“So, what is this Khosadam thing anyway?” Annja asked.

“She’s a Siberian goddess,” Bob replied.

“As in a deity?” Annja shook her head. “You realize how ludicrous that sounds. They actually think there’s a goddess stalking them?”

“That would be my impression, yes.”

“What—did she get bored with heaven or Olympus or wherever she was hanging out?”

“She was kicked out of heaven, actually,” Bob said. “By her husband, of all people.”

Annja grinned. “One step forward for women’s rights.”

“Don’t misunderstand it. Ec banished her for being unfaithful. She liked to cavort with the lesser deities and sometimes even mortals. She has another name as well,” Bob said, leading them into the nearby café.

A wall of heat slammed into Annja as she walked through the door. She could smell burned coffee and some other scents she didn’t recognize. Despite her unease with the entire situation, her mouth watered and she realized she was ravenous. “What’s her other name?” she asked.

“Eater of souls.”

Titles in this series:

Destiny

Solomon’s Jar

The Spider Stone

The Chosen

Forbidden City

The Lost Scrolls

God of Thunder

Secret of the Slaves

Warrior Spirit

Serpent’s Kiss

Provenance

The Soul Stealer

Rogue Angel™

The Soul Stealer
Alex Archer

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Merz for his contribution to this work.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

1

She was being followed.

Again.

Annja Creed sighed with an almost nonchalant grin as she felt the familiar feeling wash over her. As many times and as many places as she’d been, she could tell–without even turning around to confirm it–that someone was taking more than a passing interest in her.

Even here, she thought. Even in this remote industrial complex where the concrete was as gray as the cold sky overhead, she hadn’t managed to escape the eyes and ears of the locals.

The question, as always, was who was following her? Since arriving in Moscow and then taking the Siberian railroad to the northeast reaches of the former Soviet Union, Annja had kept what she thought was a low profile. She’d paid cash for her transactions. She’d used her new fake passport and booked her travels under a fake name. She’d even tossed her schedule out the window and lingered in several stops for far too long.

But it hadn’t worked.

She ran down the list of people in her head who might wish her harm and then frowned. The list was long and growing longer. Every new adventure seemed to add dozens of names to the roster of folks who thought the world would be a better place if perhaps Annja Creed wasn’t inhaling any more of its oxygen.

She passed the plate-glass windows of a department store advertising fashions so outdated that Annja wondered if anyone actually came in and requested them. She paused, however, and used the reflecting surface to look behind her.

Nothing.

She kept moving rather than give away the idea that she suspected she was being followed. No sense altering the hunters.

Annja knew that professionals never allowed themselves to be seen when they followed you. So the fact that she hadn’t spotted anyone in the shop window might mean she wasn’t dealing with amateurs.

On one level, that was good. Amateurs in this part of the world tended to be thugs and rapists who would brutalize you and then sell you off into some sexual-slavery den.

At least the professionals just killed you and got it done with.

She smirked at the thought. How my life has changed, she mused.

She turned a corner and strolled up a narrow street. Ahead of her, she could make out an outdoor market area filled with a smattering of produce, imported electronics goods and bootleg DVDs. Annja knew the mafiya controlled these impromptu bazaars. But she hoped she could use them to lose her tail.

Unless, of course, he worked for the very same gangsters who ran the marketplace. She pondered that for a moment. But she couldn’t worry about that for long. Not when she had a pressing appointment to keep with Robert Gulliver, known to his friends as Biker Bob and to the rest of the world as the cycling archaeologist.

Gulliver liked riding across the world on his favorite all-terrain bike. It was how he had scouted so many famous dig sites. Before he went in to any place with loads of equipment, he would casually assess the environment from the comfort of his bicycle. So far, Gulliver had crisscrossed the globe numerous times, although this was his first outing in Siberia.

Gulliver had sent Annja an e-mail from a cybercafé in a town just outside Minsk, asking if she would join him on a scouting mission. Annja, bored with her self-imposed exile back in Brooklyn, had jumped at the opportunity.

But even she was somewhat disgruntled by the location. So far, the dour city of Magadan had failed to impress her. The entire city was formed of cookie-cutter buildings set into neat rows. The streets were all evenly paved with ancient cars zooming down them at breakneck speeds, unconcerned if they hit pedestrians. In contrast, she occasionally spotted a sleek new Lincoln Town Car that proclaimed its driver as belonging to organized crime. Poverty was rampant, and Annja had already doled out some of her money to several children who looked closer to being scarecrows than human beings.

Gulliver had promised her a spectacular adventure, but Annja couldn’t see it. Not in a city so utterly drab and awash in human misery.

Still, the fact that she had someone following her at least meant that there might be a little excitement before the day was done.

She ducked under the low awning and entered the marketplace. Immediately, her ears were accosted by the sounds of techno music infused with Russian street rap. Annja spoke a smattering of Russian, but she knew better than to try to translate the music lyrics that blasted out of the nearby speakers.

And she wasn’t there to listen to music, anyway.

Ahead of her, the narrow corridor seemed to twist and turn. Elderly shoppers, their heads wrapped in heavy hats and scarves to ward off the first taste of winter in the air, pushed past her, intent on finding something valuable in the midst of chaos.

One of the vendors called out to her and held up an iPod. Annja smiled but shook her head no. She knew they made the cheap knockoffs in China and shipped them north through Mongolia before they ended up here.

Besides, Annja had her own iPod back at the hotel.

She frowned. Unless someone had broken in and stolen it, she thought. She glanced back at the iPod hawker but he was already gone.

Her unpredictable turn had prompted a man thirty feet back to stop awkwardly and turn his head.

Annja smiled.

First mistake. Maybe she wasn’t dealing with professionals after all.

She hurried on, aware of a pungent stench of rotting fish assailing her nostrils. Three stalls of dead fish bedded on ice bracketed the next turn. Annja glanced at them. Even the fish were gray.

She had a decision to make. She could allow her tail to continue his surveillance, or she could turn the tables on him and find out who he was. The first choice was annoying because it meant she’d never be alone. The second choice was the more dangerous of the two. Confronting a tail was always a risk. He might be following her because he wanted to harm her. Possibly, he might even kill her.

Annja closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, confirming that Joan of Arc’s sword–her sword–was accessible. She could see it in her mind’s eye, hovering as it always seemed to. All she had to do was reach out and grab it.

She ducked under a low-hanging portal filled with cheap polyester tapestries done up in gaudy golds and bright reds. She could see the fraying edges and knew that the quality of the material only looked good to those who knew no better and had never had anything better in their lives. To some in this remote outback of Russia, polyester was the fabric of dreams.

She risked a glance back and saw the man clearly. He had no interest in any of the wares being hawked by the vendors. His face was as dour as the rest of the city. But Annja could see the deep lines etched in his face and knew that he had a past–probably that of a hired killer. She knew finding one in this part of the world was easy. And they were always competent.

If they weren’t, they simply didn’t survive.

Annja made her decision. She rushed ahead and instantly heard the yells behind her as her pursuer bumped into one of the fish stalls. Ice slid everywhere and the dead fish followed, causing several shoppers to fall.

Annja ran.

More voices joined the fray. If her pursuer was with the mafiya, most likely he’d be able to enlist some help. But if he wasn’t, then he was risking their wrath by upsetting one of the chief places they made their protection money.

Annja spotted an exit and took it. Fresh air smacked into her face and she saw the narrow alley ahead of her. Grateful that she’d worn her hiking boots instead of her sneakers, Annja raced down the asphalt street.

Behind her, footsteps pounded the pavement. He was close.

Annja skidded into the alley and saw that it was filled with trash. The smell of urine hung heavy in the air. She could smell cheap vodka and the aroma of body odor. Makeshift corrugated-cardboard-box homes dotted the edges of the alley. Annja had entered a town of sorts for homeless people.

She pressed on, dodging the clotheslines that hung between two buildings. Bits of spattered cloth, remnants of winter coats and shirts hung from the lines. Steam from several grates issued forth with a sharp hiss.

The entire alley seemed eerily quiet. Behind her, at the entrance of the alley, the footsteps stopped.

This was where it would get hairy.

Annja ducked low, aware that her vision was being compromised by the crowded nature of the alley. The steam, trapped by the many laundry lines and the clothes they held, seemed to hug closer to the ground, making the alley feel more like a moor drowning in early-morning fog.

Her pursuer would have moved into the alley by now. But he’d move slowly, aware that any one of the boxes might conceal his prey. He might walk right past her. Or she might ambush him.

Annja glanced ahead. Bricks. She frowned. A dead end.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to reach for the sword. But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t in her hands. She tried again and then it hit her.

The alley was too narrow to swing a sword.

She almost yelped when the disembodied hand grabbed her around the ankle. She yanked her leg away and shot a kick into the hand. Someone on the ground grunted and she saw the hand retreat.

This was not a place she wanted to stay any longer than necessary.

The air around her grew heavy. Annja could feel his presence now, looming and drawing down the distance between them. She ducked down by the closest cardboard box and waited.

The steam played tricks with her eyes. She thought she could see his body parting the mist like some ship on the sea. And then she saw his feet.

Without even thinking about it, Annja launched herself at him, screaming as she did so. She collided with him, knocking him to the ground. He grunted and Annja felt a breath of air come out of his mouth as the wind was knocked out of him.

She winced. Judging by the smell, he was a fan of onion bagels.

He brought his hands up and twisted, trying to push her off him. She could see his left hand reaching for something in his coat. Annja chopped down with her fist onto his forearm, hoping his coat wasn’t thick enough to dull the blow.

He grunted again and rolled.

Annja slipped off him and scrambled to her feet, her hands held up high.

As he came up, Annja lashed out with a roundhouse kick aimed at his temple. He ducked under it and punched up into the underside of her thigh. Annja jerked back, surprised that he seemed so nimble after being knocked to the ground. Again, he reached inside his coat. Annja ducked her head and flew at him, tackling him around the waist. Using her momentum, she brought them both back down to the ground.

He was better prepared this time and as she landed, his hands were already trying to work the nerve clusters in her neck with his fingers. Annja could feel the sharp twinges as he dug his fingertips into the area under her ear.

She slid away and got to her feet.

“Stop!” the man shouted.

Annja braced herself. The man got to his feet and held his hands up as if he was surrendering. “I mean you no harm,” he said.

Annja frowned. “Really?”

