Ignorance could be bliss.
Ella didn’t sense anyone watching her, which was a marked difference from Sarajevo a mere three days ago. Her steps didn’t falter, but she wanted to fall to her knees at the shot of pain she felt in remembering Jude’s face.
Betrayal. Rage.
She’d caused that.
Ella entered the cathedral but didn’t pause to admire the colorful murals and mosaic tiles the cathedral was known for. Ivan the Terrible had created an ode to Jerusalem as only a proper Byzantine Christian could, and it had stood the test of time. For Ella, it was nothing more than a place to meet and discuss business that would bring her closer to eliminating Horace Dresden.
To her left, she saw a woman standing in front of a large section of wall currently under renovation. A beige drape was her backdrop. The woman was taller than Ella, maybe five nine or so, with startlingly blond hair pulled into an elegant chignon, and wearing sunglasses.
Ella came closer, willing the woman to take off her glasses, and surprisingly she did, meeting Ella’s gaze with no small amount of aggression. The aggression gave Ella pause. This was a simple meet and greet—get some information, and get out. The meeting between Segorski, Svetlana Markov’s husband, and the prime minister wasn’t until tomorrow, yet the woman acted as if they were about to plot to overthrow the entire Russian government.
Chills skated down Ella’s spine, and the feeling of being watched made an appearance like a hammer to the back of her neck. She smiled at the Markov woman, hoping to ease the tension as she held out her hand.
Svetlana Markov dismissed her hand with a look. “You’re late,” the woman hissed so softly that Ella wondered if she’d spoken at all. “Do you not know what I risk meeting you?”
“I’m right on time,” Ella replied, coming to a standstill about three feet from the other woman. “Shall we?” Ella inquired as she motioned to a small alcove to their left.
“Here’s fine,” Svetlana said. She cocked her head and stared at Ella from head to toe. Finally, she gave Ella a look that said she found her lacking. Ella almost laughed. The nerve. “For some reason I expected more of a…soldier.”
“Your expectations aren’t much of a concern to me, Svetlana. Now, why am I here?” Ella inquired politely, her face blank, her mind whirring. The woman had no accent, and she kept both her face and body absolutely still. Only her eyes betrayed her—as if they couldn’t contain her wrath at the world around her. She was…disquieting. And very, very trained. Ella hadn’t anticipated that.
“He didn’t tell you? Perhaps you aren’t as important to him as he led me to believe,” Svetlana said, running a red-tipped nail over her lips.
“We can play games. I’m okay with that. But if I leave here without the information Dresden has been promised, you will lose. And, Svetlana?” Ella said, leaning closer to the woman so she could whisper and still be heard, getting all up in her personal space. “I’ve seen what happens to people who lose to Dresden.” Ella slowly lifted a finger and traced the scar at her temple.
“Back away,” Svetlana responded harshly.
Ella did, giving the woman a moment to collect herself. Though fear wasn’t visible on Svetlana’s face, it permeated the air.
And still Ella’s neck felt the weight of either a scope or someone’s gaze. She turned discreetly, seeking the shadows in every corner and seeing no one.
Svetlana Markov had been bred wealthy. It was another thing besides the fear and aggression she reeked of. Her clothes were Dior, her shoes and purse matching. Her hair color was flawless, though definitely from a bottle. She smoothed back the wispy strands of hair that had escaped her updo, and fidgeted, just once, from foot to foot.
Ella made her nervous, and that pissed Svetlana Markov off.
“Why am I here, Svetlana?” Ella was done playing.
“He will want to know what Yevgeny’s plans are,” Svetlana said, glancing around and finding no one paying any undue attention to them.
“And you’re going to tell me?” Ella pushed.
Svetlana stared at her, eyes pinning Ella in place. “He plans to crawl into the prime minister’s pocket by offering up Horace’s location.”
She called him Horace. How cute, Ella thought with disgust. Was she a lover? She dismissed that immediately. Svetlana’s angst didn’t have a jealous lover vibe. Ella was missing something, and she couldn’t put a finger on it. “So he’s going to tell the prime minister where Dresden is, and then the prime minister will attack? I don’t understand what that nets your husband.”
Svetlana waved her hand dismissively. “He’ll take Horace’s place if he’s successful. It’s kill or be killed. Power cannot be attained until you reach the inner sanctum, and most of the time, by then you are already dead. Do you not understand the game?”
Confusion numbed Ella. Her body seemed frozen as her mind ran through scenarios. Endgame, endgame, endgame… The words whispered through her like a cold wind. It was all a game. And what the hell was the inner sanctum?
“You didn’t know,” Svetlana said, shock threading her tone. “How could he send you here and not give you this information? Do you not know who he is?”
“Who Dresden is?” Ella asked. “Yes, he’s a—”
Svetlana threw up a hand. “Not Dresden, the Pi—”
A cough-like sound split the air, and just as suddenly, blood sprayed from Svetlana Markov’s chest. Ella caught the woman as she fell, noticing the woman’s shock had spread to her face. Her lips were moving as Ella lowered her to the ground, her head swiveling as her gaze sought the shooter.
They were alone in the hallway.
Ella lowered her head to Svetlana’s lips. “Get to
