to the worst possible scenario.”

Harvish scoffed next to them. “Yeah, he wouldn’t have to go too far to find that one.”

Rebecca smiled though. “But just think of how many times you’ve thought about that worst possible scenario...”

“And it turned out to be worse than that?” Brandt answered.

“No,” she laughed. Not a hysterical laugh. Not a scared-out-of-her-mind laugh, but a genuine laugh. “Okay, maybe yes, but out of all those worst cases you always figured out a way out.” Rebecca took his hand. “I trust you’ll find us a way out.”

Brandt couldn’t think of anything except for the fact he’d married the wrong woman.

Aunush let the water pour down upon her. Beat upon her skin. If the fire did not kill them all, the water ultimately would. The sniper grabbed for her hand as a wave nearly carried her off.

Their eyes met. Her intent had been to die here, to stay with the tablets, yet it felt as if God was pushing them toward home instead of calling them home. She didn’t fight when the sniper angled them toward the crevice that separated the two caverns.

It was hard to tell if tears or salt water streaked down her cheeks. The water sloshed up the sides of the cavern walls, carrying her and the rest of her soaked team away from Gomorrah. Rapidly the gap in the stone approached. If they could somehow get through that opening, they might have a chance at surviving their own suicide mission.

Her shoulder hit hard against the cavern wall as the water gained speed, hurling them toward the gap. She didn’t complain though. How could she when she could feel God’s hand upon their back?

As they sped toward the gap, the crack above them widened, sending debris falling. The sniper grabbed her arm and jerked her clear of a huge boulder. Nannan had not been so lucky. His scream was doused by the roaring water. His leg pinned, the Watcher reached a bloody hand out to her.

God had made His choice though. Who was she to countermand it?

Just as a set of boulders blocked the passage out, the remainder of her team slipped through the gap and stumbled into Sodom.

The crack they had created in Gomorrah extended into this section of the cavern. And while Sodom was not positioned under the Dead Sea, that crack wicked water along the ceiling. The dangling city was dissolving. But Sodom refused to go as quietly as Gomorrah. Towers broke off, crashing to the floor.

It was like a stalactite attack. They ran, dodging the very sharp and very heavy salt missiles. One of the men cried out, his arms up. But nothing short of a concrete bunker could save him from the ornate stalactite that slammed into him. The water turned red as it churned around the pile that used to be a man.

God did always have a magnificent way of weeding out the weak.

Davidson let the current take him. The river wound around buildings, making its way to the cavern wall that separated Sodom from Gomorrah. If he didn’t catch up to Bunny by then, the girl didn’t have a chance.

There! A splash followed by a sputtering cough. Bunny flailed against the water, churning, kicking, fighting for her life. Davidson kicked harder, angling toward Bunny. She hit the corner of a building and disappeared. He waited a heartbeat for her to resurface, but she didn’t. Gulping a breath, Davidson dove under the water. Between the high salt content and the speed of the water it was a blurry mess. He might never have found her if a small flame of magnesium hadn’t fallen in the river, illuminating the tubid waters.

Its flickering light bobbed in the river’s flow.

He found Bunny still flailing. Davidson tried to gently guide her to the surface, but panic had set in and she fought even him. Not knowing what else to do, Davidson grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to his hip, his bad hip. Pushing off against a wall that disintegrated under the pressure, he strove for the surface.

As they broke the surface Bunny gasped for air, starting the flailing all over again.

“Stop,” Davidson yelled, but she either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. “Bunny!” He pulled her closer. “Just stop.”

Some dim awareness must have penetrated her panic as the woman slowed her movements.

“Completely stop,” Davidson encouraged.

Bunny swallowed hard, but still near panting she stopped her struggle.

“It’s hypersalinated,” Davidson explained as they drifted peacefully. “You just float.”

Bunny’s eyes dilated and then constricted back down. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“No. You can only drown if you fight it.”

Davidson was ready for a number of reactions, however Bunny wrapped her arms around his neck and then snuggling her head against his collarbone was not one of them.

It was almost idyllic except the river began speeding up, heading toward that rift. Water splashed and churned. If they didn’t make it through just so, they would be smashed against the walls. And the closer they got, the more violent the passage appeared. Then he saw why. One of the boulders from the ceiling had fallen near the passage. What used to be an exit that could fit a car had been narrowed to what looked like a stick figure would have a hard time getting through.

Several bodies floating in the water confirmed Davidson’s worst fear.

“Just float, huh?” Bunny asked as she removed her head from his shoulder.

Davidson tried to maneuver so that he went through first. If anything he should be able to make sure she got through alive. Then of course she would have to make it all the way through the Sodom cavern, fight her way through the small hole in the wall, now well below water level, get into the outpost before it too was underwater, and then make her way across the Jordan desert by herself to civilization.

None of that sounded very likely, but hey, what could you do?

“We’ve got to work together to try and go upstream.” Davidson clarified, “I’m going to do most of the kicking, but I need you to—”

“Or you could just catch a ride,” a voice called out from behind him. Davidson swiveled to find the SUV had come up alongside them. Lopez and Harvish were using part of the fenders as paddles while Talli used the other as a rudder. “On the LHTSUV gondola service.”

