Ekaterina (20 page)

Grazovich wiped at the trickle of blood that seeped out from the corner of his mouth. “You’re making too much noise.” Warning edged his tone. Ilyitch tried to ignore it, as well as every voice that rose like a howl from his past to haunt him, to push him towards terror.

Instead, Ilyitch tightened his grip, his meaty hand digging into the windpipe of Brother Papov. “I’m getting tired of these games. You said that if we waited, the girl would bring us the book. .”

Ilyitch heard a hammer click back, and the spine-chilling press of metal against his neck.

“Back off.”

The general always did have a weakness for his Abkhazian family members.

Ilyitch slammed the monk against the wall, cursed, and let him go. He turned and jerked away from the weapon Grazovich held at his neck. “Your cousin is considerably less help than you led me to believe.”

In the moonlight, Ilyitch saw danger gather in the general’s eyes. Time flipped back and he saw General Grazovich and his “troops” as they mowed down the Georgians guarding the make-shift prison, saw what the Abkhazians were capable of, fueled by seventy years of Communist oppression. Ilyitch’s Adam’s apple scraped his throat as he swallowed. He backed away, hands slightly raised, fighting against turning them into fists.

Suddenly, the general turned his glare at the younger man, his cousin, as if suddenly realizing the web the man had tangled for him. “You specifically said you knew where the crest was hidden. I’m counting on you, Cousin. I’m in no mood to let my brother die.”

“I—I’m not sure. I thought it would be in his belongings, or at the very least that the girl would have it. Timofea was so desperate to send the key to her.” Papov raised his hands, his sleeves falling back to reveal skinny arms. “She has to know where the crest is. Please.”

If he didn’t know better, Ilyitch would have thought the monk was about to curse. Or cry. He was just thankful the general had turned his predator’s gaze away from him.

“Listen, maybe I put too much stock in the legend. Timofea was old and delirious. . .” Papov’s voice pinched on the high edge of panic as his gaze flickered down and caught on the damp weeds pooling around their feet. “I told you everything I know. Really. The old man had been talking about the crest in his sleep, and I assumed. . .well, I’d heard the stories. . .but I was probably. . .”

“What exactly did the old man say?” Ilyitch took a step nearer.

The blood drained from Papov’s face. He looked at Grazovich for comfort. “Timofea told me about a man he met, someone who knew about the crest.”

Ilyitch grabbed his tunic, shook him just enough to arrest his attention. “Who was this man?”

“He. . .He called him Anton. He told me that Anton had sought refuge at the monastery, and when he left, he left behind the key. . .and a book. I looked for it for nearly a year. I thought for sure. . .the way he talked about the girl. . .”

Ilyitch exchanged a glance with Grazovich, who was nodding, eyes dark. Their relationship had righted, soldier and general. Ilyitch taking orders, just as he had been for a decade. General Grazovich reminding his soldier, at every hesitation, to whom he owed his freedom, even today.

“She’s a smart one. You sure she doesn’t have the book?” Ilyitch asked, releasing the monk and wiping his hand on his jeans.

Papov shook his head. His voice turned plaintive. “I. . .I don’t know.”

“Are you sure you don’t know?” Ilyitch kept his voice low. “Absolutely?”

“I’m sure.”

“That’s good to know. I’d hate to think I was killing you when you might still be of some use to us.”

The monk stared at him a long time, long after Ilyitch buried his
pero
into his lungs.

“That quiet enough for you?” Ilyitch muttered as he wiped his knife on the grass. But when he turned, Grazovich was gone.

Chapter 13

Vadeem opened his eyes without moving a muscle.

Kat was a horrid watchdog. Terrible. Bottom of the pit. One hundred percent failure.

But, he would take beauty over protection any day.

Her chin had bobbed down to her chest, her hair cascading like a waterfall over her face, tempting him to reach up and wrap a finger around a thick, silky end. Her eyes were closed, and this near, so near he could feel her breath, he could see she had a tiny smattering of ginger freckles across her nose and cheeks. He could hardly breathe for the sight of her.