He gestured at his pocket. “Do you mind? I will prove that I am no threat to you.”

“Go slow,” Annja said. “If I think you’re pulling a gun–”

“No gun. Just a note,” he said.

Annja watched as he fished a slip of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and gingerly handed it to her. She took it and glanced down quickly at the words written on it.

Annja, welcome to Magadan. Please follow Gregor.

He will bring you to me.

Regards,

Bob

Annja looked back up. “Gregor?”

The man smiled. “Da.”

Annja smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

2

Annja followed Gregor out of the alley and back into the open air of the city. He turned and wiped his brow with a smile. “Robert told me you might not be an easy woman to track down. He did not say anything about you not being easy to take down, however.”

“You got the two-for-one deal,” Annja said. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Gregor stiffened. “You did not…hurt me.”

“Of course,” Annja replied quickly.

“You always react this way to people who are behind you?” Gregor asked.

Annja grinned. “Past experience has taught me it’s better to go on the attack than wait for an ambush.”

“You must have some sort of peculiar background for that to be your normal method of behavior.”

“Nothing about my life has ever been normal,” Annja said. “Now, where’s Biker Bob?”

Gregor nodded. “He waits for us nearby. A libation establishment that he prefers to occupy during his awake time.”

“Never heard a bar called that before.” Annja smiled again. “Lead the way. I’ll follow you this time.”

“Perhaps that would be best,” Gregor said. He walked ahead of Annja, navigating the twisting streets and the throngs of people who bustled here and there. Horns sounded as the afternoon turned into early evening and commuters rushed from factories and offices to head home.

“This place gets busy in the evening, huh?” Annja noted.

“This city is not a wonderful place to be at night. Most people go home quickly to their families and dream of a time when they might leave.”

“How depressing.”

Gregor stopped and looked at her. “Have you not noticed how sad this city is? How sad its inhabitants are, as well?”

“It’s kind of hard not to notice,” Annja said.

“What’s the problem? The weather?”

Gregor shook his head. “This is the gateway to hell.”

“That’s a bit extreme. Even some of the grungiest places on Earth have something to look forward to,” Annja said.

Gregor shook his head and gestured at the concrete high-rises that surrounded them. “It is not my name for this place, but rather the people who lived here who called it that. There was a time when this truly was the gateway to hell. Millions of people came here first before journeying to the slave camps outside of the city to mine for gold under the Stalin regime. They say three million died in the mines at Kolyma.”

“This was where the mine workers first came?”

“ Da. Criminals, intellectuals, the poor—under Stalin, it did not matter what you were. If you were perceived as a threat, then you were shipped here to mine for gold. They used the railway to herd workers here first before dropping them off the face of the planet and into the very depths of hell itself.”

“Amazing.” Annja sighed. “Good thing we don’t have Stalin to worry about any longer.”

“The scars of those times will take a very long while to heal,” Gregor said. “My grandparents died in the mines. It is for me a very painful topic. One that is very close to my heart.”

“Maybe they should have destroyed the city when the mines shut down,” Annja said.

Gregor shook his head. “The mines are not shut down. They are under private companies now. The goal is the same—to provide wealth for the Russian government and the investors of the mine.”

“But they don’t use slave labor anymore, do they?”

Gregor shrugged. “Depends on your definition of slave labor, I would suppose. Some would argue that the wages paid to the workers are not much better than what the original laborers received.”

A light drizzle fell from the sky, spattering Annja’s face as she saw the lines around Gregor’s eyes deepen. He sniffed the air and shook his head. “Death on the wind is never washed away, no matter how many times God cries.”

Annja said nothing, but felt a cold breeze whip along the sidewalk. Gregor tugged her arm. “I apologize. Sometimes, I reminisce too much. You have a meeting to attend and I am supposed to make sure you arrive there intact.”

“Intact?” Annja asked, alarmed.

Gregor frowned. “In one piece? Is that better?”

“Either one works. I’m just curious as to why you chose those words instead of saying something, I don’t know, less dangerous sounding.”

Gregor smiled. “Robert told me something about you. He said trouble seems attracted to you. It was his wish I guide you along so that trouble this time keeps its distance.”

“Damned thoughtful of him,” Annja said. “Now, where’s the bar?”

Gregor led her down the street, passing a Mercedes dealership. Gregor nodded at it. “Russian mafiya likes flashy cars. They have the money to buy, so the dealerships come to supply them with their wants.”

“Are there a lot of gangsters around?”

Gregor sniffed. “Russia is run by gangsters now. Some of them wear suits, some wear army uniforms. All of them are dangerous men.”

“Lovely,” Annja muttered.

At the next block, Gregor turned right and the streets narrowed. Farther on, Annja could make out a blinking neon sign in red Cyrillic letters. Gregor nodded. “That is the place.”

When they stepped inside, the heat and the smell of alcohol hit her at the same time. Smoke hung in the air, belched out by a hundred cheap cigarettes all bucking for room in the crowded joint.

Gregor nudged Annja ahead. “Robert waits in the back,” he said.

Annja shouldered her way through the rough crowd. Some of them looked like greased pompadour playboys while others had the look of hunted men and women, all trying to scratch out some type of existence in a place that seemed to reek of death and haunting memories.

Annja spied a couple of Naugahyde booths in back and headed for them.

“Annja Creed!”

Rising out of one of the booths like a tall, rail-thin weed, Robert Gulliver rushed to hug Annja. To Annja it felt as if she were hugging herself, so lean was Biker Bob’s body. Still, she knew that despite his lack of weight, he was lithe and sinewy, with a great deal of strength from all the cycling he did.

“Nice to see you, Bob,” she said.

He hurried them back to the booth. Annja noticed that Gregor did not sit with them but lounged near the bar where anyone who wanted to get to the booth section would have to pass.

“Gregor’s not joining us?” she asked.

“Hmm? Uh, no. Gregor will keep an eye out so we aren’t disturbed,” Gulliver said.

Annja frowned. “And he said you think I’m the one who attracts trouble.”

“We can get into that later, if you don’t mind.” Gulliver leaned back and helped himself to the pitcher of beer on the table. “I’ve got a glass all ready for you, m’lady. Can I pour you one?”

“Sure,” Annja said.

She watched Bob’s hands grip the pitcher and pour the beer into her glass. Blue veins in his hand snaked their way up his forearm, twisting around bands of thin muscle. “I see you still haven’t porked up any,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s genetics, I think. I was born this way and damned if I can eat enough to gain an ounce,” he replied.

“That and all the biking.”

“Well, sure, but then again, if not for my bike, we never would have met.”

Annja smiled. She and Gulliver had met on the set of Chasing History’s Monsters a few years previously. Biker Bob had arrived on the set each day riding a candy-apple-red 1950s five-speed bike complete with a playing card striking the spokes for the required sound effects. Over lunches and quick dinners, Annja had learned that he possessed an uncanny intelligence and sense for finding unique dig sites. While his methodology was unorthodox, his research and passion were undeniable. Annja had quickly realized Bob had the makings of a true friend.

“So what’s so special that you dragged me all the way over here? I mean, Siberia? That’s a bit of a stretch even for you, isn’t it?”

“You know how much history is locked into this part of the world? We’re in the regions where the Mongol hordes got their start. The legends that exist here are spectacular. And now, with the old Soviet guard finally dismantled, we can actually begin to explore this area like never before,” Gulliver said.

Annja sipped her beer. “And it will look ever so exciting as we tape bouncing along the roads on a bike. Is that it?”

Bob fixed her with a stare. “You know I never call for my video team until I have something to really show the world. This is more of an excursion. I’ve been fascinated with Siberia for years. And when I decided to bike across the northern part of the continent, I thought it would finally be a good time to see what could be seen.”

“And you called me.”

“Of course! Why not share this with the one person I know at least respects my work? I thoroughly enjoyed the time we spent together on set and thought this would be a magnificent way to continue our friendship.”

“I suppose it is.” Annja shivered. “It’s just this part of Russia leaves a bit to be desired.”

“You referring to the poverty, the gangs or the somber mood?”

“Is there an option for all three?” she asked.

Gulliver laughed. “Definitely. I won’t pretend this is a pretty part of the country, because it’s not. But we aren’t staying here, anyway.”

“We’re not?” Annja asked, intrigued.

“No way. Our destination lies farther north. A road that winds its way through some very old places on the way to Yakutsk.”

“Never heard of it,” Annja said.

Gulliver downed his beer and poured himself another. “Remote doesn’t begin to describe it. I hear that when the Soviets ran things, even they didn’t dispatch much in the way of bureaucratic might to the area. Even to those guys, there were places in their own country that they deemed better left untouched.”

“I wonder why?” Annja asked.

He clapped her on the arm. “That’s what you and I are going to find out!”

Annja shrugged. “Well, as I was just lying around my loft feeling bored and restless, this is, I suppose, a great way to relieve the boredom.”

Gulliver nodded. “That’s the spirit I know and love.”

Annja glanced at Gregor, who was paying more attention to the wood of the bar and very little to the small drink he had in front of him. “Gregor’s not very social,” she observed.

Gulliver smiled. “He’ll nurse that vodka for hours if we let him. But he’s just doing his job.”

“Which is?”

“Well, one part was making sure you got here intact.”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

Gulliver sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re young and very attractive. And while I know that you’re more than capable of handling yourself and any trouble that comes your way, the rest of this part of the world does not.”

Annja grinned. “Sounds like you’re protecting them from me .”

“Well, using Gregor to ward off any unwanted attention is a smart move. He knows the ins and outs of this region better than anyone else.”

“How so?”

“Born and raised here. He was an enforcer for one of the local syndicates but he went freelance a few years back.”

“And they let him?” Annja asked.

“You might have gotten the impression it’s not wise to say no to him.”

“He is imposing.”

“They thought so, too. He still does errands for them on occasion, but nowadays, he looks out for numero uno.”

Annja sipped her beer. “And you trust him?”

“I saved his life,” Bob said. “There’s nothing he won’t do for me.”

“Now, there’s a story I want to hear,” Annja said.

“Later. I suspect he might be embarrassed if he knew I was telling you. And embarrassing these guys is never a wise move,” Gulliver advised her.

Annja finished her beer. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Six in the morning.”

“That early?”

“Sure.” Bob’s eyes twinkled with glee. “I even got you a bike.”

“It’s not candy-apple-red, is it?”

