crept past as well, after the day had become dark and he had pulled on his night goggles once more. Would they ever get there? Finally, the GPS read two hours and his heartbeat quickened. What would Lake Baikal look like?
An hour east of their destination he flew over the trip’s strangest sight . . . a town without any sign of life. For three days they had steered clear of every settlement by avoiding the inevitable wintertime smoke and steam in the daylight and the aurora of outdoor lighting at night. He had come across this small place unexpectedly, standing by itself in the middle of the woods. Three apartment buildings, two warehouses, an airport with a hangar, a power plant, and other structures all sat in a town square, but without a single trail of any kind on the snowbound roads that ran between the unlit buildings. It was a ghost town. But why? He hit the memory key on his GPS and stored the site for later use. Maybe Sasha or Simon would know why the whole town had been deserted. Something odd was going on.
Finally, he broke over a mountainside and looked down, then felt the view overwhelm him. Lake Baikal lay below, milky-white in the gray morning, reminding him of Lake Superior in the wintertime. They had made it safely. He smiled, looked back, and saw Simon close behind, smiling as well. Clenching his fist in triumph, he pumped his right forearm in the window so his friend could see the emotion he felt.
He throttled back and dove toward the lake. Let’s find the dacha that Sasha had rented, he thought, and hide. Weeks would pass before Molly and she would join them. Meanwhile, he would learn a little Russian . . . just in case.
PART TWO—THE SPIES
CHAPTER EIGHT
MOSCOW
Molly gazed at St. Basil’s Cathedral, surprised by the grandeur of its eight fairy tale towers of green and gold, honoring the holy saints on the day Ivan the Terrible had triumphed over the Tartars in 1552. Her travel agent, during the six weeks of waiting for her visa, had said Moscow’s most famous sight would make all the frustrations worthwhile, and now she saw the agency had been right. The giant, onion-shaped domes had been built as a memorial to the destruction of Russia’s greatest enemy. When it was done, the eyes of the architect had been gouged out so no more beautiful cathedral could ever be built.
She had reserved a room at the Savoy, the city’s finest hotel, then happily found herself only one block from the magnificent pink and white Bolshoi Theater, world famous for Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and only a few minutes walk from Moscow’s other sights, the Kremlin being the most famous, along with Red Square, the site of all the military marches of times gone by.
The megalopolis of almost nine million people ran in concentric circles around her, with the Kremlin at its center, built by Yuri Dolgoruky, called Long Arm because of his fondness for his neighbor’s lands. He had ordered a fortress built between the Neglinnaya and Moskva rivers in 1147, founding the greatest city in Russia.
Moscow had quickly become an important trading center, despite being burnt to the ground repeatedly by the Tartars, called the Golden Horde. A succession of Muscovite princes, with Ivan I, nicknamed Moneybags for collecting taxes on behalf of the Golden Horde, starting the consolidation of religious, political, and economic forces by asking the Orthodox Church to reside in the city, giving a later Tsar, Ivan the Great, the opportunity to defeat the Tartars, leaving Russia’s new principality stronger than them. Molly remembered Ivan the Great had ordered the construction of the Kremlin’s redbrick walls and towers, still standing as testament to Russia’s greatness. She felt the country’s awesome power all around her, and its omnipresence frightened her. The deliberate stares of the Russian people added to her fear. Moscow was not a
An hour east of their destination he flew over the trip’s strangest sight . . . a town without any sign of life. For three days they had steered clear of every settlement by avoiding the inevitable wintertime smoke and steam in the daylight and the aurora of outdoor lighting at night. He had come across this small place unexpectedly, standing by itself in the middle of the woods. Three apartment buildings, two warehouses, an airport with a hangar, a power plant, and other structures all sat in a town square, but without a single trail of any kind on the snowbound roads that ran between the unlit buildings. It was a ghost town. But why? He hit the memory key on his GPS and stored the site for later use. Maybe Sasha or Simon would know why the whole town had been deserted. Something odd was going on.
Finally, he broke over a mountainside and looked down, then felt the view overwhelm him. Lake Baikal lay below, milky-white in the gray morning, reminding him of Lake Superior in the wintertime. They had made it safely. He smiled, looked back, and saw Simon close behind, smiling as well. Clenching his fist in triumph, he pumped his right forearm in the window so his friend could see the emotion he felt.
He throttled back and dove toward the lake. Let’s find the dacha that Sasha had rented, he thought, and hide. Weeks would pass before Molly and she would join them. Meanwhile, he would learn a little Russian . . . just in case.
PART TWO—THE SPIES
CHAPTER EIGHT
MOSCOW
Molly gazed at St. Basil’s Cathedral, surprised by the grandeur of its eight fairy tale towers of green and gold, honoring the holy saints on the day Ivan the Terrible had triumphed over the Tartars in 1552. Her travel agent, during the six weeks of waiting for her visa, had said Moscow’s most famous sight would make all the frustrations worthwhile, and now she saw the agency had been right. The giant, onion-shaped domes had been built as a memorial to the destruction of Russia’s greatest enemy. When it was done, the eyes of the architect had been gouged out so no more beautiful cathedral could ever be built.
She had reserved a room at the Savoy, the city’s finest hotel, then happily found herself only one block from the magnificent pink and white Bolshoi Theater, world famous for Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and only a few minutes walk from Moscow’s other sights, the Kremlin being the most famous, along with Red Square, the site of all the military marches of times gone by.
The megalopolis of almost nine million people ran in concentric circles around her, with the Kremlin at its center, built by Yuri Dolgoruky, called Long Arm because of his fondness for his neighbor’s lands. He had ordered a fortress built between the Neglinnaya and Moskva rivers in 1147, founding the greatest city in Russia.
Moscow had quickly become an important trading center, despite being burnt to the ground repeatedly by the Tartars, called the Golden Horde. A succession of Muscovite princes, with Ivan I, nicknamed Moneybags for collecting taxes on behalf of the Golden Horde, starting the consolidation of religious, political, and economic forces by asking the Orthodox Church to reside in the city, giving a later Tsar, Ivan the Great, the opportunity to defeat the Tartars, leaving Russia’s new principality stronger than them. Molly remembered Ivan the Great had ordered the construction of the Kremlin’s redbrick walls and towers, still standing as testament to Russia’s greatness. She felt the country’s awesome power all around her, and its omnipresence frightened her. The deliberate stares of the Russian people added to her fear. Moscow was not a
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