The Cotten Stone Omnibus: It started with The Grail Conspiracy... (The Cotten Stone Mysteries)

by Lynn Sholes

  “Max, please,” Alan said, holding up his hand. “A simple yes would have done just fine.”

  “Sorry.” Max looked at Tera and smiled. “Yes.” Then he went back to typing data into his laptop.

  “If we’re forty-six kilometers from Moscow—how far is that in miles?” Cotten asked.

  “Twenty-six and a half.” Max glanced up at Alan with a “how’s that for a direct answer?” expression.

  Cotten nodded a thank-you.

  “I see a lot more fires,” Lindsay said from a window seat.

  “They picked a perfect name for what they’re doing,” Cotten said.

  “Tor said it.” The voice came from Devin, who had hardly spoken since they left Vienna.

  The group turned in his direction as Alan said, “Said what, Devin? Tor said what?”

  “Welcome to Hades.”

  _____

  Cotten heard the sound of the jet engines change pitch. The plane’s nose seemed to angle as the aircraft banked to the left. The fasten seat belts light came on, and a chime sounded in the cabin.

  “We’re on final approach,” Alan said, hanging up the intercom phone to the cockpit. “Get situated and belt yourselves in. This may not be a normal landing.”

  “What do you mean?” Lindsay asked with anxiety in her voice.

  “Don’t worry,” Alan said, dropping into a seat next to Devin. “We just don’t know what the conditions are on the ground yet.”

  “I see the runway,” Cotten said. She watched the dark countryside slowly move toward the plane as they descended. The glow from Moscow city lights dotted the horizon. There were also a handful of fires. “What do you think is causing the fires?” she said.

  “Could be anything,” Max answered. “Gas leaks, vehicular collisions, electrical fires—point is no one can call to report them, so no one can come put them out.”

  “They are going to create hell on earth,” Cotten whispered.

  From out of the blackness of the night, the MiG-29 appeared alongside. It quickly distanced itself to give the private jet room to land. As Cotten gripped the ends of the armrests, she saw the runway lights pass underneath. The corporate jet seemed to float weightlessly for a moment, then it dropped down and its tires bit into the concrete. It bounced once, then with a roar, the pilot slowed the plane using the jets and applied the brakes. It continued down the long runway until a complex of buildings appeared on the left. A number of military and emergency vehicles lined the runway, and they drove beside the jet until it taxied off the main runway.

  “Everybody okay?” Alan asked, glancing around the cabin as the engines wound down.

  The cockpit door opened, and the pilot emerged, the copilot right behind him. The pilot said, “Mr. Olsen, the Russians want us all off the plane immediately.”

  “But I was planning on leaving Devin and Tera here with Lindsay and you,” he said.

  “Sorry, sir. There’s a helicopter waiting to transport all of us to Moscow.”

  “All right.” Alan motioned to the table with Max’s cases. “Give Max a hand with his stuff.” Looking around the cabin, he said, “Grab only what’s essential.”

  The pilot unlatched the side door and swung it open. A ground crew was already rolling a set of steps up to the side of the plane.

  When Cotten looked out the window, she saw soldiers gathering at the base of the stairs. She and John moved forward behind Lindsay and Tera. “Why do they want us all in Moscow?” she asked the pilot as she got to the door.

  “What they told us is because there’s growing disorder in the city, the government felt we would be safer remaining together,” he said. “If we got separated, they were concerned that we might not be able to find each other again.”

  The group assembled at the bottom of the steps. In English, a Russian officer said, “Follow me.”

  A few hundred yards away, a large military helicopter sat with its rotors spinning, its turboshaft engines hissing. The side door stood open with two soldiers beside the aircraft ready to help the passengers onboard.

  They heaved the children up first, followed by Lindsay and Cotten. John and Alan boarded next—Max stood by, directing the hoisting of the delicate computer cases into the cabin.

  Quickly, they were seated and strapped in. Then Cotten heard the turbines spin up and transform from a whine into a roar. At the same time, the rotors accelerated until the helicopter vibrated, straining to become airborne.