He laughed. “No, but it does have racing stripes.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“I’m kidding.” He rose from the booth. “Now let’s see if we can scare up one final good dinner before we head off into the great unknown.”

3

By the time dawn poked its head over the gray horizon and lit up Magadan to more of a beige hue, Annja had already been up for two hours. She’d slept fitfully, tossing and turning until some time after three in the morning. She’d finally rolled out of bed and started working on her yoga asanas. Before she knew it, she was relaxed and sweaty, and she felt better than she had in bed.

She showered quickly, not for fear of being late, but because the hotel—if you could call it that—didn’t have any hot water. Shivering as she stepped into her clothes, Annja warmed herself up by doing some deep breaths and jumping up and down to increase her heartbeat.

Downstairs, she wolfed down a cup of steaming black coffee and something that was supposed to resemble a muffin. Then she stepped outside and found Biker Bob already there, casually drinking from a Thermos as he looked to the northwest.

When he saw Annja, he took the Thermos away from his lips and smiled. “Good morning!”

Annja waved. “Hi, Bob.”

He offered her the Thermos, but Annja declined as she saw the two bicycles Gulliver had arranged. “What in the world are those?”

He turned and bowed low, spreading his hand out as he did so with a flourish. “Those, m’lady, are our transportation.”

“They look like two-wheeled moon buggies,” Annja said.

Gulliver straightened himself. “NASA should be so lucky as to have such fine chariots as these.” He waved Annja over. “Allow me to introduce you to the very noble and very rugged Yeti 575 Carbon Enduro. The 2006 model. In turquoise, because they don’t have pink with polka dots.”

Annja pursed her lips. “And because you know I would have kicked the snot out of you if you’d shown up with a pink bike for me.”

“There’s that, yes,” he admitted.

Annja ran her hands over the bike’s frame. She could see the front and rear shock absorbers. “It’s good, I assume, for what you have in mind for us?”

“One of the best. And fortunately for me, Gregor was able to get his hands on them for our travels. These bikes retail for about three thousand dollars. And I only had to pay five thousand for these.”

“You paid a two-thousand-dollar markup?” Annja asked, shocked.

Gulliver shrugged. “Cost of doing business in this part of the world, Annja. And besides, it’s tax deductible once I get a dig going on the site we’re heading for. Five grand, ten grand, it makes no difference.”

“Must be nice having all that cash.”

Gulliver smiled. “I’m not ashamed of being a trust-fund baby, Annja. At least I spend my money relatively wisely. I could be like those other idiots and charter three-hundred-foot yachts in the Mediterranean for the better part of a million each week. End up on VH-1 and all that ridiculousness.”

“Your quest is noble, Bob. I’ve never held your family’s money against you,” Annja said.

Gulliver nodded. “That is precisely why you’re along on this trip. Among other reasons.” He pointed at her bike. “You want to try it out?”

Annja nodded and climbed onto the seat. The first thing she noticed was how comfortable it felt. “This isn’t like the last time we went riding.”

“They’ve made a lot of improvements since then,” Bob said. “Comfort and practicality are key. Especially for bikes like this, which are made for all-day touring, mountain climbing and traversing various obstacles.”

“So, you’re saying my ass won’t feel like a pincushion by the time we end our ride each day?”

Gulliver grinned. “I have no idea how your ass will feel. I can confidently assure you, however, that my own posterior has never felt the slightest bit injured after a full day’s riding on these miraculous machines.”

Annja bounced once in the seat. “It’s got a fair amount of give.”

“They call it travel now. The amount of movement the suspension gives the rider. On this model, it’s almost six inches, which is a good amount of give.”

Annja pointed. “You took the black one for yourself?”

Bob shrugged. “I always ride a black bicycle. It’s part of my marketing strategy for myself. The world has come to know me as always riding a black bicycle. What would they think if I showed up riding a red one?” He winked at her.

“Heaven forbid,” Annja said. “So, where are we heading, anyway?”

Gulliver took a folded map out of his pocket and handed it to Annja. “Northwest of here. Out into the Siberian wilderness.”

Annja glanced at the map and handed it back. She looked around the city, now just starting to percolate with signs of life. “As long as we’re getting out of here, that’s fine with me.”

Gulliver nodded. “I understand. There are parts of this city that have a certain amount of charm, but I suppose there’s no denying the awful past of this place. It’s ingrained everywhere. Unavoidable. Perhaps I should have chosen a better staging area.”

“This is the closest city?”

“Yes.”

“Then there really was no other option,” Annja said. “And don’t worry too much about it. I’ve seen my share of horrible places.”

Gulliver smiled. “We should be off, then.”

Annja tested her feet on her pedals and found she could reach them easily enough. Gulliver had estimated her height correctly and ensured she had the right-size bicycle. As she leaned down to see if her water bottle was filled, she heard a sound behind them and looked up quickly.

Gregor skidded to a halt on his own bicycle. Annja glanced at Bob. “He’s coming with us?”

“A trusted comrade is always a welcome thing out in the backwaters of a potentially unfriendly environment,” Gulliver said.

Gregor smiled at Annja. “Good morning.”

Annja nodded. “How are you feeling today?”

Gregor pointed at his ribs. “They have a nice blue to them. You have done very well in marking me up. But nothing that vodka and aspirin cannot handle.”

“Sorry about that,” Annja said sheepishly.

Gregor shrugged. “I was not careful. Not your fault. You were just defending yourself. As I would have done in your spot.”

Annja turned around and saw Gulliver tightening the straps on the dual bags that hung over the back of his bike. Annja saw that she had two bags of her own. “You packed for me, too?”

“Gregor did some shopping. Just the necessities, I’m afraid. This won’t be a glamorous event for any of us. Just a recon as it were.”

“As long as the clothes are warm,” Annja said.

“They are.”

Annja looked at Gregor again. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said quietly.

Annja removed a playing card from her jacket pocket and slid it against the spokes of Gulliver’s bike. He was too involved in his map and didn’t notice. Finally, he folded the map and looked back. “Are we ready?”

Annja smiled. “Let’s roll.”

Gulliver turned, mounted his bike and started pedaling. Instantly, from the back of his bike came the telltale sound as the spokes slid over the playing card.

Annja smiled. Behind her, she heard Gregor chuckle. “He will not notice that for at least three miles,” he said.

G REGOR’S ESTIMATION WAS correct. They pedaled for three miles on the paved highway leading out of Magadan. The road gradually waned from sleek asphalt to pockmarked concrete rife with potholes and bits of wire jutting out of the ground along its edges. More and more, they had to wind their way around obstacles.

Gulliver signaled a halt and they pulled over to the side of the road. He frowned and leaned back, removing the playing card from his spokes. “This your idea of a funny?” he asked.

Annja shrugged. “Yep,” she said.

Gulliver took a swig of water from his bottle and then replaced it. “The road ahead goes from this to more of a hard mud track. It should be easier once we hit it.”

“Less obstructions,” Gregor said from behind them.

“They don’t believe in road repair in these parts, huh?” Annja looked around them. Anything short of a combat tank would have flat tires in seconds.

“Is not they don’t believe in it,” Gregor said. “Just that the officials all have their hands out ready for a little grease. By the time the money filters down to the workers who must actually repair the road, there is none left.”

“Wonderful,” Annja said.

Gulliver waved them on. “I want to at least reach a way point by tonight. And that’s thirty miles away.”

Annja sighed. A thirty-miler wasn’t the best way she imagined to ease back into the bicycling frame of mind, but she knew that once Gulliver had his mind fixed on something, he wasn’t going to budge for anything short of a life in danger.

Gregor sped past her and then overtook Gulliver. He pedaled ahead. Annja marveled at how easily he rode his bicycle.

Bob glanced back at her. “He’s a former military guy. Did I mention that?”

“No,” Annja said.

“He’s used to driving himself hard. One of those guys who measures himself based on how difficult something is. The bigger the obstacle, the better he feels about himself when he masters it.”

Annja nodded. “I know someone just like that.”

Bob grinned. “I thought you might find that a familiar sentiment.”

They pedaled along for another hour. Magadan’s outskirts disappeared quickly as the stark countryside reclaimed the edges of the road for itself. Annja saw the twisted, bent and hooked branches of the spindly trees reaching in for them. She saw little animal life and only a few birds cruised the skies.

“Is it always like this?” she eventually asked.

“Like what?”

“Devoid of life.”

Gulliver shrugged. “Winter’s coming. And soon. Most of the animals have already wandered off to their various hibernation areas. Birds have flown south. And the landscape just seems to be settling down for the harsh snows.”

“We’ve got time, though, right?” Annja asked.

“Yes. Timing was crucial. I’m glad you were able to get out here. With luck, we should find something before we get snowbound.”

“What happened with Gregor, anyway?” Annja could barely make out his bicycle far ahead of them.

“He likes taking point on these things. Takes his job of protecting me very seriously. Says there are far too many threats out here for a man to travel alone. He insists on driving on ahead to spot anything that looks a bit off.”

“Does he cost a lot?”

Gulliver shrugged. “Not by our standards. But he makes a decent wage. Plus, it gets him away from the mafiya . And anytime he can do that, he’s far happier than he is otherwise.”

Annja dropped behind Bob as the road narrowed drastically. From two lanes, the hard-packed mud and gravel withered to barely a single lane. On her right side, the edge of the road fell away as they ascended what looked to be a fairly significant hill.

“Mind yourself,” Bob said. “We’re corkscrewing up the hill. It’s a long way down.”

“Why don’t we use the left side?”

“Anything coming at us from the other way will crush us against the side of the hill. They won’t see us coming.”

“Makes sense.” Annja kept pedaling. Her breathing was coming harder as her lungs got their first taste of serious exertion. She kept herself hunched low, trying to reduce her wind resistance as she climbed the hill. The bike seemed built for a wide variety of terrain and handled the ascent pretty well.

It didn’t make the strain of the pedaling any easier for Annja, though.

Ahead of her, Bob seemed in his element. He used long, steady pedaling to carve his way up the hill. Annja tried to emulate him, but knew that as her body responded to the stress of serious biking for the first time in years, she was going to have a harder time than Bob or Gregor, for that matter.

She settled her breathing and tried to relax.

She heard a sudden sound. She turned in her seat and saw the large truck rumbling up the hill behind her.

She frowned. “Bob!”

He turned and saw the truck. “Oh, crap! Pedal faster, Annja!”

