That was Ian’s cue to break from the herd.

He walked toward the right hand side of the fortress, cobblestones at his feet. Damn cobblestones were all over the city. He had no idea how a person was supposed to run on the things. At times like this he was happy to be an American where the streets were usually even. If he had to run down his prey here, he might break a leg.

And since his thigh still ached from the bullet he’d taken, he wanted to avoid it if he could. He wanted his prey nice and contained.

Above his head the sky was a brilliant blue with puffy white clouds. To his right, the Peter and Paul Cathedral rose from the cobblestoned ground around it, an angel and a gold cross at the very top of its spire.

To his left was his destination, though not the final one. A building made of light-brown, almost gold-colored bricks housed the still-working mint. Dusan Denisovitch stood outside wearing very Western looking jeans, a T-shirt, and Ray Bans. It was fitting he’d chosen the mint as their meet-up spot since Ian was about to make the young man a whole lot of money.

Or he was about to get murdered in front of a bunch of tourists. It was a risk Ian was willing to take because he wanted it all. He wanted his wife and his family. He wanted a home.

“Dobroye utro, Mr. Taggart.” Dusan said good morning with an almost formal tip of his head. The man was roughly Charlie’s age. He pegged him at thirty or so. A ripe age to want to move ahead in the world.

“Zdravstvujtye.” A simple hello, or as simple as Russian ever got.

Dusan smiled. “Your accent is good.”

He shrugged, taking in the four men surrounding Dusan. The young man’s muscle was out in force. At least Ian knew Charlie’s cousin was taking the meeting seriously. Or he was about to get jumped. His wife kept chiding him for his wretched pessimism, but until he actually pulled this off, he would just wait to see if someone was going to pull a gun.

“He’s already in the cathedral,” said a voice in his ear.

Luckily, Ian had backup of his own. Alex was in position outside the cathedral watching their prey. He’d spotted Liam as they’d walked in, ready to come to his aid should the second in command of the Denisovitch syndicate become unruly.

Of course, if he didn’t, he just might become the first in command.

“So you are the man who married my pretty cousin,” Dusan said. “I always like Charlotte and Chelsea. On the rare occasions my uncle would allow me to see them, they were nice girls. Smart girls. I did not like the way he treat them, you understand.”

Charlie’s cousin spoke fairly good English, though it was easy to tell it wasn’t something that came naturally to him. He spoke slowly and some of his words seemed broken, though he was easy to understand.

“Your father doesn’t feel the same way.”

Dusan shrugged, looking off in the distance. “My father believe that blood is all that matters, but I know blood can hurt blood. I have been my father’s son for far too long to not understand this.”

So his intelligence was right. He was making this gamble because he’d learned there was a fissure in the family that ran deep. Dusan was trusted by his father, but still treated as a child. It was time to be bold. The watch on his hand read eleven forty-nine. His time was running out. “If you suddenly found yourself at the head of the syndicate, would you feel the need to continue your father’s mission?”

A slow smile cross the younger man’s face. “Our mission should be to make money, Mr. Taggart. My father, he take too much time pursuing vengeance for a man who everyone agrees was monster. If my cousin is satisfied with her life and will no longer play games with us, then we will no longer play games with her. Besides, I hear she has new place to live now.”

Ian laughed a little because he was pretty sure Dusan wasn’t talking about Dallas. “I think we’ll have to keep the Loa Mali property strictly as a vacation place.”

The king had been very grateful. He also felt more than guilty about his servant turning on Charlie. He’d gifted them with a gorgeous piece of beach property. Once Ian got over the whole nearly being killed by Somali pirates thing, it would make a great getaway spot.

And the king was searching for a new man to take over his research. Both the Agency and MI6 believed the research had been destroyed. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

“Like I say,” Dusan continued. “I hope Charlotte is happy.”

She seemed happy. He was going to make it his new mission to ensure that she always was. “I’ll take care of her.”

Dusan lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “See that you do or I may have to pay visit to America myself. When I was fifteen, I get very sick. My father and uncle left me to rot because they had other things to do. My cousins, they nursed me back. No. I will not pursue vengeance against my family. Nor will anyone in power. It is time for a new power in this house. But I might be persuaded to avenge my little cousins should anything bad happen to them.”

