“And I’m keeping it,” Billi answered in a flat, pitiless tone. She drew the collar of her red coat tighter. “Ivan’s not a Templar.”
Ivan pulled his own pistol from his waistband.
“Please, Tsarevich.” Koshchey clasped his hands together. “Where is the honor in this? To murder a defenseless man?”
Ivan paused. The pistol was in his grip and his finger rested in the trigger, but he looked up at the big man. “Honor? I thought you said honor was for fools.”
“I am the fool, Tsarevich.” Koshchey leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed his hands together. “You are Tsarevich Ivan Alexeivich Romanov. I am nothing. Think what you father would have done. He would not have permitted this…execution.”
“I…” Ivan hesitated just for a moment.
Koshchey bellowed incoherently and sprang forward, barreling into Ivan. Lance grabbed at the huge man, but Koshchey swung the Frenchman against Gwaine, who crashed into the back of Elaine. The car swerved as she momentarily lost control, and Koshchey kicked the side door open. Lance grabbed him as he jumped, and both of them tumbled onto the road.
Elaine slammed on the brakes and Gwaine leaped out, Billi a second behind him.
The three cars behind accelerated.
Koshchey and Lance tumbled down the high verge, taking a small avalanche of snow with them. Gwaine glanced back at the cars, then grabbed Billi. “Go back! Now!” He pushed her toward the van, then leaped off the road after Lance and Koshchey. Bogatyrs rushed out of their vehicles and made their way down to the two struggling men. One of the cars swung around and came toward Billi, blinding her with its headlights.
Gunfire deafened her left ear as Ivan shot at the approaching car. It swerved savagely and skidded to a halt. Ivan took a few steps forward, his black coat swirling around him, as he coolly fired the entire magazine into the car’s engine and lights, oblivious to the gunfire coming at him. The pistol empty, he tossed it away and took Billi’s hand.
“Come on,” he ordered, pulling her away from the verge.
Billi glanced down, hesitating, hoping that Lance and Gwaine were clambering back up. But all she saw were indistinct shadows fighting in the snow, and she was unable to tell Templar from Bogatyr.
Billi ran into the car, slamming the doors shut just as they were raked by gunfire. Billi and Ivan huddled together on the floor as the four-by-four accelerated under the hailstorm of bullets. She buried herself against him and didn’t look up until they were far away.
28
THE RING OF SOVIET-ERA TOWER BLOCKS GAVE WAY snow-cloaked fields, and after an hour Ivan directed Elaine down a side road through the woods. Billi saw a light two-seater aircraft rise from behind the shield of trees, and moments later they came to the gates of a small airfield.
Ivan’s window rolled down as he greeted the security guard, who took more than a little interest in the bullet-punctured vehicle. They talked briefly, then Ivan took off his Rolex and handed it over. The guard pocketed the watch and waved them through.
“We fly south from here,” he said. “You know how to fly?” Ivan obviously took his James Bond pills every morning.
“Doesn’t everyone?” He pointed at a single-story concrete building to the left. “Canteen. Fill yourself up with something hot. The goulash is good.” He headed toward the hangar. “Let me freshen up and then I’ll sort out a plane.”
The canteen was rough and ready. Posters of aircrafts and old Soviet airshows hid most of the awful brown- and-yellow wallpaper. There were four chipped Formica tables with plastic foldout chairs stacked up against each. Two men-mechanics, judging by their greasy overalls-sat at a table, smoking and reading the paper. On the side of the counter was a large jar filled with loose change. On it was stuck the word vesuvius. The whole world was joining in with mourning the loss of the Italian city, not knowing what was still to come if the Templars failed.
Billi and Elaine each ordered a bowl of goulash and a cup of tea and sat by the window. Billi faced the doorway, keeping her eyes peeled.
“What are we going to do?” asked Elaine. She was busy trying, and failing, to light her breakfast cigarette. Billi took the lighter from her shaking hands and applied it.
Elaine took a long drag off her cigarette and closed her eyes.
“We’ll be okay, Elaine,” Billi reassured her. She reminded herself that Elaine was mostly back-of-house research, a glorified librarian, really. This sort of fieldwork was way out of her comfort zone.
“Yes, just give me a minute,” said Elaine. She nodded as though she were agreeing with herself.
Above the door was a clock, just coming up to eleven thirty. Billi wanted a bed, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. She got up. She needed to splash some water on her face and start thinking about their next step. She found the washroom and went in.
Ivan was leaning over a steel basin in front of a mirror. His shirt hung over a radiator and his wet back shone like marble under the stark white fluorescent lights. He ran his hands over his bristling hair, sighing wearily. Then he raised his arms and turned slowly, looking at the marks Koshchey had given him. He gently pushed his finger against the row of bruised stomach muscles. Then he saw Billi watching him in the mirror.
“Er…” said Billi, mortified at being caught out.
Ivan said nothing and turned his attention back to his bruises. He leaned closer to the mirror, checking the swelling on his cheek. Water dripped off his chin; small sparkling droplets glistened on the surface of his neck.
“What do you think?” he asked. He struck a pose, flexing his biceps like a body builder. “You can touch me, if you like.”
Billi laughed, grateful to Ivan for breaking the tension. She handed him his shirt, finding it hard to keep her attention on his shoes. “You’d look great even in a body bag.”
“Let us hope we never find out. And it’s not what you wear that’s important,” he said as he slipped the shirt over his head. He then picked up his pistol. It was a Glock 19, one of the pair he’d grabbed off the Bogatyrs. He tucked it into his waistband and patted it.
“It’s all about the accessories,” said Billi.
Ivan smirked at her and left.
A few minutes later Billi returned to the canteen and joined Elaine.
“I called Arthur. He’ll be on the next flight south,” said Elaine, still lost in her own thoughts. She smiled, but it was stiff and forced. “Should be in Kiev by morning. He’ll get local transport from there into the forest.”
“You okay?” Billi asked as she sat down.
Three cigarette stubs smoldered in the ashtray, and Elaine lit up a fourth. “I just needed my vitamins.”
“I didn’t realize nicotine counted as a food group these days.” Billi took a sip of her tea and shifted her chair closer. “What was it you found out about Baba Yaga that you were going to tell me in the library before we were so rudely interrupted?”
Elaine grimaced at the memory.
“You remember how Baba Yaga had been injured?” Elaine said. “Apparently she’d vanished at the beginning of the twentieth century, after suffering some terrible injury. That first made me suspicious. I looked up events around that time, natural disasters mainly.” Her eyes brightened. “And I found a big one. The Tunguska blast.”
Tunguska? Why did that ring a bell? Hadn’t Vasilisa said her great-grandmother had been there?
“What was it?” Billi asked.
Elaine spread out her arms. “A meteor. Just thirty feet across. It hit the forest region of Tunguska in 1908 and wiped it out. If the rock had hit London, the entire city would have been obliterated.” Elaine leaned closer, whispering but excited. “Baba Yaga