Annja drove her feet into the pedals. The truck sounded its horn. The sharp wail cut through the cold air and sliced into Annja’s back. She looked back, but rather than slow down as another truck might be expected to do when it was climbing an incline, this truck seemed to be accelerating.

And it was headed straight for Annja.

4

Annja pumped her pedals harder, desperately trying to outpace the truck streaming up the hillside road behind her. Her breathing felt shallow, as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs to power her legs. Sweat broke out along her hairline and ran down her face. She knew the signs of adrenaline rush and this certainly qualified.

“Annja!”

Bob’s voice broke through the rural air, and Annja heard him above the grinding roar of the truck. She glanced back over her shoulder. She guessed the truck was a two-and-a-half-ton truck used by militaries all over the world as supply trucks and to convey troops from one region to another.

There was a nasty gash across the radiator grille that gave the front end an almost comical toothy appearance. It looked as if the truck could simply overtake her and eat her alive.

Annja looked ahead and kept jamming her feet against the pedals as hard as she could. She huffed as her lungs worked like bellows. Her breath stained the air with steam and mixed with the sweat pouring down her face.

Ahead of her, Bob was pedaling fast, as well.

The road sloped at a severe angle. The increase meant Annja would have to pedal even harder and she didn’t know if she had it in her.

Keep pedaling, she told herself. She could see the crest of the hill. If she could just manage to make it—

The truck horn blared behind her, jarring her. She glanced back and saw that it was even closer than before. It showed no signs of easing back or slowing down. Whoever was driving that rig was having a lot of fun at her expense.

She couldn’t see through the windshield. For one thing, the entire panel of glass seemed to have a jagged line scored through it. She could see the buildup of bug guts and dirt had stained it so much that being able to determine who was driving was an impossibility.

Her legs felt like lead weights. She wanted to vomit.

Keep going!

She pedaled harder. She could hear the gravel underneath her tires kicking away from the wheels as she sped her way up the hillside.

Fifty yards to the top.

The truck horn blared again.

Annja turned and saw the bumper closing in on her bicycle. There was only twenty feet or so separating them.

He really means to run me over, she thought.

She felt herself growing angry. Furious even. Who the hell would want to kill her like this? Why were they so determined? She hadn’t even been in Russia long enough to annoy that many people.

Annja gave one last, monumental effort, her lungs straining to their capacity. She drove her heels into the pedals and the bike shot forward.

Along the side of the hill, she could see the sheer drop-off, plunging hundreds of feet to the ground far below.

The truck nudged her.

Annja lost control.

“Bob!”

She jerked the handlebars of the bike to the right and then to the left. The truck nudged her again, and Annja headed straight off the edge of the hill.

She was falling.

Annja had the briefest sensation of being weightless—suspended in midair—before gravity exerted its pull on her body and jerked her back down toward the earth.

She hit the side of the hill and tumbled, rolled and somersaulted over jagged rocks, tree roots, upturned branches and forest debris. Somewhere she heard her bicycle doing a passable imitation of her own body as it caromed down the hillside.

Annja tried to relax herself as she bounced her way down the slope.

And then suddenly, she came to a stop.

Blackness came for her.

“A NNJA !”

Her head pounded.

“Not so loud. I believe she has a concussion.”

“Annja.” The first voice was softer now.

Annja blinked, saw the bright light of the gray sky and closed her eyes again, groaning as she did so.

“Annja. Can you hear me?” Bob’s voice sounded as if he might break out sobbing at any moment.

“Unfortunately,” she mumbled.

She heard Gregor chuckle. “Is good sign. She has sense of humor. That tells me she is not too badly broken.”

Annja opened her eyes again. “Speak for yourself. I feel like crap.”

Gulliver shook his head. “My God, when you went over the side of the hill…I thought you were a goner.”

“So did I,” she said.

Gregor frowned. “You should be dead.”

Annja smirked. “That was subtle.”

He held up his hands. “Forgive me, it’s just that you fell so far it is truly a marvel that you are still alive.”

Bob moved away and nodded for Gregor to move in closer. “Check her for broken bones, will you?”

“Hey—” Annja protested.

Bob held up his hand. “Annja, please. Humor me, will you? Gregor has some medical training and knows how to look for these things.”

Annja felt Gregor put his hands behind her neck and then feel his way down the center of her back, pause briefly at her buttocks, and then continue down her legs. Then he ran his hands down her arms and finally peered into her eyes.

“Having fun?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No broken bones.”

Gulliver whistled. “That’ll be one hell of a way to start this show off. A dramatic reenactment of you tumbling over the side of the cliff and then emerging unscathed.”

Annja tried to sit up, but Gregor held her down. “Not yet. Too soon. You rest a few minutes.” He held a water bottle to her lips and Annja took a sip of the cold liquid.

As soon as she swallowed it, she turned and vomited.

She wiped her mouth. “Sorry about that, guys.”

Gregor only nodded. “Concussion.” He looked at Gulliver. “She cannot move too much yet.”

Gulliver frowned. “As long as she’s not seriously hurt.”

Gregor shrugged. “We will see. If she falls asleep and never wakes up again, then that is bad sign.”

Annja sighed. “You don’t say.”

Gulliver looked around. “Can we make this into a campsite?”

Gregor nodded. “It will suffice for our needs.”

Annja threw some pine needles over the small pool of vomit. “Sorry about the smell.”

Gregor shook his head. “No need. It will dissipate soon enough. You should rest now. I will make the camp.”

He moved off and Bob knelt in close. “You okay? Seriously?”

Annja touched her head. “Aside from a raging headache, yeah, I guess so. But what the hell happened up there?”

Gulliver shook his head. “No idea. One minute everything was fine and the next that monster truck was bearing down on you. I crested the hill and got into a small niche up there for safety. And Gregor was already ahead of me in the safe zone. There was nothing I could do. I felt totally helpless.”

“You weren’t the only one.”

He sighed. “I’m terribly sorry to have gotten you into this mess. Christ, you were almost killed! It’s all my fault.”

Annja tried to smile. “Forget it. Our profession has its share of risks. I’m well aware of what these things entail.”

“Yeah, but being driven off the side of the hill by a truck isn’t usually one of them, is it?” Bob asked.

Annja grinned. “You got me there.”

Gulliver sat back on his haunches and sighed again. “We couldn’t even get a good look at the maniac driving the rig. I was so concerned about you when I saw you go over the side of the cliff. My God, Annja, I thought you were dead.”

“So did I,” she said. “I guess I had some lucky bounces.”

Gregor returned, hauling Annja’s bike with him. Annja was surprised. “You found it?”

“Farther down the slope. It is a little banged up, but otherwise okay. Like its owner, I would say.”

Annja nodded. “Hell of a bike.”

Gregor vanished into the woods again. Annja looked at Bob. “You guys rappelled down here?”

“Gregor always carries rope with him on these trips. He claims it’s one of the most important survival tools you can have. After what happened today, I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“How long was I out?” Annja asked.

Gulliver shrugged. “Gregor’s been working on you for almost an hour.”

“That’s some hired hand you got yourself there, Bob. Guy seems like he can do everything.”

“Short of stopping a truck,” Bob said with a small smile.

Gregor returned, his arms laden with branches. He dropped them close to Annja’s feet and then sat down on the ground. Using a large flat stone, he scraped away a portion of the earth and then lined the pit with more rocks. On top of these, he rested a small pile of tinder. Over that, he built a tepee of small twigs for his kindling. When he was satisfied, he stooped low, struck a single match and lit the tinder.

Flames erupted instantly as the fire ate into the dry tinder and kindling. Gregor added some thicker branches.

Annja felt the warmth of the fire and sighed once. “A fire is a very nice thing indeed.”

Gregor smiled. “Warmth. Comfort. And food. These things will make you feel better quicker than anything else.”

Gulliver opened his hands over the flames and then rubbed them together. “I’m afraid I didn’t pack a tent for this journey. I figured we’d reach our destination and find board there. This side trip has certainly been unexpected.”

Gregor looked at the sky. “We will need shelter. Tonight it will rain. Possibly it will also snow.”

“Already?” Bob looked nervous. “I didn’t expect the winter to come down quite so fast.”

Gregor nodded. “One thing about Siberia. It is impossible to predict her moods. If she wishes to snow, then she will snow. She cares little about the whims of man.” He turned to leave.

Annja cleared her throat. “Where are you going?”

Gregor looked back at her and then pointed at Bob. “He says he has not brought a tent. Neither have I. Since we have not brought a shelter, it will be necessary to make one. Otherwise, you will have hypothermia before morning.”

He vanished into the woods again. Annja glanced at Bob. “Tell me again where exactly you found this guy?”

“Moscow. He was looking for work and answered my ad for a hired hand. He’s pretty close-lipped about his past. Just what I told you before.”

“He seems to have a lot of skills for a mafiya enforcer.”

“Military. He never told me what he did, but I’m guessing special operations. Spetsnaz most likely. Those guys never talk about their past.”

“Lucky for us, I guess,” Annja said.

Gulliver pointed overhead. “I’d say so.”

Annja looked at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in fast. It looked very much as if Siberia was getting ready to unleash a blizzard on them.

5

By the time the first flakes were drifting down to the earth from the dark clouds overhead, Gregor had constructed a working camp. He’d added a great deal of wood to the fire, which now threw heat and light across the shadow-filled landscape. He’d also laid in a tremendous store of firewood to get them through the night.

“Venturing into the snowy night will get us killed,” he’d said simply.

Annja rested inside the large lean-to Gregor had built from thick saplings and pine boughs. She lay on a raised floor of more branches and boughs filled with huge amounts of pine needles. The scent reminded her of Christmas, even though it was a few months away yet.

“This is actually pretty comfortable,” Bob said. He was lying next to her. “I never thought pine needles could be quite so luxurious.”

Annja smiled through the pain that was still lancing her skull. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but it will certainly do.”

Gregor poked his head through the opening. “Dinner.”

Annja glanced at Bob, who shrugged. “I had him pack some military rations. It’s not the best stuff, but it will do.”

Annja frowned. “That doesn’t smell like rations.”

She ducked out through the lean-to slowly. Gregor helped her to a log he’d situated near the fire. Annja looked around and saw two rabbits cooking on spits over the fire. “You got fresh food?” she marveled.

Gregor shrugged. “Have you ever had Russian rations?”

“No,” she said.

“Then be thankful you do not have to have them tonight. I eat them for four years of my life. I say I will never eat them again.”