Talli turned the SUV so that it blocked the passage. “Hop aboard.”

Rebecca helped Bunny onto the SUV’s roof, although she noticed that Davidson didn’t take his hand off of her the whole time. Nothing like a little death-defying experience to bond you. Rebecca should know. Hopefully their bond held up better than hers and Brandt’s.

“So do we have a plan?” Davidson asked, whipping the water off his face.

“Yeah,” Rebecca said, not able to keep the trepidation out of her voice.

Lopez though had no such trouble. “Brandt came up with a plan and it is legendary!”

As Lopez detailed Brandt’s plan, Rebecca became less and less certain of it.

“That isn’t a plan,” Davidson said. “It’s a suicide mission.”

“I know, right?” Lopez said. “We really need to give morphine to Brandt more often.”

Rebecca wasn’t so sure of that. At the least the drug had forced him to rest, but his breaths were shallow and the cast of his skin had grayed. She’d seen it before and had sworn to never see it again.

“Do we even have enough C-4 to pull this off?” Davidson asked.

Lopez handed the private his sniper rifle. “Depends on if you make the shot on the first try.” Rebecca watched Davidson visibly sag. Lopez though smacked the younger man in the arm. “Come on, dude, you missing the mark isn’t even part of our worst-case scenario calculations.”

Davidson accepted the rifle and then glanced down to the ropes secured to the car doors. “What are those for?”

“Oh those?” Lopez said. “Those are part of our worst-case scenario.”

Brandt startled awake feeling as if he was lying under a wide-open faucet. Then he realized that he was. A briny faucet. In a cavern. Where they were all about to either be drowned or crushed. That faucet.

Water dripped from his face, ears, clothes. There wasn’t a single square inch that wasn’t saturated through and through. He looked to Rebecca as water streamed down her soaked hair, creating its own mini-waterfall. She wasn’t looking at him though. Instead she was watching Davidson as he set up his shot.

Right. Rescue attempt still in progress. Got it.

The end of the grappling hook, smeared in C-4, protruded out the M4 rifle. It was an outright insane plan. Really it should have by all rights come from Lopez, but they were desperate enough that Brandt’s mind had gone to extreme solutions. Besides, he had to live up to Rebecca’s confidence even if it was the last thing he ever did. Which, with this plan, was the most likely result.

“Um, Davidson,” Lopez said. “You going to take the shot or wait until we can just hook that thing up there ourselves?”

Brandt looked to the side of the SUV. He could only see water. No buildings. No salt. No Gomorrah. They floated on an underground lake. A lake with about a half dozen raging waterfalls. And the white magnesium fire? It still raged across the ceiling crackling and sparking. The sound reverberated through the cavern, making it nearly impossible to hear your own thoughts let alone anything else.

“Do it,” Brandt ordered.

Davidson swallowed, then tightened his grip on the rifle, pushing it hard against his shoulder. Brandt watched the younger man settle into his shot. Even with the road map of scars across his face, you could see the determination etched into his features. You could feel the shot building within the man. The mark of a great shooter. He was envisioning exactly where he wanted the hook to go. He could see the successful hit. Even if no one else could, he could.

Even before Davidson fired, Brandt knew the grappling hook would hit exactly where they needed. Davidson’s posture was just that certain.

And sure enough, when Davidson pulled the trigger, the grappling hook zipped through the air, passing through water and fire and hitting its mark like the center of a bull’s-eye.

Okay, the easy part was done.

On to the insane part.

“Can I just say one last time how much I love this plan?” Lopez said, winking at Rebecca as he secured the rope around her waist.

“You mean before we all get killed,” she clarified. The corporal really was way too excited by all of this. “Weirdo.”

“Yep,” he said, winking again, and then his face sobered. “If he passes out again, you may have to pull his line for him.”

“‘He’ is sitting right here,” Brandt guffed.

“Sarge, that would be ‘lying’ right here, and we’ve got to be prepared if you decide to take another nap.”

Rebecca put a hand on Brandt’s knee and gave it a squeeze. He really shouldn’t be wasting energy trying to be all tough. Plus Lopez was being kind. Brandt hadn’t taken a “nap,” he’d lapsed into unconsciousness. They couldn’t rouse him. She had to stuff down the memory of having to check his pulse to be sure he was still alive.

Lopez rose and spoke to the entire group. “Once we break through the ceiling and head up, we don’t know exactly what to expect. We could be facing a thousand feet of Dead Sea overhead or only the average depth of four hundred feet.” He checked Bunny and Davidson’s lines, then Talli’s, then Harvish’s. “What we do know is that we are going to ride the SUV as far up as we can, then cut the line and strike for the surface. How much swimming we may have to do is a big fat question mark, so be sure to take in plenty of oxygen before we launch.”

Unlike the rest of them, Lopez only wrapped the rope around his wrist. This plan required him to be mobile. Which of course Lopez would have insisted upon even if the plan didn’t.

