TEN MINUTES LATER BILLI CAME RUNNING DOWN the stairs into the main lobby. She’d whipped on her and a black T-shirt, but her boots hadn’t been laced yet. She’d banged on Elaine’s door and left her to get Gwaine and Lance.
Sixteen men had gathered under the huge crystal chandeliers that lit the marble-clad lobby. All wore body armor and carried guns. One man shook out a box of cartridges onto the top of a grand piano, and one by one loaded them into his shotgun.
Koshchey leaned over a set of floor plans. Unlike the rest, he wore a smart suit-a red rose tucked into the buttonhole.
“You’ve found her?” said Billi. She pushed her way through the men to Koshchey. He nodded to one of his guys, who made space for her at the table.
“Some tea for Lady SanGreal,” he ordered. The Bogatyr beside him went over to the china samovar standing at the end of the long table. The tall vaselike container was, like everything in the Ministry, a beautiful work of art, the china painted with weaving vines and bursting red flowers. The Bogatyr turned the dainty gold tap and filled a small cup.
“You’ve found Vasilisa?” Billi demanded. If it was true, then Vasilisa could be safe in their hands within hours. They’d have her on a plane to Jerusalem by the end of the day.
“My men report that a girl matching the description of the Spring Child has been seen in this apartment block. It is known to be occupied by the Polenitsy.” He handed over a blown-up photo.
It wasn’t clear, but a young girl with untidy blond hair stood at a half-frosted window. Snow blurred the lens, so the photo must have been taken from some distance. The girl had turned her head, obscuring her face, but it had to be Vasilisa. It had to be. Billi stared at the photo as if the girl might suddenly turn around and look back at her. Oh God, she was here, in Moscow.
“Then we’d better get her. Now.”
Koshchey’s fist tightened. “This is a delicate operation, Lady SanGreal. I think it best you let my men handle it.”
Ivan stood at the top of the stairs. “Koshchey!” he shouted. “Why did you not inform me of this?”
The prince wore his own combat armor and had his utility belt slung over his shoulder. He marched up to them and dropped the belt onto the table, banging the wooden surface hard with the holstered pistol.
For a second a blaze of rage crossed Koshchey’s face. Only Billi saw it, but his face went livid red. Then he puffed out his cheeks and rotated on his heels to face the prince.
“My prince, I did not want to disturb you. Especially after last night’s unfortunate incident. It was only through the intervention of young SanGreal that you were not killed.” He put his hand on his heart. “I swore to your father that I would protect you. Leave this to me. You should wait here, where it is safe.”
That is so much bullshit. Billi kept her thoughts to herself, but Koshchey couldn’t have been more patronizing. Everything he said was intended to undermine Ivan. Ivan’s jaw went rigid. He buckled on his belt, and his hand rested on the pistol a moment longer than necessary. Billi noticed and so did Koshchey.
“Thank you for your concern, Koshchey.” Ivan stared at one of the men, and he stepped away from the table. “But I can decide what is best for me.”
Ouch.
The rivalry between them bubbled just below the surface, but Billi could see that it would erupt, sooner rather than later.
“Tsarevich, until you are a man, upon your father’s wishes, I am afraid it is my duty to lead. But by all means come, look.”
Ivan missed the cold contempt in the response; his attention was on what was in front of him, the floor plans of a block of flats. Koshchey stood behind him.
That’s where Ivan should be keeping his attention. On his back.
“A Khrushchev block?” asked Ivan.
“What’s that?” Billi peered at the drawings. The yellowed paper was held together with tape. The floor plans showed a five-story building with four separate staircases. Four apartments ran off the landings on each floor. Each apartment was identical to the next.
Ivan drew his finger along the outline of the building. “They were built in the sixties. There are thousands of them all over Moscow, all built exactly the same way.”
Gwaine and Lance appeared. Withoutaword they came up and joined them.
Ivan stood up and looked around. “Four teams. Four men per team.”
Koshchey tapped the staircases on the drawings. “One team per staircase. We will sweep up the building and clear each floor.” He looked up at the clock-just after seven. “The sun will be up in an hour.”
Ivan nodded. “And you, Koshchey?”
He laughed. “Tsarevich, can you see me creeping up those steps? I doubt I could fit through the front door. Andrei will lead the attack.”
Ivan turned to the Templars. “There are three of you. I suggest that you each go with a different squad. You know what this girl looks like.”
“Fair enough.”
“Tsarevich, that is not wise.” Koshchey put his hands on the drawings as he leaned over toward Ivan. “The Bogatyrs are trained for this-the Templars are not. They could get in the way.”
How dare he? What the Templars didn’t know about fighting the Unholy wasn’t worth knowing. Billi was about to tell him exactly that when she caught a warning glare from Gwaine, so she shut her mouth. No point starting an argument with their allies.
Ivan paused, tapping the handle of his pistol. “Then perhaps it would be best if you remained behind. Mistakes can happen.”
Billi shook her head. “Forget it. We’re coming.”
“Billi, this will be dangerous.”
“Damn right. All the more reason I come and watch your back.”
“Fine. Just stay out of the way. Understood?”
“Understood, Tsarevich.”
Ivan opened his mouth to reply, well aware of Billi’s not-quite-respectful tone, but he let it pass.
