What?

Masterson drew them to a stairwell next to the old guard station and lowered his voice. More men downstairs. They've had me holed up here. As much a prisoner as any of you. I'm off to free Elizabeth and Dr. Rosauro. He waved down the hall past the guard station. If I could borrow that shapely companion of yours, we'll try to reach a phone and start an evacuation.

Take Luca, too, Gray said. He wanted the civilians as much out of harm's way as possible. Plus the Gypsy leader's presence would go a long way to convincing

Rosauro that Masterson was aboveboard.

Luca nodded his agreement.

Fine. I can use his help, Masterson said. He pulled a Russian Army walkie-talkie from his jacket and passed it to Gray, so they could communicate.

But in the meantime

Gray cut him off. I have to stop Senator Solokov.

Masterson nodded. You've got less than an hour. I don't know what he's planning, something to do with the ceremony over at Chernobyl.

What ceremony?

Masterson pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and passed it to Gray. They're enclosing the old Sarcophagus at Chernobyl, he said and nodded to the sheet. Under a large steel hangar.

As Gray studied the sheet, Masterson listed the dignitaries and leaders who would be in attendance at the event and quickly summarized the morning's ceremonies. As to Nicolas's specific plans, all I could get was the name.

Operation Uranus.

Operation Your Anus? Kowalski said. That sounds painful.

Gray ignored him and headed for the stairs. Where's Solokov now?

Headed to Chernobyl.

As Gray descended with Kowalski, he pictured the towering ventilation shaft.

Whatever the bastard was planning, it must involve the reactor. But the name for the offensive Operation Uranus why pick that name? While training for the Army

Rangers, Gray had learned of its historical context from his strategic studies classes. Operation Uranus was a Russian offense during World War II that ended the bloodiest battle in human history, the Battle of Stalingrad.

So why that name?

Something troubled Gray, something nagging, but the tension locked it away.

Ahead, two guards manned the exit to the jailhouse. They had their backs to

Gray.

He lifted his stolen Rook pistol.

Worries would have to wait.

17

September 7, 10:07 A. M.

Southern Ural Mountains

As the sun shone on a crisp morning, Monk crunched along the gravel road that wound through the ghost town. Weeds and bushes grew waist high, making it feel as if they were wading through green water. Konstantin kept abreast of him, while Pyotr and Kiska trailed. Marta followed, too, but she was drowned away in the green sea, parting the grasses as she maneuvered through them.

There's little coal in the mountains here, Konstantin lectured around a bone-cracking yawn. All the mining in the region is for metal or metallic ores.

Monk knew the kid was wired between exhaustion and terror. The tall boy spoke quietly to keep himself awake and to combat anxiety.

Cobalt, nickel, tungsten, vanadium, bauxite, platinum

Monk let him prattle as he kept a watch on the town to either side. The buildings looked hastily constructed, made of clapboard with elevated plank sidewalks that bordered the road. They passed a one-room schoolhouse with intact windows and still lined with wooden desks inside. A couple of old trucks,

Soviet-era green, sat rusted into the roadbed. The only brick building had

Cyrillic lettering along the facade. Monk could not read it, but it appeared from the shelves inside to be a general store and post office. Next to it stood a saloon with dusty bottles still on the shelves.

It was as if one day the townspeople had simply stepped out of their respective doors and left without ever looking back.

Monk did not have to guess why. From this higher vantage point, Lake Karachay spread wide, rimmed by muddy banks and reflecting the sunlight in a sparkling lie that hid its toxic heart. Monk glanced to the badge hanging from his pack.

The red hue had grown to a darker crimson. He checked it every few minutes.

Konstantin noted his attention. We must stay no longer than another hour. It is very dangerous here. We must get underground soon.

Monk nodded and stared up. The entrance to the mine lay another mile above them.

He could make out the steel outbuildings and skeletal derricks that framed a larger structure hugging against the mountain. Two large metal wheels flanked the central building, tailing wheels, used to dredge up debris from the diggings below. The gravel underfoot probably came from that mine.

Monk set a faster pace.

Ahead, the only other substantial structure appeared as the road swung a hard switchback to climb another level up the mountainside. The mill rose three stories high, the tallest building here. It was built of logs with a tin roof.

Its wooden waterwheel, green with moss and lichen, had broken off its moorings and lay toppled across the creek. An old flood must have torn it free.

As they headed toward it, Kiska cried out.

Monk swung around and saw Pyotr standing stock still, as upright as a pole, his eyes huge, bright with terror.

Monk's chest clenched.

No not here.

Marta loped a circle around the boy, also sensing his distress. Like Monk, she didn't know where the danger lay or from where it might strike but they both knew what the boy sensed.

Monk flashed back to the tiger charging at him, one ear gnarled.

Zakhar.

The beast shouldn't have been able to track them, not across all that open water. But tigers were strong swimmers. The hunter must have forded the swamp and waited to ambush its prey here. Monk did not doubt such cunning from Zakhar.

Monk searched the tall grasses, the jumble of buildings. The creature could be hiding anywhere. The hairs along Monk's arms prickled, almost sensing the feral eyes upon him. They were out in the open, exposed. And without a single weapon.

They'd lost their only dagger when Marta had attacked Arkady.

Back, Monk said, pointing to the brick building. Move slowly. Toward the store.

Despite all the windows, it would make the stoutest stronghold. They might find something they could use for defense among its shelves. Monk pulled Pyotr to his side. The boy quaked under him. As a tight group, they retreated along the path they'd forged through the grass.

Monk kept an eye behind him, mostly because Pyotr did the same. He trusted the boy's intuition. Where the road curved toward the mining station, the mill house towered across the creek. Monk knew tigers often sought the highest ground: a tall boulder, a lofty tree branch, a mountain ledge, someplace where they could leap upon their prey.

As if sensing it had been discovered, a shadowy striped shape slid like a flow of oil from one of the upper-story windows near the back of the mill. If Monk hadn't been concentrating, he would've missed it. The tiger vanished into the tall grasses.

Run, he urged Konstantin and Kiska.

Monk pulled Pyotr up into his arms with one tug.

The two children ahead of him shot forward, stung by terror and fueled by adrenaline. Monk followed, with Marta racing beside him.

Behind Monk, a heavy crack of board sounded as something heavy bounded off the waterwheel and across the creek. The general store's door was open, only thirty yards away. It would be close. He prayed for a walk-in freezer, somewhere they could barricade.

The crack of a rifle split through his terror.

Gravel exploded with a bright spark at his toes.

Monk dove to the side, rolling through the high grass, cradling and cushioning

Pyotr with his own body. He kept rolling until he ended up behind one of the rusted hulks of an old truck.