Lopez picked up his fender/paddle and guided the SUV outside the blast area. He hit the detonator, and yet another huge chunk of ceiling came down. But would it be enough? It was going to have to be as Lopez draped a large tarp over them all.

“Everybody, oxygen-up!”

Taking deep breaths, Rebecca watched as Lopez guided the SUV under the downpour. The water from the newest hole hit them with such force that it actually shoved the SUV a foot farther down into the water. If they didn’t get going they’d go down with the vehicle as water lapped at the SUV’s roof.

“Three,” Lopez announced. “Two. Screw it!”

He hit the second detonator, the one that exploded the six huge directional C-4 charges placed on the undercarriage of the SUV. One moment they were floating on the lake, and in another gut-wrenching moment they were being hurled upward.

The metal vibrated in loud protest just as Brandt’s hand went limp.

Davidson held Bunny close as they hit the wildfire. The tarp overhead lit up with flame, but Lopez was there to cut the tarp loose before any of the magnesium could touch them. Then they were within the heart of the breach.

He tucked Bunny’s head close as he took his last breath for who knew how long. Water surged around them. Not water from the Dead Sea, but actually the Dead Sea itself as the controlled explosion propelled them upward through the water toward the moonlight.

Then they broke the surface. What?

They shouldn’t have broken the surface yet. Bunny gasped next to him as the SUV vaulted up into the sky. Without the resistance of the water, they overshot the surface, by a lot, a lot.

“Hang tight!” Lopez yelled.

If it weren’t so wrong their flight would have been beautiful. It felt like they were on a ship to the moon. And Lopez was their gondolier, standing tall, the moonlight framing his shoulders. Davidson tried to memorize each and every sight since if they survived Lopez was going to want an exact recounting of how awesome he looked.

As their velocity slowed, the sensation of weightlessness took over. Thank goodness for the ropes, otherwise he feared they would have been flung into the night.

Then they would fell back to the water. The density of the salt would break their fall. The SUV would absorb most of the impact. This could still work.

That was until Lopez stumbled and righted himself, but then he stumbled again.

Davidson realized why.

The SUV was tipping. Tipping over.

Brandt snapped awake as Lopez scrambled to get to the other side of the SUV to balance it out, but he was too late. In a sweeping motion, the SUV flipped over, hurtling back down toward the Dead Sea with them on the wrong side of the equation. If they landed like this, they’d be crushed between the SUV and the water.

Lopez dangled from his rope, swinging back and forth like a circus performer.

“Cut loose!” Brandt yelled through the tumult of noise.

Almost reluctantly Lopez swung farther out and let go, straightening his body, getting ready for impact with the water.

“Everyone!” Brandt yelled, but the others were already all over it. All except him. Between the shock and the morphine, his fingers just couldn’t get the right end of the slipknot. Then Rebecca’s fingers were there.

Even she had a hard time though, especially trying to keep the pack with the tablets on her arm. He could see her make the decision.

“Don’t!” Brandt begged, but with a smile she dropped the backpack into the rift and then wrapped her rope around him. Brandt watched the backpack disappear down into the cavern as Rebecca shoved hard off the SUV before tugging them both loose. Arm in arm they sailed through the air in free fall. The wind whistled around them as they dove, together, toward the dark blue sea. All in all not a bad way to go.

Craning his neck he watched Lopez hit feet first, and then the corporal disappeared beneath the surface. The others slammed into the water. The impact jarred Brandt’s already trashed bones. He gathered his remaining strength to pull Rebecca close and roll them out of the way as the SUV crashed right beside them, missing them by inches.

The waters roiled around them, making it hard to tell which way was the surface. Pushing off against the SUV, he sent them moving, but whether it was the right direction or not Brandt had no good idea.

Then he saw flashing lights. Where those real or just in his head? It didn’t matter, they needed to head somewhere. Thankfully the sea was as buoyant as advertised and they breached the surface within seconds.

“Here!” a voice called out.

Every movement searing, Brandt struggled to keep up with Rebecca. Then a hand was at his back, pulling him up.

“Put your feet down, Sarge!”

He did as instructed and damn if his boots didn’t hit the seabed. With a lot of help, he was able to stand. How was that possible?

Then he saw the long crack in the sea floor that went as far as the eye could see. They must have opened up a much larger fault line than they’d thought as the Dead Sea drained into the breach, leaving them this narrow patch of land. Before he could absorb the sight, he realized they were missing a man.

“Where’s Lopez?”

But why did he bother to ask as the corporal rode a wave on his fender, working it side to side until he nailed a perfect landing next to them?

“Oh. My. God. Cave surfing,” Lopez exclaimed. “I so want to go pro!”

That was going to have to wait until they found a way out from the middle of the Dead Sea. Christ only knew Brandt didn’t have it in him to swim to shore. And which shore became an issue. Were they on the—

Above the roar of the water, a gunshot pierced the air. Hot blood sprayed across Brandt’s face. Not his blood. Not Rebecca’s blood. Harvish’s blood.

The point man stumbled forward, red gushing from his chest. He didn’t have on a bulletproof vest. Harvish had given Brandt his vest. The man was now coughing blood because of Brandt.

No, not again.

