Ekaterina by Susan May Warren, Susan K. Downs Page B

Vadeem couldn’t chance letting her get in the smuggler’s sights. She’d be flying back to New York by tomorrow morning.
    Then Ekaterina Moore, suspected arms dealer, likely tourist, would be out of the equation.
    He waited until she looked toward the rocky cliffs that formed a natural fence between the river and monastery grounds. Then, he edged out into the cemetery. He kept his hands in his pockets, but every muscle bunched, ready to spring should she see him and try to flee.
    A meadowlark called Vadeem’s presence, but Miss Moore didn’t budge. He drew closer, and his shadow betrayed him. She stiffened.
    “I thought I’d find you here,” Vadeem said, and was surprised to hear compassion in his voice.
    She hung her head. “I realized I had no where to go. Except here.”
    “And home.”
    She said nothing but she winced, obviously wounded. He crouched beside her, and gently drew her gaze to his. Pain edged her eyes.
    “Maybe Brother Timofea just wanted you to see the place where he lived,” he said in an unfamiliar tone.
    “He knew he was dying.” She looked so pitiful, it drew him right in. He felt her pain spear his heart before he could block it. “The monk told me Brother Timofea’s dying wish was that I get the packaged. From the postmark, however, it looked like it took a year to send it. Why? And why was it so important to him that I have an old key?”
    “There were no clues in his cell?”
    Her hazel eyes darkened. “They told me they cleaned it out long ago. No. Nothing remains except this grave.”
    A breeze rode in from the river, bringing with it the fresh, wet smell. Vadeem sat beside her in the grass and read the cement gravestone. “1898-2001. That’s a long time to live.”
    “Especially if you’re carrying around a secret.” She worried her lower lip, and it gave her a pensive look. “Do you think he was trying to pass it on to someone else, maybe in absolution?”
    “Why you?”
    She shook her head. Bags hung in half moons under her eyes, and her face was drawn. “Maybe I’m a relative?”
    “To a monk?” He smiled. Her pitiful half-smile drove the spears in further.
    Oh, there was only one way out of this, and he knew it.
    “I’ll tell you what, Miss Moore. The train for Moscow doesn’t leave until this afternoon. We have at least two hours before we need to head back to Pskov. You promise not to go running off again and we’ll see what we can find out from these brothers between now and then.”
    The real smile seemed like a blast of pure sunshine, washing over his wounds. Her eyes lit up, and something jumped to life deep inside his chest. She nodded. “Maybe you should call me Kat.”
    Two hours with her would pass like a blink.
    He placed a call to the Three-Letter Boys watching Grazovich. The man had dressed, paced his room, and received a phone call. They were working on a tap, but so far, they didn’t have a glimmer of a lead on the identity of his contact. “Don’t let him out of your sight.” Vadeem closed the phone and turned his full, and willing, attention on the American with a knack for trouble, telling himself he was only doing his job.
    Right. He’d never been good at fooling himself, but he would cling to that rational like a dying man as he followed her fragrance across the cemetery and in through the front gates.
    He’d never been inside a monastery before. Not that he’d spent much time availing himself of the opportunity, but when he entered the conclave, his senses awoke and sat at attention. From the manicured lawn, the sound of magpies and sparrows, the smell of spring reaped from the budding lilac, jasmine and cherry blossoms, to the clean, pure whitewash on the buildings, the compound whispered haven . Vadeem rubbed his chest, feeling a pinch deep inside.
    Kat seemed to know where she was going. A spring in her step, something new that he wanted to think he’d added, made her seem a carefree tourist bouncing through the campus. He