I’ll take care of you.
Her words came back to him, and he smiled at their accuracy. He’d slept well, too well judging by the dent of pale light creeping in through the windows. Outside, sparrows chirped.

She stirred. He didn’t move, hadn’t moved except for his eyes, having learned the technique of waking motionless years ago. Now he held his breath, unwilling to disturb her.

He heard a scrape, the thud of feet on the stairs, and his mind tensed. Surely, Grazovich hadn’t tracked them here. No. Only Ryslan knew where he’d gone, adding a crude laugh and a promise to keep his eyes on Grazovich.

And, as of last night, Grazovich hadn’t budged. He was still playing tourist in Pskov, taking up residence by day in a local library, and by night in the hotel bar.

Vadeem watched out of the corner of his eye as a man topped the stairs. He stood in the second floor lobby, scanned the room.

His gaze landed on Kat.

Vadeem shuttered his eyes, as the man approached. Solid underneath a thin brown jacket and dark dress pants, he looked mid-forties with sandy brown hair thinned at the temples. Pursing his lips, as if dreading the task before him, he held a package in both hands and crept towards Kat. . .

Vadeem launched off the sofa like a panther.

He hit the man hard. They slammed into the wood floor. The man grunted and sprawled like a sack of potatoes while Vadeem pinned his neck to the ground.

“Vadeem!” Kat grabbed his arm, yanking. “That’s Pyotr. Get off him!”

The man blinked at him, blue eyes filled with confusion.

“Pyotr.” Vadeem rolled off his victim, who eyed him warily.

“Pyotr, as in, I had dinner with his family last night?”

Vadeem grimaced. He held out a hand as he found his feet. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little—”

“Jumpy? Aggressive? Paranoid?” Kat filled in, her hands on her hips.

Vadeem met her frown. “Cautious.”

Pyotr stared at the two, eyebrows high. “Yes, well, I’m glad someone is. After the tale she told us last night of being mugged in Moscow and shot at in Pskov, I’d say a bodyguard is a good thing to have around.” He took Vadeem’s hand, who hauled him up from the floor. “Glad to meet you, Vadeem. . .”

“Captain Vadeem Spasonov.” Vadeem shook his hand, sizing him up. Despite having the grip of factory worker, not a hint of vodka dimmed Pyotr’s bright blue eyes, something rare for a man of Pyotr’s age. In fact, Vadeem wondered how he’d been able to take the man down so easily. Pyotr had Viking shoulders and the girth of a man familiar with the rigors of hard work.

“I’m sorry to surprise you so early this morning,” Pyotr said, screwing up his broad face in apology. “But my mother asked that I drop this off immediately. I’m on my way to morning prayer service south of here, in Bersk.” He held out the package to Kat. “It’s a book.”

She took it like she was accepting a newborn child. “What kind of book?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never read it, nor seen it until last night.” He took a deep breath. “My mother was very upset after you left. Something you said unnerved her.” He motioned to the sofa, asking Kat to sit.

Kat was chewing her lip as she sat down, eyes wide. Vadeem remained standing, not entirely sure she wasn’t out of danger.

“Listen, I have to tell you that my mother is. . .well, she’s old. She’s lived a long time and seen a tremendous amount of history. She fought, shoulder to shoulder, with the men at Stalingrad, and I’m sure that’s never left her. War ages people, you know. I don’t really remember my mother young. She and my father had me late in life. I think they believed they would never have children. She wasn’t the kind of mother who played games with me, but she is loving, and I know she wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Kat frowned. “What are you saying?”

“She may or may not know the people you were looking for. But she thinks she does, and if it proves to be false, it’s not because her intentions aren’t authentic.” He swallowed, looked away, at the window, where dawn pressed through filmy curtains. “She goes in and out of the past these days. She calls me Pavel, my father’s name, more often than I want to admit. If it helps, I know that she used to live in the west somewhere, near Moscow. And there are many things about her that I don’t know, things she’s buried that make me wonder. Like how she can speak a little Polish, or why she never talks about her parents. The answers to these questions are in the past—one that may or may not have anything to do with you, or your search.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Does this make any sense?”