Bob sat down next to Annja. “Told you he was worth his weight in gold.”

Gregor said nothing but used a large knife to serve them up the fresh rabbit meat on sticks. Annja took hers and ate it like a kabob. She’d never liked rabbit much, but as the first bit hit her tongue, her saliva flowed and she realized then how very hungry she was. She bit into the meat and chewed it.

Gregor smiled. “Not so fast for you. You are still recovering from your head trauma.”

Annja chewed slowly and swallowed. “Believe me when I tell you, this is really fantastic. It tastes wonderful.”

Bob murmured his own appreciation. “Never had rabbit before.”

Gregor helped himself to some and chewed it for a moment before passing judgment. “It could use some seasonings. My mother, she used to make a stew with the rabbits. It was very nice thing.”

Annja watched his eyes dance for a moment before he concentrated on eating again. Had she just glimpsed something Gregor didn’t want anyone to see?

She turned back to her own food and finished the skewer. Gregor sliced her off some more, and she devoured that, as well. She washed it down with some of the pine-needle tea Gregor had made.

“This will help you, too,” he said.

Annja yawned. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“I set a pretty grueling pace today,” Bob said. “I’m sorry about that. I should have given you some more time to acclimate to the environment and the exertion. It’s just that we can reach Yakutsk pretty quick and I’m not much for waiting. It’s a fault of mine, I know. I hope you can forgive me.”

Annja smiled. “Relax, Bob. You’re forgiven. I know what it’s like to be impatient.”

He nodded. “Curse of doing what we do.”

“There’s always the risk of someone else finding it first. But in my defense, I didn’t think I was going to feel quite so taxed today,” she said.

She stared into the fire. Ever since she’d discovered the sword that Roux had pieced together, Annja had been physically tested again and again. As a result she was the fittest person she knew. But for some reason, it seemed as though her strength was deserting her thus far on the trip.

She yawned again.

Gregor chuckled. “I see we are boring our companion.” He fished around in one of his pockets and came out with a small flashlight. He scooted over to Annja and looked at her.

Annja frowned. “What?”

“I need to look into your eyes.”

“With that?” she asked.

Gregor held up the flashlight. “I’m afraid so. To check for concussion, which I know you have, but I wish to see if things are improving or not.”

“And the flashlight will help?”

He nodded. “Many times a concussion will result in your pupils not dilating properly. This was how you were earlier today when we find you. I am hoping to see this is better now that you have rested.”

“My head still hurts,” she said.

“And it probably will for some time. You took many nasty falls which may have left you with some bumps and bruises for a long time.”

“That flashlight’s not going to make my head feel any better,” she said.

Gregor sighed. “Please. It is just for a moment. I will not hold the light on you any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“All right.” Annja brought her head forward. She felt Gregor’s left hand grasp her around the back of her head. She could feel the immense strength resonating from his hand. It almost pulsed as he touched her.

She heard the click and then her head exploded in pain as Gregor flashed the light into one eye and then the other. Tears ran down her cheeks.

The light vanished and Annja slumped forward, cradling her head. “Damn.”

“You are getting better,” Gregor said. “Sip some more of the tea.”

Annja wanted to throw up again, but fought back the rising bile in her throat. Instead, she took the tea and drank it slowly. The hot liquid flowed down her throat and seemed to settle her stomach.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“I am sorry I had to do that,” Gregor said.

“It’s okay.”

Gregor moved back to his seat and nodded to Bob.

“She will be okay tomorrow. But our pace must be less than it was today.”

“We should have no problem reaching Yakutsk by sometime tomorrow, anyway. We might have even done it today if that maniac with the truck hadn’t intervened.”

Gregor frowned. “Perhaps we will meet up with that person at some time in the future.”

Annja sipped some more tea. “And what will you do to him?”

Gregor’s smile was anything but friendly. “I will engage him in discussion about the error of his ways.”

The last vestiges of daylight had vanished as they talked. The deepening shadows of the forest seemed to reach toward the firelight like long, crooked fingers. Annja shivered as a breeze twisted around them, and the snowflakes stuck to her face before melting.

Far off in the distance, a howl punctured the serenity of the coming night. Gregor seemed unfazed by it. “Wolves,” he said simply.

“You have a lot of them around here?” Annja asked.

“Siberia is full of them,” Gregor said. “But they keep their distance. This time of year they are still not that hungry. If this was February, then we might have a problem. For now, no problem.”

“Small comfort,” Bob said. “That howl just brought back memories of those old horror movies I used to watch.”

Annja grinned. “Doesn’t help that it’s close to Halloween.”

Gregor let a genuine smile escape. “You think maybe these woods are haunted? That perhaps there are creatures living here who would do us harm?”

Annja looked at him. The firelight made shadows jump across his face, contorting his features and making him look almost comically terrifying. “I think I’ve seen a lot of things in my life that defy explanation.”

Bob said nothing, but seemed to be searching the darkness for something.

Gregor held up one hand. “I come from this area, Annja. I am no stranger to legends. Or to being scared in the woods like this.”

“I’m not scared,” she said.

He smiled. “Of course not. But here we are, in the snow and dark, with just the fire to keep the evil away. Many other people, they would find this intimidating.”

“Like me,” Bob said. “I think my mind is getting the better of me.”

Annja rubbed her hands together. “I guess this wouldn’t be a good time to tell ghost stories, then, huh?”

“Ghost stories are a way of life for those who live in Siberia,” Gregor said. “But perhaps Bob would prefer it if we did not talk about such things while his mind is busy replaying movies from his youth.”

“I can’t help it,” Bob said. “I’ve got visions of the werewolf running through my head.” He looked at Annja. “You have to admit, it fits the situation pretty well.”

“Just because we’re in the woods?” she asked.

“I was talking about that howl we heard.”

Another howl sounded in the night air. Bob jumped. Annja and Gregor both laughed.

Bob pointed a finger at Annja. “No one finds out about my fear when we get back to civilization. I just don’t think I ever outgrew those crazy flicks I used to watch as a kid.”

“I used to watch them, too,” Annja said. “I just think it’s great that a guy like you who is so accomplished and relatively fearless—I mean, you bike and camp everywhere—gets freaked out by the woods at night.”

“Yeah, well, my therapist suggested I confront my fears as much as possible. So I make a point of camping out whenever I can,” he grumbled.

“But you don’t like it,” Annja said, laughing.

“I hate it.”

Gregor laid a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “I tell you the truth—I don’t like it, either. I have to do it in the military and since then at a few times when I am on job. But I do not like being out in the dark, either. I always feel like someone else is out there watching me. No matter how much I am hidden or how concealed I make myself, it always seems like someone out there knows.”

“You feel vulnerable,” Annja said.

“Yes.”

“It’s probably a pretty common feeling. I know I’ve felt it during my life, as well,” she admitted.

Bob sighed. “Doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”

“I’d say you’re dealing with it the best way you possibly can,” Annja said. “At least you’re not letting it paralyze you into inaction. I know of people so utterly paralyzed they let their fears dictate how they lead their lives. Most of them sit at home rocking back and forth afraid to do anything.”

“Well,” Bob said, “I couldn’t do that. After all, as much as I dislike camping at night, I love cruising everywhere on my bike.”

Annja smiled. “You see? You’re successful even in spite of your fear. I think that’s what makes us better human beings. Those of us who are able to take our fears and still generate a positive life despite the things that scare us. That’s the mark of success. At least in my book.”

Gregor nodded. “I agree with Annja. She is very wise, this woman. I appreciate her thoughtfulness in this matter.”

“Thanks, Gregor,” Annja said.

“Now we drink,” Gregor stated.

Annja sat back. “What?”

Gregor produced a small flask from his jacket. He took their cups and emptied the pine-needle tea out of them. Unscrewing the flask top, he poured equal amounts of clear liquid into them and then handed the cups to Annja and Bob.

“Now.” Gregor smiled at them both. He raised his glass then tilted his head back and threw the drink down his throat.

Annja glanced at Bob and then did the same. As the icy vodka hit her throat, it burned a path down her esophagus and then pooled in the pit of her stomach. Her head swam briefly but she managed to stifle the cough.

Bob, who had apparently been with Gregor enough times to have gone through this before, merely shot the drink down and then set his glass down. “Let everybody be healthy,” he said.

Gregor smiled. “Now we have a trip to embark upon.”

Annja was about to hand him her cup when another sound shattered the night.

But this time, it was no wolf howl.

It sounded like a human scream.

6

“What the hell was that?”

Annja peered out in the darkness. Gregor seemed poised to launch himself out into the woods.

Bob pulled them back to reality. “I don’t know, but it’s nothing nearby.”

Annja glanced at him. “You sure about that?”

He nodded. “We’re high up on a hill. Sound carries for quite a distance in these parts. That sound could have been twenty miles away from us. If we start thumping around in the pitch-black, we’ll get lost and we’ll all be injured before we find anything.”

“Was not a sound,” Gregor said. “Was a scream.”

“A human scream,” Annja said.

Gregor looked at her. She could see his eyes gleam in the dark as they caught the twinkling firelight.

“Yes,” he agreed.

Annja wanted to say something, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. What could they do? For his part, Gregor also looked concerned. The prospect of someone needing help seemed to stir something within him. Annja wondered if he might have an angel complex—a need to be a savior in order to feel good about himself.

But just as she thought she might have found something warm within his soul, Gregor cleared his throat and shook his head. “We can do nothing about it. We should get to sleep.”

“Good idea,” Bob said. He got up from his seat and helped Annja into the lean-to shelter.

As she lay down on the pine-needle bed, Annja felt the blanket of sleep come over her. Bob got two of the survival blankets from their gear and laid them on top of Annja and then himself.

Gregor poked his head into the shelter and dropped a pile of pine boughs on top of the blankets. “These will help preserve your warmth, as well.”

Annja looked up, her eyes now heavy. “Aren’t you sleeping?”

Gregor shook his head. “Not just yet. I will take first watch.”

“First watch?”

Gregor looked at her. “We are in the woods. They are an old woods, filled with many stories and the potential for many dangers. It would be foolish of me to simply lie down to sleep. I might not ever wake up again.”

Bob turned over. “Wake me when it’s my turn to take over.”

“I will.” Gregor’s head vanished.