  “You’re about to come full circle,” Cotten whispered as she stared into the darkness.

  ambush

  The Mil Mi-17 Russian turboshaft helicopter swooped in over the Moscow River from the southeast. Seated inside, Cotten saw the onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral slip beneath the aircraft, followed by sprawling Red Square. At 150 mph, the trip from the airfield had taken only seven minutes, but it had been unnerving.

  The night was lit from the glow of city lights, but she also saw sporadic fires, a few city-block-sized blazes, and what appeared to be the crash site of a huge airplane—small explosions were still bursting around it. Most streets were clogged and at a standstill, with emergency vehicles trapped in the mass of stalled traffic. As the news of the growing chaos spread, Cotten figured thousands must be trying to leave the city.

  Along with the CyberSys group, sixteen armed Russian soldiers were inside the cabin of the Mil Mi-17, having already been onboard when they left the Gromov Flight Research Institute.

  The helicopter settled onto the great expanse of cobblestones outside the walls of the Kremlin. The door slid open, and the soldiers were the first out. The last two turned and assisted Cotten, John, and Max, and helped with the two Destiny computer cases.

  The officer in command turned to Cotten and said, “I am Captain Markov. We have received word that an international situation has developed and is escalating. The president cannot meet with you, but has ordered that we take you and Cardinal Tyler directly to retrieve the artifact. We will split up with half my men escorting Mr. Wolf and his gear to a secure crisis room inside the Kremlin. There he can set up his computer and prepare for when we deliver the artifact. Any questions?”

  Cotten looked at John and Max before nodding to Markov. “Okay, Captain.” She turned to Alan who was about to step down from inside the helicopter. “There’s no reason for you to go with us, Alan. Stay with Lindsay and the children in case they have to evacuate you guys out of here. We’ll retrieve the Spear. Once Max has everything up and running, and it’s safe, we’ll have them bring everyone inside.”

  Alan looked at Max. “She’s right, boss,” Max said. “Stay with your son.”

  Alan glanced at Devin, then at Lindsay and Tera. “Fine,” Alan said. He shook their hands before stepping back into the cabin of the helicopter, its blades rotating slowly overhead. “Good luck.”

  “Okay,” Markov said. “Follow me.”

  They had landed near the State Historical Museum on the north end of Red Square, a few hundred yards from Lenin’s Tomb. The boxy mausoleum had been built on the outside wall of the Kremlin. As everyone came around the nose of the helicopter and were about to split into two groups, Cotten noticed a large formation of what appeared to be soldiers amassed outside the mausoleum. Unlike the green military uniforms of the Russian Federation Army soldiers with her, these men were dressed in black, similar to the dark, commando, full-body-armor outfits worn by the rebels who had attacked her and the president in the tsar’s tunnel. Cotten also noticed an odd visual distortion like waves of heat rising off a highway in the summer sun. The black soldiers seemed to drift in and out of focus as the waves undulated.

  Once everyone cleared the aircraft and were walking across the open space of Red Square, the black soldiers opened fire with bursts of automatic weapons. Their guns were silenced, so the muzzle flashes appeared like hundreds of tiny sparks in the night.

 
A few of Captain Markov’s men dropped onto the cobblestones, unmoving. Markov yelled, “Get back to the helicopter—run!”

  John grabbed Cotten’s arm as they retreated to the protection of the aircraft.

  She heard bullets striking the street and the metal skin of the chopper. As the Russians gathered behind the protection of the aircraft and started returning fire, Cotten, John, and Max ran to the open side door.

  “What’s going on?” Lindsay called. “Who is shooting at us?”

  “Stay down!” Cotten ordered her.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!” Alan shouted.

  Cotten heard the turbines spinning up and felt the rotors start to increase speed. The pilot yelled back to them in Russian. His words needed no translation. He had to take off to save his aircraft. And they must jump back on board.