Kat looked at the pastor, and Vadeem recognized a look of kindness that made him appreciate her even more. “I think so.” Her eyes glistened. She gazed down at the package, wrapped in brown paper.

Pyotr cupped a hand around his neck. “I think she believes she is helping you in some way by giving you this. I don’t think she’d part with it otherwise.”

Kat was moved. Vadeem could tell by the way she nodded, her chin quivering.

“Open it, Kat,” he urged.

She looked at him, and the hope in her eyes was so palpable it lodged a lump in his throat. She slid a finger under the wrapper and tore it gently away.

Inside the folds lay a book. Fraying twine bound its leather cover, twice around. It smelled of dust and age. Kat looked at Pyotr, then carefully untied the twine.

Curiosity pushed Vadeem closer. “What is it?”

Kat opened the front cover. He saw her swallow, hard. Her face, when she looked up, was raw with emotion. She opened her mouth, and after a long moment, words finally emerged. “It’s the diary of Anton Klassen.”

-

“I’d like to talk to your mother.” Kat lifted her chin, her gaze unflinching as she stared at Pyotr. Her tone had turned bolder now that she’d downed a cup of cocoa in the hotel café. At least some feeling had finally returned to her body. Shock had turned her numb and it wasn’t until Vadeem suggested they grab some breakfast that reality brought life to her muscles.

If the information Vadeem had unearthed yesterday proved correct, the past lay right beneath her fingers, contained in a four-inch by six-inch book, between yellowed, dusty pages of tiny printing. She traced the cover with her finger. “Please, Pyotr, your mother must know something.”

“I don’t think you should ask her anything else. I’m not sure you would even find answers.” Pyotr stirred his coffee with a red stir stick, then let it go and watched it circle round with the momentum. “She’s pretty. . .incoherent at times. She has wild stories.”

“She didn’t seem too incoherent last night.”

He smiled, sadness ringing his eyes. “She had a good night.”

Kat considered him, his posture seemed slightly defeated, shoulders rounded as he stared into his cup. He smiled ruefully. “I’d like to believe all her wild stories are true.”

Kat touched his arm. “Maybe they would make sense to me.”

He looked at her, and she noticed he had the kindest set of misty blue eyes, congruent with what she suspected of a pastor. “You know, maybe they would.”

His words lit a flame of hope. “When?”

He checked his watch then leaned back, rubbing his wrist where the watchband had creased a mark. The sun streamed through gauzy gray curtains, bright light flowing over the wooden café floor like syrup. Vadeem sat across from them, stirring his tea, watching Pyotr as if the pastor might be a spy, ready to pounce if the need should arise.

Not that Vadeem had needed a reason before. She couldn’t believe he’d flattened Pyotr, poor guy. Thankfully, the pastor looked like he could take it, with his sturdy muscles and solid frame.

Still, it made her smile to think Vadeem had pounced, protecting her. Again. It seemed to be becoming a habit over the past few days.

Pyotr scrubbed his hand across his chin. “I have a morning prayer meeting in Bersk then I need to do some visitation. I’ll be back in town for our local prayer meeting tonight. Why don’t you meet me here, around six o’clock? We’ll go to the meeting, and then I’ll drive you out to talk to my mother afterward.”

“Prayer meeting?” The idea of worshipping with Russian believers had Kat’s heart leaping. “I’d be thrilled.” She looked at Vadeem. “What do you—”

“No. Forget it, Kat. You can go. I’ll stand outside the door.” Vadeem’s expression sent icy daggers through her soul. His words from their conversation outside Pskov came up like a wall.
Faith destroys
.

Her faith was all she had. It held her together, built her up, kept her alive, gave her confidence that this crazy quest was worth the costs

She nodded, not agreeing for one second. “See you tonight, Pyotr.”

She’d find a way to get Vadeem inside that church tonight, and she’d start with prayer.