Annja watched him resume his place on the log in front of the fire. Even from there, she could feel some of the residual heat make its way into the shelter. More snow started to fall, giving the night an eerily quiet feeling, despite the strange noises they’d heard only minutes before.

She watched Gregor toss some more wood on the fire. And then, rather than stare into the flames, he turned himself around so that his back was to the fire and to the shelter. He stared off into the night.

Annja watched him for another few moments before her eyes drooped one final time and sleep finally overpowered her. The thought of her concussion made her briefly wonder if she might never wake again.

But she was sure that Gregor would not have permitted her to sleep if he thought she might die. Strange as he was, she couldn’t quite shake the idea that he was deeply concerned about her well-being.

W HEN A NNJA’S EYES SLID OPEN , darkness still enveloped the entire campsite. Inside the shelter, Annja felt warm and snug. The pine boughs Gregor had placed over her earlier in the night had done their job. The scent of pine hung in the air.

Her head didn’t seem to hurt anymore, much to her relief. Annja shifted and heard the dull snore of Bob snoozing nearby.

She knew hours must have passed, but what time was it? Why hadn’t Gregor woken Bob to relieve him on guard duty?

Annja frowned and shifted again, working her way out from under the pile of boughs. The survival blanket made a noise like aluminum foil being crushed and Annja winced. The less noise she made, the better she felt. No sense waking Bob if she could get out of the shelter and give Gregor a break herself.

Annja poked her head out of the entrance of the lean-to and winced as the cold night air greeted her. There was a distinct bite to it and her skin, which had been warm inside, seemed to stretch taut against the cold.

Embers glowed a deep red in the campfire pit, but it appeared to have been some time since fresh wood had been added to it.

Gregor was nowhere to be seen.

Annja frowned. Had he abandoned them? She didn’t think that made any sense. Why would he have gone through all the trouble of helping Annja with her concussion if he’d intended to desert them all along?

She moved out of the lean-to, hugging herself as she did so. The howl of wind broke the night, rustling the tall trees above her, making them strain as they leaned one way, then another. The sky overhead showed no stars, only the dark clouds of an approaching storm.

Annja’s footsteps crunched into the fresh layer of snow that had covered the landscape while she slumbered. There was maybe an inch on the ground, but no more. Still, looking at the sky again, Annja sensed that there’d be more in the coming day.

That meant they needed to get to Yakutsk as soon as possible. Annja’s run-in with the giant truck had cost them plenty of time. It couldn’t have been helped, but Annja felt marginally responsible for slowing down the team.

She didn’t like feeling hopeless. Or like some wounded puppy that couldn’t hold its own. She knew Bob would never say anything, even if he could be incredibly focused on sticking to a schedule.

They’d need to get going as soon as daylight broke.

But judging from the sky, it seemed that dawn was still a good way off.

Another blast of wind rattled some of the snow from branches high above, sending clumps of it down into the fire. The embers hissed as the snow melted into water that instantly sizzled and turned to steam.

Where was Gregor?

Annja turned and walked the perimeter of the camp. She didn’t think he was the type of guy who would fall asleep while on guard duty. Not a man with all sorts of military and organized-crime experiences in his background.

So where had he gone?

She retraced her steps to the fire and knelt down by the log where she’d last seen him sitting. Annja felt the log and found it cold. He’d obviously been gone long enough for the log to lose the warmth his body would have left.

Her hands felt the muddy ground. She found the dull impressions left behind by his boots and followed them as they headed away from the fire in a straight line.

Ten feet from the fire, they vanished. Annja sighed. His footsteps were easy to find close to the fire because the ground was warmer there. Any snow that had fallen had melted into the ground, turning it muddy. As a result, Gregor had left tracks.

But farther away, the ground was cold and hard, and Gregor’s tracks didn’t show nearly as well as they had a few feet back.

Still, Annja felt the straight line leading away from the fire told her something important—whatever had attracted his attention, Gregor had headed straight for it.

There was little ambient light to work with. Seeing in the night was proving difficult for her, but what if Gregor was in trouble?

Annja stepped carefully through the snow, knowing that even a shallow layer could prove slippery. She didn’t want to add a broken leg to her list of injuries.

The ground sloped down away from the camp. Annja closed her eyes and visualized the sword. It hovered there in front of her, ready for use. But did she really want to bring it out right now?

She opened her eyes. Which way to go?

Her instincts told her to move to the left.

She smiled, ignoring the pain for a brief moment. The decision had certainly come to her without hesitation. Maybe she was getting the hang of listening to her instincts a bit better.

She seemed to be walking parallel to the side of the mountain. To her left, the land sloped up, back the way she’d come. To her right, it leveled off for some distance and then seemed to disappear into the darkness.

The wind continued to howl all around her.

Annja crept forward, convinced that she was close to wherever Gregor had ended up.

A dull crack to her left made her pivot and squint into the darkness. She caught herself and then, instead of peering directly at the noise, she turned her head and tried to look out of the corner of her eyes, using the natural structure of her eyesight to enable her to see better.

Nothing.

She sighed. This was getting weird. She had the distinct impression that she was being watched and she didn’t like it one bit.

Annja closed her eyes and visualized the sword again.

Just as she was about to close her hands over it, a hand slid over her mouth and she felt herself being taken down from behind. Another hand kept her from hitting the ground hard. And then she felt brute force keeping her pinned, but without hurting her.

A voice hissed in her ear. “Quiet.”

Gregor.

Annja relaxed some, trying to twist to see him and ask what was going on. Instead of releasing the pressure, Gregor pointed off to the right.

Annja could see that the ground fell away, forming a steep cliff that dropped down into some sort of valley. At the bottom of it, perhaps a half a mile away, she could see a dim glow.

“Do not speak. It will hear us,” Gregor whispered.

From half a mile away? Annja frowned. She’d never heard of a person who could pick up a whisper from that distance.

Gregor’s breath felt hot against Annja’s neck.

She strained her eyes to see what he was so interested in. But any detail seemed to elude her. She could make out some kind of figure stooped over, huddling in front of something.

A campfire?

No. The light would have been yellow or orange. This light was a pale shade of blue-green.

Gregor pulled her back away from the edge of the cliff. He released Annja, who rolled to face him. He held a finger to his lips. “Whisper only.”

“Why did you sneak up on me?” she hissed.

Gregor pointed. “You would have fallen over the edge if you’d kept going.”

Annja looked again. He was right. A few more steps ahead of her there was a shallow depression that gave way to a deep gorge. A pocket of snow inside it would have caused her to slide right over the edge.

“Thanks,” she said.

He shrugged. “Your scream would have alerted that thing down there.”

“Thing? Don’t you mean person?” she asked.

Gregor looked at her. “Did you not see the color of it?”

“I don’t know what I saw. It’s too dark and I can’t see that far.”

Gregor nodded. “Perhaps we will find out when we reach Yakutsk later.”

He stood and helped Annja to her feet. “We should return to camp. It will be light in a few hours.”

“You haven’t slept yet,” Annja said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Gregor stopped and turned. “Because that thing back there was hunting earlier. And it was only by luck it did not stumble across us. Otherwise, we might not be having this talk.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Annja asked.

Gregor leaned in close. “You should know one thing about me—I do not joke about life and death.”

With that, Gregor turned and slid back into the night’s embrace.

7

Bob was tending the fire when they returned, an anxious look plastered across his face. He jumped up when he saw Annja and Gregor come out of the darkness.

“Thank God! I was worried sick when I woke up and found you both gone.” He tossed another stick into the fire. “I thought perhaps my snoring had driven you away, Annja.”

She smiled. “No harm done. Although it’s great to see your volume has increased since we last met.”

Bob shrugged. “Can’t figure it out. It’s not like I’m carrying extra pounds or anything. And no matter how I sleep, I always carry on like that.”

Gregor knelt in front of the fire. “I need to sleep,” he said.

Bob looked at him. “You should have woken me sooner. I would have gladly taken your place.”

Gregor looked up. “We might be dead if you had.”

Bob’s face grew pale. “What?”

Annja shrugged. “Gregor says there was something lurking in the darkness tonight. Something…that was hunting.”

Bob looked at Gregor. “You’re kidding?”

“No.”

Bob glanced at Annja. “You saw it, too?”

Annja shrugged. “I’m not sure what I saw. At least not yet. It was too far to see and too dark to get any detail.”

“But you saw something,” Bob said.

“Yes.”

He leaned back on his haunches. “I think we should get out of here as soon as possible.”

Gregor cleared his throat. “At dawn. We will ride on. I think Annja is suitably mended enough to ride with us to Yakutsk.” He crawled into the lean-to and within seconds, no more sound came from it.

Bob sat down on the log. Annja sat next to him. “Sorry we gave you a scare there,” she said.

Bob grinned. “I thought maybe you and Gregor…you know—”

“What?” Annja said, shocked.

“You and him…” Bob shrugged. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility. You’re a beautiful woman. He’s a good-looking guy.”

Annja almost laughed. “You thought we hooked up?”

“Well, sure. I mean, the thought did pass through my mind.”

“I woke up and saw he’d vanished. I went looking for him. He snuck up behind me and took me down, trying to keep me from alerting whatever it was to our presence. That’s all.”

Bob nodded. “He seems concerned.”

“I think so, yes.”

“He’s never steered me wrong as long as I’ve known him. If he says we should be concerned, I suppose we should be, then.”

“What if it puts your exploration in jeopardy?” Annja asked.

He grinned. “There was a time I might have thought there was nothing more important than achieving the glory of a new find over everything else. Those days are long behind me. I value my life and the lives of those I’m close to. If it looks like we’re in danger, we’ll head for Magadan and get the hell home.”

Annja nodded. “I think I should get some more sleep, too. You okay here?”

“Yeah,” Bob said.

Annja crawled back into the lean-to and burrowed under the bed of boughs and her blanket. She glanced once at Gregor, but he was already seemingly asleep. He breathed deeply, but made absolutely no noise.

Me and Gregor? Annja grinned. He was okay-looking, but she wasn’t sure she could ever picture herself with a guy who could so easily sneak up behind her and catch her completely by surprise.

As she settled down and closed her eyes, she smiled once more.

Then again, who knew how things would turn out?

G REGOR NUDGED Annja awake just as the first tendrils of dawn crept over the horizon. Annja blinked her eyes a few times and then crawled out of the lean-to.

“Good morning.” Bob handed her a cup of coffee and Annja drank it down, feeling the hot liquid warm her insides. Gregor accepted a cup, as well, and seemed to gulp it down.