Koshchey tapped his watch. “We leave in ten minutes.”
Lance handed Billi her armor. The Kevlar jacket went on like a waistcoat and zipped up high. The collar covered her to her chin, but was wide enough to allow Billi to turn her head. The jacket had been modified to hold Billi’s katar and kukri; each sat comfortably when strapped in. Then Lance grinned as he showed Billi a slim-bladed straight-sword, similar in length to Percy’s wakizashi. This he slid into a sheath clipped to her back.
Billi promised herself an outfit just like this for her next birthday.
Gwaine came over. “Leave the rough stuff to the Russians. If they’re right and this place is crawling with Polenitsy, they won’t give Vasilisa up without a fight. Not that I’m complaining.”
“We get her alive, understand?” said Billi. This was their chance, and she wanted everyone to be of the same mind. Vasilisa could be saved.
“I don’t need you to tell me my job, squire,” was Gwaine’s reply.
Billi glanced at Lance, who nodded. “We save the petite fille.”
They were set.
“Where’s Elaine?” Billi asked.
Lance gestured upstairs. “Koshchey showed her the Bogatyrs’ library. It is like she’s gone to researcher heaven. Maybe she might find something on Baba Yaga, oui?”
As Lance and Gwaine discussed tactics, Billi went into the corner of the lobby and took out her mobile.
“Dad. You there?”
The line crackled, but then she heard her father’s familiar voice.
“Billi?”
“Dad? We found her.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “You sure? How?”
“The Bogatyrs found her. She’s being held not far from here by the Polenitsy. We’re heading over there right now.”
“I don’t need to tell you to be careful, do I?”
Billi looked around at the soldiers armed to the teeth. There was enough firepower here to conquer a small country. “I think we’ve got that covered.”
“Praise be to God,” said Arthur. “We’ve drawn a blank here.”
“Did you find Vasilisa’s granny?”
“She’s gone into hiding. I suspect the Polenitsy have come for her. We’re still looking, but Karelia’s a big place. But we’ve picked up some interesting legends about Baba Yaga.”
“Like what?” Billi’s attention was pricked.
“Baba Yaga vanished a hundred years ago. There were no more hunts for Spring Children-the werewolves just stopped. The local wise women say that’s because Baba Yaga was hurt in the early twentieth century, and went to sleep deep in the earth to recover. Now she’s back and she’s hungry. That’s why the Polenitsy have returned.”
“How was she injured?”
“Wish I knew.” Arthur coughed. “You just get Vasilisa to Jerusalem.”
“Bilqis.” Lance came up. “They are waiting.”
“Dad…”
“I heard.” Arthur’s tone deepened. “Give them hell.”
“Come,” Ivan said to Billi as they stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage. “You will stick close to me, Dimitri, and Yuri.” Another Bogatyr fell into step with them. Two beady black eyes glistened from beneath a thick, bushy eyebrow that ran straight across from ear to ear. Tattoos covered his arms, neck, and ears. His tattoos had tattoos.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Billi.
Yuri smiled, exposing a fortune in gold teeth.
A silver BMW growled as it crept along the snow-covered drive, leading a line of big shiny four-by-fours. Billi and Ivan took this car, with Yuri up front with Dimitri. Lance and Gwaine took the next.
The car slipped out onto a main road. Snow trucks rolled along to the road, but otherwise the traffic was pretty light. Billi settled herself into the soft leather seat.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Ivan. He held out a lacquered wooden box. “A present.”
It was made from dark red wood, and had a lid decorated with an inlaid pattern of silver.
Billi’s fingers touched the case, then she raised the lid slowly.
A pistol lay on a white cushion. A fan of silver bullets had been arranged around it. It was a matte black color, simple-looking and plain, but as Billi put her hand on the cold surface, she could see that the gun was elegant in its simplicity. The best weapons always were.
“You do know how to shoot?”
“Point and click.”
“Glock 26,” Ivan said. He held one of the silver bullets between his thumb and forefinger. “Ninety-nine percent pure. Just in case.”
Despite the three bladed weapons buckled to her armor, Billi picked it up. It was light and not much bigger than her palm, with a stubby light fixed to the underside of the barrel. Ivan took the magazine and, one by one, clicked in the rounds.
“Fashion is all about the accessories,” he said.
Billi turned the pistol over. She’d used one for target practice, but this was very different. Despite the contempt the Templars had for such weapons, she couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around the butt and lightly touching the trigger. Her thumb felt along the safety catch.
So small a thing. But there was something compelling in the object. A sword could be played with. There was pleasure in the physical act of wielding it, learning the moves, the cuts, the way it shone and flashed. There was art, beauty, in the sword.
But gunpowder was pure destruction. The gun’s simple functionality made it want to be used…carnage called to it. Despite herself, despite the prejudices against such weapons, Billi wanted it. She slipped it into her pocket.
“Is it true that the Templars don’t use guns?” asked Ivan.
“We live in London, not Baghdad. Gunfights tend to attract a lot of unwanted attention,” Billi said. “Anyway, nothing says serious body trauma like an ax to the head.”
Despite the advances in military technology over the centuries, old-fashioned swords and axes still did the job best. Besides, many of the Unholy needed beheading to be truly destroyed.
The car slowed to a halt.
“We’re here,” said Ivan.