Brandt gripped the man’s shoulders, holding him up. “We are getting you out of here.”

Another shot and Harvish screamed as the second bullet hit him in the back. Brandt looked over the point man’s shoulder. He expected to find Aunush and her goons, only it wasn’t them. It was the Jordanian army. What looked like an entire platoon lined the eastern bank of the Dead Sea. All with their guns raised.

“Help me,” Brandt asked Rebecca, but Harvish shoved away the offer.

“Go!” the point man demanded as he brought his gun up. “Now!”

Harvish would have made a great commander one day. He’d gotten that growling order down. Brandt could still disobey him. And Brandt would have except Harvish turned toward the eastern bank and ran straight toward the army, firing away.

Too weak to resist Rebecca, Brandt stumbled west with her. “He’s made his choice!” she yelled over the gunfire.

But it was the wrong choice. It should have been Brandt to provide their cover.

It should have been him to die.

Davidson and the other men ignored Brandt’s protest as they rushed headlong to the northwestern bank, following the crack along the Dead Sea floor. It was already the shallow end of the sea, and with the bulk of the water rushing toward the cavern, they were sloshing through only a foot of water.

An anguished scream came from behind them. Harvish fell face-first into the water, finally succumbing. Davidson had only known the point man, what, a few dozen hours, yet he felt Harvish’s death hit deep in his gut. As the point man’s body floated on the water, carrying him toward the breach, Davidson looked to Brandt.

The sergeant’s face was a mask of shame. “It should have been me,” he mumbled.

Again, everyone ignored the sergeant as they picked up speed, heading toward the blue and white lights of the Israeli police. Sure they would be questioned, maybe even tortured, but it was a far cry above being captured by the Jordanian secret police. Davidson had enough scars already, thank you.

The Israelis waded into the water, stopping at some invisible line. It must have been the Israel-Jordan border. Davidson glanced back to find the Jordanian army doing the same. Which would they reach first?

“Move it!” Lopez ordered as he helped lift Brandt off his feet. The sergeant protested, but Lopez and Talli got them moving faster.

A loudspeaker squawked to life, carrying harsh Arabic words.

Talli translated. “If you fire on them, you fire on Israel!”

This announcement seemed to give the Jordanians pause. And Lopez apparently wanted to make the most of it as they surged ahead, straight at the line of Israeli soldiers, even though the soldiers’ weapons were up. At the last moment the sea of green uniforms parted, allowing them to pass.

The team stumbled a few more steps, just to be sure they were on Israeli territory before stopping their headlong flight.

The Jordanian forces still advanced, marching toward the Israeli line, until they were only inches apart. The two countries faced off against one another. The Israeli commander stepped forward so as to go toe-to-toe with the Jordanian commander.

“You do not wish a repeat of the Six-Day War,” the Israeli said in heavily accented English.

“We are prepared this time,” the Jordanian replied, his hand upon his holster.

Perhaps they weren’t as safe as Davidson had hoped.

Rebecca helped hold Brandt up as the group clearly feared the worst. They had survived all of the hell of the past few days only to die in a battle fueled by resentment dating back to nearly as ancient as Sodom and Gomorrah.

Then a man sloshed his way out to them from the Israeli side.

“Gentlemen!” he called out in a crisp British accent. “You are looking at this all wrong.”

Was that Vanderwalt? Brandt’s MI-5 friend? From the shaggy blond hair to his tall lanky limbs, it was.

Neither commander seemed any too happy to have a British agent join the mix.

“This is none of your concern,” the Israeli snapped.

“Ah,” Vanderwalt said, “but your superiors think it is.”

The Jordanian commander refused to budge. “We shall settle this now.”

Vanderwalt put up a finger. “I’d call in first. Your generals are waiting to hear from you.”

Both commanders’ eyes flickered to the Brit. It was one thing to ignore the foreign agent, but quite another to ignore their own superiors. The two commanders’ cell phones rang at exactly the same time.

“Guess your generals got tired of waiting,” Vanderwalt suggested, indicating to the phones on their belts. He waited until the men answered their phones, listened, and then hung up. “Because you see, this situation is a victory for everyone.”

Vanderwalt turned to the Jordanian commander. “You see, a known terrorist hid a bushel full of weaponized bioagent in the caves near the Dead Sea, completely unbeknownst to the Jordanian government, of course.”

Which there was no “of course.” Someone in that government had to know Amed was using the old outpost. Rebecca was sure of it. Vanderwalt was just giving Jordan a cover story and what sounded like a pretty damned good one at that.

“Once Jordan realized what was happening on their soil, they rushed to neutralize the second coming of God’s plague.” Vanderwalt spread his hands in true dramatic fashion. “Unfortunately, the cave was booby-trapped and triggered a massive rift in the Dead Sea floor, creating the disaster swirling around us.”

Vanderwalt turned to the Israeli commander. “Luckily, the Jordanian forces and nearby Israeli forces came together in true international cooperative spirit and saved the poor tourists caught in the flood.”