  “We can’t leave without the Lance,” Cotten yelled over the sound of the gunfire and the screaming turbines.

  “What choice do we have?” John said. “They’ve got the entrance to the Tomb blocked.”

  Cotten went to the rear of the aircraft and cautiously peered around it. She saw that the St. Nicholas Tower gate entrance to the Kremlin was only a couple of hundred feet away. “We’ve got to make it to the gate,” she yelled to Captain Markov while pointing in the direction of the Kremlin wall.

  He nodded that he understood and relayed the order to his men. He motioned for two soldiers to bring the computer cases and follow him—the rest would give cover fire while he and the Americans raced across the short distance to the gate. Motioning to Cotten, he said, “Okay, we are ready.”

  “Thank you,” Cotten said.

  “What are you doing?” Max said. “We need to get out of here. The helicopter is leaving.”

  “We can’t leave, Max,” Cotten said. “If we do, they win and there will be no place for us to go. This is it. And unless you’re going to give me a crash course in running that Destiny device, we need you with us.”

  The helicopter rumbled, and the downdraft from its blades made it nearly impossible to hear. Max looked at Alan then at John. Finally, he yelled to Cotten, “What the hell. Lead the way.”

  As the Mil Mi-17 started to rise off the cobblestones with the force of a hurricane, Cotten thought she heard Lindsay scream for them to come back. But the words were lost in the roar of the aircraft.

  Markov’s men opened fire on the black figures blocking the Tomb while he led the small group toward the tower gate entrance.

  “How are we going to get into the Tomb?” John yelled to Cotten once they passed under the majestic tower into the safety of the Kremlin walls.

  Never slowing, she called over her shoulder, “Ivan the Terrible’s praying seat.”

  _____

  Tor stared at the monitor displaying the operating system interface to the Hades quantum computer. Things were holding together amazingly well, even with the degraded thodium. He held the Holy Lance replica in his hand and figured he’d hang it on the wall of his bedroom. That’s about all it was worth.

  Mace hadn’t warned him about the Son of the Dawn delivering it personally. That was something he never wanted to experience again. Out of all the Ruby ceremonies and rituals Tor had attended, the Son of the Dawn had been a distant figure. Few Ruby children or Nephilim adults ever approached him.

  And yet, he came to Tor, showing up out of nowhere like an apparition. It truly scared the shit out of him as he was concentrating deeply on his work and suddenly heard that distinctive voice from behind. Having spent so many days and nights in the old military facility alone, he almost came out of his skin.

  And then when he had to give the Son of the Dawn the bad news—that the Lance was a fake—he thought he might shit himself. The only redeeming part was when Tor was told it was not his fault.

  Tor felt sorry for Mace. Rizben would take the brunt of the punishment. He’d already heard the news headlines. The Secretary of Homeland Security resigns citing personal reasons. In a way, Mace had it coming, Tor thought. The guy was cocky, self-centered, and basically an asshole. Of course, being a Fallen Angel, the worst that could happen was he would be sent to some shithole assignment. Serves him right for acting like a prick.

  Tor even regretted turning Mace on to Kai. She was a bitch but the most amazing woman he’d ever met. A free spirit and a free agent. He wondered what she was doing now that Mace was out of the picture.

  He glanced back at the monitor. Not bad for a piece-of-shit sample of thodium. It was still holding together—barely.

  That’s when the intrusion alarms went off.

  vladimir

  Once inside the Kremlin walls, Markov asked Cotten, “Where do you want me to take you?” They moved briskly along the sidewalk in front of the arsenal building.

  “Cardinal Tyler and I must get into Assumption Cathedral,” she said. “Mr. Wolf and his electronics gear can go on to your crisis center.”

  At the corner of the two-story arsenal building, Markov stopped and relayed the orders to the two men carrying the computer cases. He pointed to the right. “Mr. Wolf, follow these men to the Grand Kremlin Palace.” Then Markov led Cotten and John to the left, passing in front of the State Kremlin Palace and on to the churches surrounding Cathedral Square.