Annja looked around the campsite. “You’ve been busy.”

Most of the lean-to had been dismantled except for the portion covering the sleeping area. The fire had also been doused and the ashes scattered across the blanket of snow.

“Well, Gregor was kind enough to make it. I figured the least I could do was break it down.”

“We can go now,” Gregor said. “That is good.”

Bob tore down the remaining bit of structure of the lean-to and threw the branches into the woods. Gregor got his bike and started pushing it up the hill, back toward the road.

Annja felt stronger and her head was clear. She got her bike and pushed it up the hill, feeling the strain in her legs as she did so. But it felt good to be exerting herself again.

They crested the mountain and got back onto the pockmarked road. Bob turned to Annja with a grin. “How about I bring up the rear this time? That way, if any more trucks come looking for someone to smoosh, they can have me.”

“Wise guy,” Annja remarked.

He smiled. “Just thought I’d offer.”

Gregor slid onto his bike. “I will go ahead. Make sure the road is clear.”

He pedaled off and Annja got on her own bike. “He’s very serious this morning.”

Bob nodded. “He was awake before you.”

“Big surprise.”

“We talked about last night. Gregor is of the belief that we will find trouble in Yakutsk. He is worried about you.”

“I can watch after myself, thanks,” Annja said with a smile. “Any head wounds notwithstanding.”

“Oh, sure,” Bob said. “We should get going. If Gregor’s concerned, he’ll pedal like the devil himself was after him.”

Annja pushed off and found the going much easier. For several hours the road wound its way farther up the mountain, but then started to descend at a gradual pace.

About a half mile ahead, she could see Gregor working his way down the road. Nothing seemed to faze him. His legs worked easily and he kept glancing around the sides of the road.

Annja looked behind her and saw Bob just about to start the descent. He waved once and then leaned forward, anticipating that rush of downhill speed that all cyclists enjoy once they’ve finished a hard climb.

The descent took the better part of an hour, but at the end, the road evened out. They were in a heavily forested area, with tall pines and scraggly birch trunks dotting the landscape. Giant boulders thrown up from the depths of the earth bordered the road as they pedaled on. But Annja saw little to denote civilization.

Bob rode up next to her. “This part of the country is remote. Even though we’re still reasonably close to Magadan, it’s like another planet out here. Weird, huh?”

“It doesn’t feel cozy—that’s for sure,” Annja said.

“And those woods seem anything but friendly. Even the trees seem to be leaning in on us.”

“It is kind of claustrophobic, isn’t it?” Bob asked.

“Just a bit.”

“Gregor’s stopped his bike.”

Annja looked ahead. Sure enough, a quarter of a mile away, Gregor had stopped. They rode up and he spoke. “We are close.”

Bob looked and smiled. “There.”

Annja followed his gaze and saw the first indications of civilization she’d seen since they left Magadan. “Not exactly a bustling city, is it?”

Gregor shook his head. “Yakutsk is small. Just a few hundred people live there. But they are good souls.” He handed out some energy bars.

“You’ve been there before?” Annja asked while eating.

Gregor shrugged. “I was attached to a military unit that operated in this area once. A long time ago.”

“Any friends still left in these parts?” she asked.

“Everyone is friendly, once they get to know you. This part of my country is remote. Strangers are not a usual thing to see, so the people living here are somewhat suspicious. But having me with you is okay. They will be glad to meet you when they see me.”

Bob nudged Annja. “Gregor’s like a VIP ticket to any club back in the Big Apple.”

“Handy guy to have around,” Annja said.

Gregor grinned. “We ride now.”

They got back on the bikes and pedaled on. The dirt road gave way to a cracked type of pavement that looked as if it might be all of fifty years old. Gregor pointed at it as they rode.

“Once this road was much sturdier. The Soviet army drove tanks all over the country.”

“Guess it’s been a while since they had any road-repair crews out here,” Annja said.

“Money,” Gregor said. “All comes back to money.”

The woods fell behind them and muddy open fields dotted the countryside. Simple houses lined the roads, most with smoking chimneys. The air felt colder, and Annja could see there was a layer of fog moving in from the west.

The single road grew wider as they entered the town itself. Annja could pick out what looked to be a main all-purpose store and a small café. Aside from that, there was a loose cluster of homes and a church standing alone at the end of the road.

Gregor pointed at the church. “Father Jakob runs the church. He has been here since the dinosaurs.”

Annja grinned. “Think he remembers you?”

Gregor looked at her. “Perhaps I made an indelible impression on him when I was much younger.”

“How so?”

“He heard my confession. First time for me since I was only a boy. I think I may have scarred him,” Gregor said with a laugh.

Bob pedaled past them. “Where is everyone?”

Annja glanced around. There seemed to be no one around the store or café. The streets looked deserted. There weren’t even any dogs lounging around, which Annja found very peculiar. She’d been around the world enough to know that even in the poorest places, you could always find a mutt or two mooching about.

She heard voices, though. “What’s that?” she asked.

Gregor pointed to their right. “Over here.”

They dismounted and walked between two houses, passing rusted drain pipes leaking water to the muddy ground. Annja caught a whiff of something that smelled quite disgusting and hoped they had some type of plumbing here at least.

They passed the houses and in front of them stood an open field. Annja shivered as they walked. Annja was sure the temperature must have dipped well below freezing.

As they approached the crowd of people milling around, Annja could see they were extremely agitated. Several women clutched at the few children present. The men all wore grim expressions.

Gregor strode up to them, but his gruff demeanor vanished as he approached. Annja heard him speaking with them. Next to her, Bob listened intently. As he did, he also frowned.

“What is it?” Annja asked.

Gregor looked back at her. “What we saw last night in the woods.”

“That thing?”

Gregor shook his head. “It is not a thing. It is called Khosadam.”

“Khosadam?” Annja glanced at Bob.

Gregor gestured for them to come closer. “It hunts. It stalks this village,” he said.

Annja shook her head. “How do they know?”

Gregor pointed at the ground, and several of the villagers stepped back. Annja looked and there in the mud she saw the tracks of what looked to be human feet.

“So? Someone was out here walking around barefoot.”

Gregor shook his head. “Look closer.”

Annja knelt and studied the tracks. The footsteps showed six toes.

Gregor’s voice was subdued. “You know many people that have six toes, Annja Creed?”

8

“This is insane,” Annja said. “A couple of six-toed footprints and people are losing their minds? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Gregor led them back toward the town. “Then what would you call it? You said yourself you have never seen things like this before.”

“I’d start by looking for someone who is suffering from frostbite,” Annja said. “Walking around in subzero temperatures without shoes on might even get them gangrene.”

Gregor stopped. “This is not a joking matter, Annja. These villagers take this very seriously. The idea that Khosadam is stalking this area has them very frightened. And rightfully so. Khosadam is not something to dismiss so easily.”

“I’m not dismissing it per se,” Annja said. She just didn’t think that it was possible to get so upset over something so seemingly trivial. She’d seen plenty of things far worse and not been half as concerned as some of those villagers.

“And what about what we saw last night?” Gregor asked. “You are thinking that was nothing special, as well?”

“I don’t know what I saw last night,” Annja said. She looked at Bob. “Got anything to add to this craziness?”

Bob shrugged. “I told you last night that Gregor has never steered me wrong. If he says something is amiss, then we’d be fools to think otherwise.”

Annja sighed. “So, what is this Khosadam thing, anyway?”

“She’s a Siberian goddess,” Bob said.

“As in a deity?”

“Yes.”

Annja shook her head. “You realize this sounds even more ludicrous now. They actually think there’s a goddess stalking them?”

“That would be my impression, yes,” he replied.

“What—did she get bored with heaven or Olympus or wherever else she was hanging out?”

“She was kicked out of heaven, actually,” Bob said. “By her husband, of all things.”

Annja grinned. “One step forward for women’s rights.”

“Her husband, Ec—”

“His name was Ec?” Annja chuckled. “I would have left, too.”

Bob shook his head. “Don’t trivialize it. Ec banished her for being unfaithful to him. She liked to cavort with a lot of the lesser deities and sometimes even mortals.”

“Okay,” Annja said.

“She has another name, as well,” Bob said, leading them into the nearby café.

A wall of heat slammed into Annja as she walked through the door. She could smell burned coffee and some other scents she didn’t recognize. Despite her unease with the entire situation, her mouth watered and she realized she was ravenous.

“What’s her other name?” Annja asked, distracted.

“Eater of souls,” Bob said quietly.

“Sounds like a fun gal,” Annja said. “What did she do to get a name like that?”

Gregor set down three cups of coffee in front of them. He spoke to the woman behind the counter, who nodded and began preparing something for them to eat.

Bob sipped his coffee. “Before she was kicked out of heaven, Ec had her fitted with something called a brank.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Annja said. “Some kind of torture device, right?”

“It’s a metal insert, actually,” Bob said. “It gets placed in the mouth of the victim, and a special hood goes over the head to keep the brank in place. It was used on women who spoke too much, but Ec apparently used it to keep his ex-wife from eating anything, figuring she would eventually wither away.”

“Ec sounds like a real charmer.” Annja sipped her coffee as fresh sounds streamed from the kitchen behind the counter. Whatever Gregor had requested, it seemed to be something special.

“When Khosadam couldn’t eat in the normal mortal way, she had to resort to other methods to retain her vitality,” Bob continued.

Annja looked at him. “Is this where the soul-eater part comes in?”

“Yes. Khosadam took to perching herself over fresh graves. When the soul of the departed rose toward heaven, she would ingest it.”

“How?”

“The method is supposed to have been something like sniffing it up through her nose. Doing anything with her mouth would have been too painful for her to endure.”

“Nice picture.” Annja glanced at Gregor, who seemed to be paying rapt attention to Bob. “This is the thing the village thinks is stalking them?”

“Yes,” Gregor said.

“A six-toed deity who has been kicked out of heaven.”

The Russian shrugged. “I did not make this up, Annja. This is what they think. To them, it is painfully real.”

Annja turned to Bob. “Does the legend say anything about six toes?”

Bob nodded. “Khosadam grew the extra toe to help her grip the tombstones of those she would eventually dine off of.”

“Interesting.” Annja watched the door to the kitchen burst open, and an old woman came out with a tray of bowls. She placed the tray in front of them and nodded toward Gregor, who thanked her.