All eyes turned to Rebecca and her group. Tourists? Really? All the men’s weapons bristled, even Brandt’s. Plus they had enough bullet wounds to fill an infirmary. Blood streaked off of all of them. Add in the magnesium fire scorch marks to really complete the backpacker vibe.

No one believed him. Why would they?

“At least,” Vanderwalt stated, “that is what CNN is going to report in about two hours.” He glanced to both commanders. “Or do I need to call your bosses and let them know there’s a problem with their boots on the ground?”

Rebecca held her breath as tension strummed the night air.

Would the story play out as Vanderwalt suggested, or would CNN be reporting the death of six hikers in the Dead Sea tragedy?

Even though Brandt knew they could never shoot their way out of the situation, he still clung to his gun. The feel of power and control, while an illusion, was the only thing keeping him upright.

Neither commander said a word. Neither bowed to Vanderwalt’s pressure. Neither admitted defeat. Both simply turned away from each other to face their own men.

In Hebrew and Arabic the call to withdraw was sounded.

Air rushed from Brandt’s lungs as his knees buckled. Rebecca was right there. Vanderwalt caught his other shoulder.

“Chap, you’ve got to pick your vacation spots with a little more care.”

As they limped to the shore, Brandt asked, “How did you know where to find us?”

“Oh please,” Vanderwalt said, smiling with those crooked-ass teeth of his. “You say you are going east and then not a day later St. Basil’s is destroyed in a ‘terrorist’ attack, then Slovenia has its only avalanche ever recorded in May, while hours later a private plane wings its way to the Holy Land, going far faster than the manufacturer’s recommend speed?”

Brandt tried to summon up a glare at Lopez, but he just couldn’t.

“Damn right,” Lopez said, high-fiving Vanderwalt.

That was not the answer Brandt was hoping for, however they were alive, at least most of them. As they finally arrived at the rocky shore, Brandt looked back to the Dead Sea. The turbulent water had become still again. Apparently the cavern had filled and the drainage of the sea had stopped.

Looking out over the glasslike surface, placidly reflecting the moonlight, you would never know a war had been waged here. Never know that Harvish had sacrificed himself to save the team.

“We’ll try to recover your man’s body,” Vanderwalt said, “but given most of this happened on the Jordanian side...”

Brandt knew the drill. They were a black ops team. Harvish had known the risks. The point man had known that his family would more than likely be burying an empty casket after a “training exercise” ran afoul. A tragic “accident.” It was the way their world worked.

“He needs medical attention,” Rebecca said as they made their way past the shore to the cluster of Israeli vehicles.

“We’ve got a helicopter to take us from here to Tel Aviv,” Vanderwalt said as they eased Brandt down next to a medic vehicle. “Then a private plane to London.” Vanderwalt spun on his heel, pointing at Lopez. “And no, you may not fly it.”

With an audible sigh, Lopez sat his ass down next to Brandt. “Fine.”

Vanderwalt turned his attention to Rebecca. “And yes, each of you needs medical attention, but I believe that what Brandt needs best is a good, stiff, forty-year-old scotch.”

“Hella yes,” Lopez answered, perhaps for all of them.

Aunush guarded her left side as they staggered through the thigh-high water of the outpost. God truly was feeling gracious, delivering them from the sure death of the caverns to the building.

The sniper opened a door as the water surged ahead, carrying them forward. Trying to call up the plans for the building, Aunush guided them to the left through another door. They were so close. One more room and they would be out.

Half walking, half tripping they stumbled into the reception area only to find their lone Chinese soldier. Thankful, she took his extended hand to help right herself.

They might have lost the tablets, but they had survived.

Then she felt a gun barrel in her gut as several Jordanian soldiers joined them. The Chinese soldier pulled the trigger, sending hot agony through her belly.

Her last thought was of her sniper, yet he stood by, doing nothing.

With that puzzle, the world went black.

Rebecca leaned her head up against the plane’s window, watching as they descended toward Heathrow International Airport. The others were sprawled out, most snoring loudly. The men were used to riding adrenaline as high as it could take you and then crashing. She was still too jittery to sleep. How she wished she could though.

Brandt’s features seemed so peaceful as he slept across the aisle. Occasionally a frown would pass over lips. Then they’d release and his breathing would steady. Thankfully the damage had been far less than Rebecca had feared. If you considered five broken ribs, a bullet wound to the lateral oblique muscles, and a half a liter of blood loss as “less.”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep as Bunny sat down next to her. The younger woman gave a sad smile. “I thought we should...” She lowered her voice. “Talk about the tablets...”

Rebecca indicated to the Union Jack stitched into the fabric of the seat in front of them. “I know, weird, right?” Rebecca asked in a tone far more cheerful than she felt. “That those tablets had nothing really more than the standard Ten Commandments.”

Bunny went to open her mouth, but Rebecca nudged her foot. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Bunny responded. “Weird.”

Rebecca grinned as the pilot came on to tell them to prepare for landing. Which she was more than ready to do. Vanderwalt, however, was still a little put out that he couldn’t debrief them. No, that distinct pleasure would come tonight once they got stateside. Apparently there wasn’t anyone high enough up the ladder to take their statements. That’s what happened when you blew up the Dead Sea.