The men around him nodded gravely.

“All right, then.” He turned toward the cathedral. God, his freaking in-laws were Russian mob. At least this once it came in handy.

“Mr. Taggart, since you do me favor, why don’t I do one for you?”

“Yes?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the church.

“The men Nelson worked for, they have more people in their employ, people who still seem to work for their nations but who truly owe their loyalty to The Collective. I worry this will be bad for my business. Tell your friends to watch their backs. They never will know when a partner will turn on them. Rather like family. Now go. It’s almost noon. If you miss this chance, we have to wait another week, and I have plans for celebrating tonight.”

Dusan wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Someone had tipped off Nelson. There was a mole, and he wasn’t sure who to trust anymore.

Which was a good reason to be happy he wasn’t in that life anymore. He could trust his crew and no one else.

Damn, but he hoped Ten hadn’t gotten into anything bad. Under all that charm was a cold son of a bitch. Could he really be that mercenary?

He let the thought go because all that mattered was the job in front of him.

“He’s inside making the rounds. He doesn’t have his normal guard with him. It looks like Charlie’s cousin pulled through. Apparently his usual guard had a terrible car accident yesterday. Doesn’t look like he’ll live,” Alex said over the Bluetooth.

Ian made his way through the massive wrought iron gates that led to the Peter and Paul Cathedral steps, the tops adorned with gold tips. He walked up the steps, surrounded by tourists. Most of them followed guides carrying numbers and walking frantically about trying to fit everything in. Many had small devices in their ears to hear the guide better in the crowded, noisy tourist spots of the city.

No one would think twice of a tall man walking though the cathedral. Hell, he fit in well in Northern Europe. Just last night his wife had claimed he was a Viking come to plunder her.

Yeah, he’d done that up right.

“So this asshole visits churches because he’s so religious, but he’s killed like a million people? I don’t get it, man. My religion and his do not even exist on the same planet.” Alex was always chatty when they were working.

Ian stepped into the ornate cathedral, the sunlight of the day giving way to a subdued light. Massive crystal chandeliers ran down the center of the space. There were no pews. No one sat in an orthodox Russian church. There was even a space left, a remnant of czarist Russia. It sat before the altar, a place swathed in rich cloth that led up to a gold covering. It was where the czar would stand.

All around him were white marble coffins with gold crosses, the final resting place of Russia’s leaders.

They were about to get a new friend. Mikhail Denisovitch claimed he was a czar. He could join them.

“That’s because you don’t understand European religions, boyo. Your religion is what, two hundred years old?” Liam got in on the discussion. “Call me back when it’s properly aged.”

Liam stepped by him, winking as he went. He nodded toward the right side of the church. “I think you’ll find what you’re looking fer over there, mate.”

Ian stopped looking at the green and white ceiling overhead. Every inch of the cathedral was painted or gilded. But he wasn’t looking for beauty.

He turned to the right and spotted his prey.

Mikhail Denisovitch stood in front of a velvet rope looking into a room off the main floor.

“This is the resting place of the Romanovs,” a tour guide was saying. “Hopefully we can get closer.”

Denisovitch turned and the tour guide paled.

“We come back later. Come along. It is almost time for our lunch.”

The gaggle of tourists flocked away. Denisovitch stared ahead, looking at the tombs of the Romanov family, slaughtered that day by the Bolsheviks at their Winter Palace. They had finally found their way here.

Ian glanced at his watch. Ten seconds if he was properly synced.

Liam flanked him, Alex coming up on the right.

The guard who was standing slightly behind Denisovitch tipped his hat and walked away, likely to join Dusan outside. Their prey was left with no one to watch over him.

Ian slipped the knife from where he’d hidden it in his sleeve. It slid into his gloved hand.

Then the world seemed to explode. The building shook. The ground beneath them reverberated with the sound.

The cannons from the Naryshkin Bastion went off every day at noon. And every day at noon the tourists screamed and turned and, just for a moment, were afraid.