  Running past the front of the Church of the Twelve Apostles, the three turned right and headed for the entrance to the Assumption Cathedral. Climbing the steps to the southern portal, Cotten looked up at the huge paintings of the two archangels guarding each side of the door. “We could sure use their help,” she said, pointing to the angels.

  Markov nodded in agreement.

  The iron mesh gates stood open, but the great wood and metal double doors were closed and locked. Captain Markov pulled on the handles, but there was no give from the three-hundred-year-old entry. “We will have to get someone to come and unlock the church,” he said to Cotten.

  “Captain, there’s no time. Please get us inside, even if it means breaking down the doors.”

  Markov stared at her as if she had asked him to urinate on the Russian Federation flag.

  “Captain,” John said. “You mentioned there was some sort of escalating international situation going on. I can assure you that whatever it is will be mild compared to what’s in store for us all if Ms. Stone does not gain access to this church. Captain Markov, I am a cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church and director of the Vatican’s equivalent to your Federal Security Service—your old KGB. Please believe me when I tell you that what is happening tonight all over the globe is the beginning of a tragic series of events that could culminate in a possible—”

  “Captain Markov, shoot the locks!” Cotten demanded.

  The soldier stared at her for a moment before turning toward the entrance of Assumption Cathedral and pulling back the bolt on his automatic assault rifle. A second later, he fired a burst of rounds into the lock of the four-inch-thick wood doors—splinters and shards of metal flying everywhere. Stepping forward, he kicked in the door with a crunch of splitting wood. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “This way.”

  Rushing into the cavernous cathedral, Cotten felt overwhelmed by the memories of the rebel attack. Only a handful of lights were on, giving her the same feeling of eerie, otherworldliness that surrounded her that fateful night such a short time ago. As they moved across the marble floor, her eyes lingered briefly on the spot where her crew had fallen, murdered. Even in the dim light, the damage to the artwork that ringed the columns was evident.

  Markov stopped. “Now where?”

  Cotten pointed to the structure that housed Ivan the Terrible’s praying seat.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and hurried across the floor of the cathedral to the miniature building.

  Standing beside it, Cotten motioned to the narrow space behind it and the wall. She squeezed through and opened the gate that led inside. Dark s
tains on the floor marked where the murdered PSS agent died. The Tsar’s chair had been returned to its original position. Cotten pushed it aside, exposing the trapdoor. Lifting it open, she said, “Through here.”

  “Wait,” Markov said. “I’ll go first, just in case anyone is waiting to ambush us again.”

  Cotten watched him drop down into the hole. John went next. Just before it was her turn, Cotten stopped and listened, swearing that she heard the faintest of footsteps. If the black soldiers were coming, this was not the place to stand and fight. From here on there was only one way out. As she turned to climb down, she thought she saw two small figures dashing through the dark shadows.

  “There’s a light switch on the wall next to the platform,” Cotten called down to Markov as she closed the trapdoor behind her. A second later, the bulb flicked on. “Keep going to the bottom. Follow the tunnel and always bear to the left.”

  As they approached the end of the first light string, the group stopped. “There’s another light switch on the wall,” Cotten said. But before Markov could flip it on, she held up her hand for silence. The slight thump of the trapdoor closing again echoed through the tunnel. “We’re being followed,” she said, and nodded for Markov to turn on the next set of lights.

  The passage widened just as Cotten remembered. They moved past the openings to many tunnels and drainage pipes, some appearing as if they had not been disturbed for hundreds of years.

  Ahead was the set of stone stairs angling up the wall, leading to the storeroom entrance. She made her way in front of Markov. Grudgingly, it opened. “Come on,” she said after flipping on the storeroom light. Moving across the room, she grabbed the handle of the door on the opposite wall and pushed, swinging it open into the dark marble hallway.

  “We are very close to the entrance where the rebels were shooting at us,” Markov said. “Come behind me.” With his gun at the ready, he led Cotten and John down the hall and into the main chamber of the Tomb.