As if sparked by her determination to hold onto her unseen God, scripture filled her mind. “Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.”
When morning came, she wanted the entire Russian militia, and whoever had decided to stalk her with bullets to see her standing.
The darkness would not overcome. Not when her brain had the power to pray.
She bowed her head. “Show me you haven’t abandoned me, Oh God. Help my faith to grow, and give me strength to stand.”
She found herself curled with her Bible as she opened her eyes to sunshine streaming through filmy orange curtains and across the wooden floor. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her fingertips, she sat up. The cold floor on her bare feet jolted her to full consciousness. Outside, the city still slept. She peeked out the window. Dawn glinted on street signs, across car hoods, and turned the windows in the building across the street into fiery gold.
Footsteps in the hallway creaked the wooden planks as someone padded up to the door, Kat tiptoed close and strained to hear voices. She knew Captain Vadeem had posted at least one guard out there, a result of her adamant declaration, articulated in two languages, that she wasn’t leaving Russia.
After all his protection, and convincing hug, he’d turned out to be just like every other Russian male she’d met yesterday… cold and rude when he wanted his way. And to think she’d practically cut out her heart and flopped it on the table for him to walk over. Why did she have to tell him her story? “I wanted to find my past.” The sad look in his eyes now made her cringe. At the time, she’d read it as empathy. Poor American girl, searching for her family in Russia. Her throat felt raw, remembering the warm feelings she’d cultivated toward the man when she’d finally stopped sobbing. He’d let her spill her secrets right into the middle of the room, even pulling up a chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and listening. She’d revealed everything, from the mysterious secrets of Grandfather Neumann and the hope that lit when she intercepted the key, to the wretched news about Brother Timofea.
And when she finished, he made a grim face, patted her hand and informed her that she was leaving Russia in the morning.
Her empty stomach twisted, remembering the tone in his voice.
“Will this bed need to be changed today?” The voice of the hall monitor filtered into her room. Kat pressed her ear gently against the paper-thin door.
“Yes,” came the terse reply of the guard, obviously on edge and fatigued by the midnight watch. She tried not to smile at that. “When does the café open, by the way?”
“It’s open now.”
Kat wondered what food would do to her flopping stomach. She knocked on the door, then opened it a crack.
The guard looked worse than he sounded. His eyes, draped in weariness, held no patience. She attacked with a smile. “Can someone get me a cup of cocoa?”
He shook his head. “I’m not allowed to leave you, Zhenshina.” His eyes narrowed, as if she’d committed a felony. She closed the door and leaned against it, a plan forming.
Ten minutes later, fully dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a white polo shirt, hair combed, teeth brushed, and looking as presentable as she could, she again cracked open the door. “I’m dressed. Let’s go.” She stepped out into the hall and ignored his glare. “I want breakfast, and it’s my understanding that I’m not a prisoner. So, protect me, or not, I’m going downstairs.”
She threw her backpack over her shoulder and headed down the hall, her pace a challenge for her stiff muscles. Ignoring the elevator, she took the stairs. She heard his heavy breaths behind her, but didn’t look back.
She found the café tucked into a small room off the lobby. Every plastic chair was empty. Thankful she’d remembered to change money when she returned to the hotel last night, she perched herself on a bar stool and ordered a hot chocolate. The hotel staff had seemed less than eager to accommodate her last night, and she couldn’t blame them after her presence had put one of their rooms out of commission.
By the cool demeanor of the skinny waitress, news traveled quickly. The woman plopped the cocoa down and turned away like Kat might have a contagious airborne disease.
Kat closed her eyes and sipped the cocoa slowly, the warmth seeping into her still-weary bones and the caffeine jump-starting her heart. She just might live through this day.
The cop sat at a table behind her, his angry gaze drilling through the back of her neck. She ordered him a coffee and sent it to his table. He didn’t touch it, perhaps zealous about his on-duty status.
Letting the coffee sit until it had cooled, Kat then rose and sauntered over to his seat. She had to enjoy his shocked look when she leaned one hand on the table. “Tell Captain Vadeem you did a good job last night.”
Then she tipped the table, just enough to spill the coffee down his trousers. Whirling, she ran from the café, his fury echoing in her ears. She slammed out of the hotel doors, and suddenly the only sound was her own thundering heartbeat and the slap of her feet on the sidewalk. She hadn’t won awards on her college track team for nothing. Freedom filled her nose and she ran, nowhere, and safely out of the grip of the Russian militia.
“She says she’s here, looking for relatives.” Vadeem rubbed his thumb and forefinger into his weary eyes, seeing only spikes of light against blankness as he pressed the cell phone to his ear. Ryslan’s voice crackled on the other end, sounding a million kilometers away instead of across town at FSB HQ, where he’d spent an obscene portion of the night pushing paperwork. From Vadeem’s position, he gathered that neither man was in a cheery mood. Vadeem’s brain felt filled with wool and every joint ached from sleeping on the fraying armchair down the hall from Grazovich’s room. Thankfully, Pskov’s FSB branch had decided to cooperate with their Moscow big brothers, and set up surveillance on Grazovich so he could get some shut-eye. He didn’t want to know where, or if, Ryslan had finally bedded down.
Despite the relative comfort of the hotel lobby, Vadeem had spent the better part of the wee hours contemplating Ekaterina Moore and her mysterious key, not to mention her amber brown eyes, the touch of her disheveled silky hair against his cheek, and the smell of her skin as she sobbed into his shoulder.
There he went again, entangling himself in her memory. He’d do well to remember that she was probably an arms dealer with a stellar ability to deceive. Physically shaking himself, he tried to focus on Ryslan’s words. “Her parents are dead, but her visa application says she’s part Russian.”
“She said her grandfather is some sort of World War II hero,” Vadeem said. “And she says she came looking for an old monk who sent her a key. Maybe they’re related?”
“A key?” Ryslan’s voice perked up. “What kind of key.”
“Some old relic. She’s wearing it around her neck.” Vadeem stalked to the hallway, peeked down at Grazovich’s room. No movement told him the guy was still in his vodka stupor. “I’ll tell ya, Ryslan, she looked me right in the eye, with tears, and told me that she just wanted to find her ancestors.” He rubbed a tense muscle in the back of his neck, quickly giving up. “She’s got her story cold.”
“What if she’s telling the truth. What if she is related to the old monk?”
“Yeah, and I’m related to the last czar.” Vadeem nodded at a woman in a rumpled cocktail dress emerging from a room across the hall.