The plane jostled a bit on the landing as the brakes squealed.

“Amateurs,” Lopez grumbled from across the aisle.

Quickly though the plane’s speed was under control as they taxied to their private hangar at the edge of the airport. Her seat belt was unhooked before they even pulled to a stop.

Silently the team hurried down the steps to the tarmac as soon as the hatch was opened. Everyone more than happy to put the adventure behind them and move on with their lives. Brandt especially seemed in a hurry, even though he leaned heavily on the railing in front of her. Her instinct was to reach out and help, but she no longer had the excuse of imminent danger to explain her actions.

Once they were all off the plane, Vanderwalt pointed to a row of cars.

“Dr. Monroe,” he said, “a car will take you to your flat so that you may collect your belongings.” Vanderwalt turned to Davidson. “And one for you as well. As for Ms. Davenport, we can put you up in a hotel if you wish until your flight to the States.”

Bunny’s eyes darted over to Davidson. He gave a subtle nod. She turned back to Vanderwalt. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll go with Davidson to help pack his belongings.”

Vanderwalt shrugged. “Just about the only thing all right for me would be to haul you all to Thames House for a thorough debriefing, but alas your president has other things to say about the matter.” He then focused on Brandt. “Your team will be taken to Croughton.”

“What?” Lopez asked. “No Sheraton?”

“Again, chap,” Vanderwalt replied. “Thames House is your other option.”

Brandt patted the British agent on the back. “Don’t think we’re unappreciative. Croughton will be fine.”

For some reason the two men’s casual affection pained Rebecca. Or was it the knowledge that once again she’d be losing Brandt? This time for good. Soon the baby would be here and any chance of some miracle bringing them together would be severed along with the umbilical cord.

With what she hoped was a casual wave, Rebecca left the group and made a beeline for her assigned car. She was almost in when a call came from behind. “Rebecca! Wait.”

Brandt.

Why couldn’t he just let it go?

She stopped and turned to find Brandt limping over, an arm around his midsection. The medics in Israel had done an amazing job, however there was a limit to their abilities in the face of that much trauma.

“Rebecca,” he said much more quietly so only she could hear. The name reverberated inside of her. To hear it spoken with such tenderness just made her ache, and not in the good way.

She knew that Brandt wanted to have some kind of epic closure, but she just wanted to get the hell out of here. There was nothing more for the two of them to say.

“So, I overheard Vanderwalt say that Maria had been brought to London.”

Brandt’s face hardened. “Yes.”

“And that once the baby is born they are relocating her to North Carolina to be near your parents?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“That’s great,” she said as she put her hand on the car’s door handle. “Well then, I should get—”

Brandt grabbed her wrist. “Rebecca, we did it so wrong last time.”

Yes, yes the breakup had been a train wreck. The yelling. The tears. The slamming doors.

His grip loosened. “Can’t we just—”

“Brandt!” Vanderwalt called out as he trotted over.

“Not exactly the best time, Vanderwalt,” Brandt warned.

“It’s Maria,” the Brit said, smiling apologetically to Rebecca. “She has gone into labor.”

Fighting back tears, Rebecca pulled her hand out from under Brandt’s touch. “Go,” she choked out. “She needs you.”

Brandt still seemed torn. His body had turned toward Vanderwalt, but his feet were still pointed to her. It wasn’t until Lopez jerked the keys out of the chauffeur’s hand and shouted, “Get in. I’m driving!” that Brandt snapped back.

“Rebecca, I am so—”

“Just go,” Rebecca said as she opened the door to her own car. She slid into the backseat and slammed the door shut, glad for the darkly tinted windows. That way Brandt wouldn’t see her break down.

With one hand Brandt gripped the safety handle and with the other he held his ribs in place as Lopez made a ninety-degree turn going over thirty miles an hour. But at least the physical pain took his mind off of his heart’s ache.

Again. Forever.

He’d seen the look in her eyes. Whatever bridge they had tentatively formed over the last few days had ruptured just as surely as Maria’s water had broken.

“I think I’m going to have the guys start calling you ‘Papa,’” Lopez said.

“No, you aren’t,” Brandt stated flatly.

However, that didn’t change the fact that Brandt was about to be a father.

A father. That so sounded like he was talking about his dad. Had he felt this churning of his belly at Brandt’s birth? Had he been as afraid and confused?

Of course his dad had actually loved his mom and they had been trying to conceive for five years before Brandt had made his appearance. Their “miracle baby” is what they’d called him. Even after the birth of his two sisters, he was still their miracle. What legacy could he give his child? How could Brandt be sure that despite the circumstances of his conception, his boy knew that he too was a miracle? And when was too early to start saving for a college fund?

Christ, a thousand thoughts competed for attention. Especially as the burner phone in his hand keep vibrating with each new text update. Maria was in full-blown labor. They’d let her start pushing. Dear God, it wouldn’t be long now.

His mouth went dry and his hands started shaking, actually shaking. He really wanted to chalk it up to all the trauma and drugs for the trauma, but Brandt knew it was because he was afraid. Perhaps more afraid than he had been in the cavern.

