He has made Moscow safe from the blood-drinkers and other vrolock. A few, like the one last night, escape the net, but not for long. He acts as regent until I reach my majority.
“Can I trust you, Billi SanGreal?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he decided for himself with a frown. “The Bogatyrs are not the men they were,” said Ivan. “Once they were noblemen who knew that their duty was to serve Russia.” He gazed into Billi’s eyes, moving closer and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Now they serve only themselves. Many are Russian mafia, recruited by Koshchey after my father’s death. They are good fighters, but they are not…good men. That will change when I am their master.”
“You think Koshchey will allow you to take charge?” Billi was doubtful. Based on what she’d seen of him, Koshchey didn’t look like the kind of guy who’d just roll over when Ivan came of age.
Ivan bit his lip; he obviously thought the same. “I have a legacy to uphold, Billi. Do you understand that?”
“Tsarevich!”
The word echoed loudly off the curving walls and undulating water. Ivan’s bodyguard, Dimitri, stood by the door, all tooled up in his combat gear.
Ivan looked once at Billi, then reached up and drew himself out of the water with a single, smooth pull. Rivulets of water ran off his skin and through the chasms of his muscular back. He took a deep breath, his chest rising then sinking, as he turned to face her. Then he bent down and held out his hand. Billi took it, and he pulled her out effortlessly. “Yes?” asked Ivan as he began drying himself. Dimitri whispered in his ear. Ivan stopped. He turned to Dimitri, his brow furrowed.
“Are you sure?” Billi’s heartbeat quickened. Ivan handed her a towel. Billi’s hand shook as she took it. “Koshchey has found your friend Vasilisa,” he said.
22
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,