Wait, on second thought, maybe not quite that afraid, but pretty damned scared. Fighting was one thing, bringing a whole new life into this world was quite another.

Okay, on third thought, maybe he was more scared now.

Lopez made a fast left, across four lanes of traffic that had the green and skidded them into the St. Bartholomew’s Hospital ambulance bay. Brandt popped open his door and, oblivious to the jabbing pain in his side, hit the ER doors at a run.

As he passed by the nurses’ station he asked, “Maternity ward?”

“Third floor, follow the pink arrows!” a nurse shouted behind him, clearly used to panicked fathers-to-be.

He went to hit the stairs, but Lopez was right behind him, hitting the elevator button. “Dude, you do still want to be alive when you get there, right?”

Any other time Brandt would have scoffed, but adrenaline only got you so far.

The elevator chimed, sealing his decision. They boarded the elevator as Lopez hit the floor three button like a dozen times. In what possibly felt like the longest, slowest three-floor elevator ride in the history of mankind, Brandt shoved away everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours. And then shoved some more, packing away all the feelings that had been stirred and churned. His focus had to be on Maria and the baby.

It had to be.

Once the elevator doors opened, Brandt charged out, following the pink arrows. A scream like a bull in a fight to the death resounded through the hallways. That had to be Maria. He burst into the room only to find an Indian couple looking at him strangely.

“Sorry,” he apologized, wishing he could unsee what he just saw.

A nurse escorted him to the door. “Who are you here for?”

“Maria,” he said. “Mrs. Brandt.” Which still sounded incredibly weird. Like he was talking about his mom or something.

“Oh, she’s already delivered,” the nurse stated, pointing down the hall. “You’ll find them in room three twenty-four.”

“Is he...” Brandt couldn’t finish the sentence.

“They’re both healthy as could be, dear,” the nurse reassured him.

He turned on his heel and rushed down the hallway, not believing he’d missed his own son’s birth. Sure he’d been saving the world, but come on.

Bursting in the right door this time, Brandt took in the sight of his wife, his almost painfully beautiful wife and baby. That tiny red squished face. His son. He was about to hurry over to the bedside when he caught Maria’s frown. Nor would she look him in the eye.

Then the blue blanket slipped from the baby’s shoulder revealing his chest, and the huge port-wine birthmark splashed across his dark skin.

It took a moment for Brandt’s brain to catch up with the sight before him. He knew that birthmark. Brandt turned to find Lopez in the doorway, looking extremely blanched.

That’s where he knew the birthmark from. Lopez.

A sharp, biting grief gripped his heart. The child wasn’t his. He wasn’t a father. Then a crashing sense of relief washed the pain away. The child was Lopez’s.

Maria’s eyes blinked as she cringed, clearly expecting some kind of berating.

Instead Brandt smiled, beamed really.

He removed his wedding band and handed it to Lopez. “They’re all yours, buddy.”

For the first time since Brandt had known the corporal, Lopez didn’t have a snappy response. And Brandt was in no mood to wait for one.

He had someone to see.

Rebecca finished recalibrating the micropipette. After being dropped off at her apartment, she’d snuck out the back and headed to her laboratory, only a block away. This might be the last time she ever got a chance to test out her “smart” gene theory. She might have lost Brandt, but she wasn’t going to lose her research as well.

The lab had a thick layer of dust from the blast that took out the stairwell wall, but otherwise the room had survived the assault well. And luckily she had a backup to her microblade. But only one. She doubted after this last debacle that she would get more funding any time soon.

Settling herself, Rebecca sat down on the stool and rolled it forward to the microscope. She only had to extract a few nanograms of any DNA left in James’s bone. After everything she’d been through she didn’t think a nanogram was much to ask.

The bone was still perfectly aligned in the grips from her earlier attempt. Rebecca could see that pocket of what looked like preserved marrow. Carefully she raised the microknife, taking care that the low flow suction was working perfectly before she committed to making the cut.

Closing her eyes, she counted to three, then opened them again, her hand on the controls. Just as she pushed the lever, the lab door burst open. She didn’t need to hear the expensive tip break off, she felt it shatter.

With a fury borne of so much more than her experiment ruined, Rebecca turned to the door. “What the hell do you—”

Her words died in her throat as she realized it was Brandt. And he was smiling. That made absolutely no sense.

“The baby,” he beamed. “It’s not mine.”

“What?” she stammered. “That doesn’t make any...What?”

He stepped closer. “Let’s just say I don’t think I was the only soldier Maria was comforting that mission.”

Rebecca still didn’t understand. Maria had sworn the child was Brandt’s. She’d sworn it to Brandt. To her parents. To her priest.

“No,” Rebecca said, taking a step back. She couldn’t go there. She couldn’t get hopeful and then have her world crash down again.

“Yes,” Brandt said. “You know that birthmark of Lopez’s?” Off her nod, Brandt continued. “The baby takes after Papa.”

The child was Lopez’s? Not Brandt’s? That couldn’t be true, could it?

“We’ve got to wait for DNA tests, but then I should be able to get an annulment quickly once they are in.”

“Annulment?” Rebecca repeated, feeling about half a mile behind the conversation. “No, you mean divorce.” Which meant there would be no divorce. Brandt was just that Catholic.

Brandt closed the distance between them. “No, I mean an annulment.”

“But by church law if you’ve consummated the marriage then—”

He took her hand. “Consummated? I haven’t even given her a peck on the cheek.”

Rebecca’s mind spun. They had been married for months. Brandt couldn’t mean...

“Maria and I haven’t had sex, Rebecca. Plus she lied about the baby. I’m getting an annulment.”

A sob she didn’t even know she was holding in broke free. Her hands flew to her mouth. She wanted to say so much but couldn’t come out with a single word.

“I’m in love with you, Rebecca,” Brandt said. “How could I be with anyone else?”

Not even his wife. She blinked several times, making sure this wasn’t a dream that would evaporate as soon as she woke up.

Brandt leaned past her to the shelf above her workspace and grabbed the engagement ring that had been sitting there so forlorn for so long.

“I think we need to put this back where it belongs.”

With only a slight wince he got down on one knee. “Rebecca, will you marry me?”

“Each time you ask me,” Rebecca choked out.

Brandt slid the gold, sparkling ring onto her finger. It felt even more delicious the second time. He went to rise, but struggled. Rebecca dropped to her knees, laughing, crying, still trying to believe he was truly hers again.

Then their lips met, and fire, as white and hot as magnesium, shot through her body. Oh yeah, he was hers.

Their kiss stopped abruptly as Brandt took in a ragged breath. “As much as I’d love to see where this is going...I think I might really need a hospital.”

Rebecca helped him up as blood stained his shirt. “And maybe some surgery, honey.”

“Yeah,” Brandt said, leaning into her, really leaning into her, nothing being held back this time. “Maybe that too.”

And Rebecca would be there, happily right by his side, never to be separated again. You know why? Because she was done with religious controversies. Done with historical mysteries. Really done.

To prove it to herself, as they as walked out, Rebecca hit the toggle on the microtome, grinding the tip into the sample, destroying James’s bone once and for all.

Good-bye, gunfights and magnesium fires.

Hello, wedding planning.

Aunush roused, feeling the cool marble floor beneath her back. And the myrrh and frankincense? It smelled like faith incarnate. The sniper had somehow saved her and brought her home. She felt mildly guilty for deciding to sacrifice him, but it was hard to feel much of anything except relief.

Then she moved her arm to find a sticky pool beside her. A pool of blood. Her own blood. They had not even dressed her wounds. Her sniper had not saved her. He had condemned her.

Cracking her eyes open, Aunush realized she was surrounded by a circle of Disciples. Their long robes brushed the floor. Only the tip of their boots stuck out from beneath the fabric.

As she raised her eyes she found each of the women’s hoods back, revealing their faces. Aunush held back a sob. Had this been a disciplinary quorum, they would have had their features hidden far back within the folds of their robes.

No, this was an execution quorum. Aunush would have the chance to look into each of the women’s eyes before they condemned her to death. No great solace there.

“Aunush de Verante, you have committed the greatest sin against God,” the master’s voice resonated through the chamber. Her deep tenor filling the great hall. “You thought to know His mind better than He.”

The master knelt next to Aunush so that she might whisper harshly in her ear, “You thought yourself ‘She Who Sought and Found.’”

Aunush had no retort. No excuse. No rebuttal. Deep within every bone she had thought herself the one foretold. The one who would shepherd the Disciples’ Messiah into this world. Apparently her bones had been wrong.

“How do we know Aunush is not God’s agent in this?” High Disciple Havva asked.

The master raised her gaze to her fellow Disciple. “Because we know who the true shepherd is,” she said, then turned back to Aunush. “Her name is Dr. Rebecca Monroe.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Aunush repeated, trying desperately to make the words true. That heretical whore could not be the Disciples’ John the Baptist. She just couldn’t be.

“Yes,” the master answered, smoothing back Aunush’s hair. “At least you will die knowing that all your efforts weren’t for naught. The Messiah will arise before the earth circles the sun.”

Aunush pulled tighter into a ball as the master presented her boot. The sight sickened Aunush. She’d only indulged the master’s fetish to further her position with the sect. Now that there could be nothing gained, why should she give the master such pleasure?

Spitting on the leather, Aunush took solace in only one thought as the master kicked her square in the teeth, shattering incisors.

Dr. Rebecca Monroe’s life would be far more pained than Aunush’s death.

Photo by Ben Hopkin, 2011

Carolyn McCray’s love affair with storytelling began in childhood, when she’d draw together all her neighborhood friends to act out and record Nancy Drew mysteries on tape. Since then, McCray has gone on to establish her own reputation for sizzling paranormal romance, controversial historical thrillers, and gut-wrenching mysteries. Now a best-selling author, McCray continues to craft powerful stories such as WidowMaker, 30 Pieces of Silver, and Encrypted. She’s proud of her ability to identify celebrities by their elbows alone, and nurtures a lifelong love for animals. She lives in Auburn, Washington.