Annja sniffed. “Smells…interesting.”

Gregor pointed at the bowls. “Borscht. Most people in the West are familiar with it.”

“Beets, right?” Annja asked.

“Yes.”

Annja helped herself to a spoonful and found it surprisingly good, despite the deep red color that she didn’t much like. It warmed her as she ate more of it. Gregor finished his bowl quickly, but Bob’s sat untouched.

“I hate beets,” he said. “A leftover from my childhood when my mother made me eat the things at a small orange table in the corner of my kitchen.”

Annja cocked an eyebrow. “You may want to have an extended talk with your therapist about that one, Bob.”

“I already have. It’s taking me a while longer to work through it.”

The old woman cleared the soup bowls and cast a disapproving glance at Bob. She brought out another tray and Annja took a whiff.

“Wow,” she said, her mouth watering.

Gregor nodded at the plates. “Mashed potatoes and goulash.”

“What’s in the goulash?” Bob asked.

“Green peppers and roasted lamb, it would appear.”

Annja helped herself to a heaping spoonful. “This is delicious.”

Gregor translated and the old woman beamed at her. Then she cast another glance at Bob, who seemed to be picking his way through the green peppers. He saw the old woman’s gaze and immediately took a big spoonful, chewing and smiling at the same time.

Her gaze softened, but only just. She left and Gregor leaned close to Bob. “I don’t think she likes you.”

“How is it,” Annja said, “that a globe-trotting guy like you doesn’t seem to like vegetables that much?”

“I like vegetables fine,” Bob said. “Just not cooked ones.”

“You must be putting your therapist’s kids through school,” Annja said. She dug back into her dish and washed down the spoonfuls with more thick coffee.

Gregor tore through his plate and leaned back. “This place is still run by the same woman who ran it when I was with the military. We came through here on exercise and she served my entire platoon. Her food, it is still as good as it ever was.”

“She remembers you?” Annja asked.

Gregor nodded. “Yes.”

The old woman returned and rested a hand on Gregor’s shoulder. She spoke, her Russian thick around the false teeth she wore. Gregor smiled and seemed to almost blush. Annja smiled at the thought of such a big, tough guy blushing.

“What is she saying?” Annja asked.

Bob was smiling, too. “She says he is like her son. That when he came through many years ago, he helped her rescue her kitten from the roof when it got stuck. She says a man like Gregor is tough and gentle at the same time.”

Gregor said something else to the old woman, who kissed him on the forehead and then gathered up the dishes.

“What did you say to her?” Annja asked.

“I told her that if this ever reached my friends, they would never let me live it down. I would be embarrassed.”

“You’re a big softie after all,” Annja said.

Gregor shrugged. “Only when I have to be.”

The old woman returned and this time served them a dark tea and plates of what looked like fruit slices.

“Kissel,” Gregor said. “It is stewed fruit.”

Annja popped a slice into her mouth and chewed, relishing the sweetness of the apricot slice she’d eaten. The tea reminded her of a dark black leaf tea she’d had once in China. “This was some lunch,” she said.

Gregor smiled. “She loves to cook.”

“But back to Khosadam,” Annja said. “They really are taking this seriously, huh?”

“Yes,” Bob said. He looked at Gregor. “What do they think will happen next?”

“They are concerned that she will hunt.”

“But we didn’t pass any cemeteries around here on the way in,” Annja said. “Doesn’t that kind of rule out the whole supernatural angle?”

“Just because you did not see the cemetery does not mean there is not one,” Gregor said. “The last time I was here, the villagers buried their dead behind the church.”

Annja nodded. “Down at the end of the street. Father Jakob, you mentioned.”

“Yes. He is Eastern Orthodox.”

“You think he’s still here?”

Gregor spoke to the old woman, who had come out with the bill. She handed it immediately to Bob, who started fumbling around with his wallet.

When Gregor had finished speaking, the old woman nodded. Gregor looked back at Annja.

“She says he is still here and that he will be here until the wind sweeps his dust away.”

“Colorful,” Annja said, laughing.

Bob fished out a wad of money and handed it to the old woman. She grabbed the bundle of cash and leafed through it. Her eyes softened and she kissed Bob on the forehead before trundling off.

Annja shook her head. “Looks like you won her over.”

“Money is the greatest facilitator of all,” Bob said. “A little extra green makes everyone all lovey-dovey.”

“I guess we should go and see Father Jakob,” Annja said. “Maybe he’ll be able to shed a little light on this whole situation.”

Walking out of the café, Annja felt a funny sensation and turned back to see the old woman peering through the torn lace curtain framing the windows. Gregor didn’t look back but steered Annja away.

“As I said, they are distrustful of strangers. Give them time and they will warm up to you.”

“This business of the Khosadam has them spooked,” Bob said. “Everyone is suspect.”

Annja nodded. “Quite a place we’ve come to, Bob.”

“It’s about to get even weirder if that sky carries through on the promise of a blizzard,” he said.

Annja looked up, and the thick, bloated clouds seemed as if they might fall out of the sky. “How long?”

“Soon,” Bob said. “Another hour perhaps.”

Annja looked at Gregor. “Is there a place we can stay here in town?”

Gregor pointed at a decrepit building that towered over the other buildings. “Yakutsk hotel. The only place in town.”

It looked quite run-down, but any place would serve as long as it kept them warm and safe from the blizzard outside. Annja turned to Gregor again. “Has anyone in town died recently?”

“No.”

“So, if no one has died lately, how is this Khosadam supposed to eat?”

Gregor frowned. “That is what has the villagers scared the most. It is said that when Khosadam cannot find a fresh grave, she will hunt the living.”

“She’ll kill?” Annja asked in disbelief.

“Yes. And when she kills, she will then wait for the dead person’s soul to lift from the body.”

“And then she eats it?”

Gregor nodded. “Yes.”

The first flakes fell from the sky as they hurried toward the church. Already, the Siberian sky had darkened.

Annja wondered what the night might hold in store for them all.

9

By the time they reached the church, the air had grown thick with snow. A driving wind lashed snow at them almost sideways. The steps of the church were slippery, but Annja, Bob and Gregor crested them and stood in front of the thick wooden door.

Gregor pounded on it. The thunderous knocking seemed to vanish amid the howling wind and darkening skies.

Annja could see the faint glow of yellow through one of the glass windows facing the front of the church. It grew in size until at last they heard the latch sliding back.

The door opened and a withered, ancient face peered out at them. Gregor spoke loudly, trying to make himself heard over the coming storm.

The old priest squinted and then his eyes seemed to light up as he recognized Gregor. He waved them in and Annja gratefully followed Bob inside.

The air inside the church was still, but warmer than it was outside. Annja caught a vague scent of incense in the air. She closed her eyes and welcomed the air of holiness that surrounded the church. She always made a point to be thankful for her blessings whenever she ventured into any church or holy place, regardless of faith.

Father Jakob led them to a small room beyond the altar. The tiny kitchen had a coal-burning oven that radiated immense heat. Annja slid her coat off and rested it on the back of her chair.

Father Jakob busied himself preparing a pot of coffee while he and Gregor engaged in conversation.

Gregor looked at them. “Father Jakob has asked me if I have been good about going to confession since he last heard my sordid tales of debauchery.”

“What did you tell him?” Annja asked.

Gregor smiled. “I told him I have been a saint and don’t need to confess anything.”

“Wow,” Bob said. “He didn’t believe you, did he?”

Father Jakob whacked Gregor on the back of his head. Then he looked at Bob and Annja. “No. I most certainly do not believe him.”

“You speak English?” Annja said.

Father Jakob eyed her. “Of course. I speak it quite well. I haven’t always lived in Yakutsk, after all. And there is a much bigger world out there.” He set down four mugs and then removed the bubbling pot of coffee from the stove top. He poured them each a cup, replaced the pot on the stove and then sat down with them.

“So, what is it that brings you to this village?” the priest asked.

Bob took a sip of his coffee. “I’m researching dig sites in the area. I’m an archaeologist.”

“And you think there are places around here that would be of interest to you?” Father Jakob shook his head. “I do not know what you hoped to find, but I don’t think there would be much here worth exploring.”

“This whole area is steeped in history. Siberia itself is awash in legends and folklore. But recent history might even be more fascinating. What with Magadan being so close by, relatively speaking,” Bob said.

Father Jakob frowned. “We should not speak of that place. What Magadan was the gateway for, and how many people died as a result of those mines, it is a wound that should not be opened up again.”

“But surely you’d agree that by understanding the past we can avoid the same mistakes in the future?” Annja asked.

Father Jakob looked at her. “You do not strike me as a naive woman. Surely you do not think that just because we look at the past that we learn all the lessons it contains?”

“It’s a hope,” Annja said.

Father Jakob frowned. “And we have so many examples of fools who have shown a complete disregard for history. They are more than happy to repeat the mistakes of the past time and time again. Why should this be any different?”

“There’s no guarantee,” Bob said. “But the history of Magadan and the mines is a story that more people need to know about. Three million deaths should never be covered up or left to fade away in the footnotes of history.”

“Perhaps,” Father Jakob said. “But perhaps my concern does not even matter much right now.”

“What do you mean?” Bob asked.

“Yakutsk has other things to worry about.”

Gregor nodded. “You have heard, then?”

“Certainly,” the priest said.

“We didn’t see you out in the field,” Bob said. “We thought perhaps you had missed the hysteria.”

Father Jakob smiled. “I live in a small village. I see and hear everything.” He took a sip of his coffee and then set the mug down. “I was out there much earlier today. With the coming storm, however, I busied myself with preparations. As such, I was absent while you were there.”

“What do you think of it?” Annja asked.

“There is much the world at large does not know,” the old priest said. “There are still many remote regions. Many legends that do not have an easy way of dismissing them.”

“You believe it?” Annja asked.

“I believe there is something out there. Yes.”

“But the legend of Khosadam?” Annja shook her head. “It just doesn’t seem possible to me.”

“And you’ve never had anything in your life that seemed impossible?” Father Jakob peered closer at her. “I would have thought you would be more accepting of such things, my child.”

Bob perked up. “Why so?”

Annja swallowed. Could the priest see that Annja had her own secrets to keep hidden away?

Father Jakob swallowed more coffee. “Just a thought.”

Bob glanced at Annja, but she turned away. Gregor cleared his throat. “The villagers are quite worried.”

“As they should be,” Father Jakob said. “If the legends are true, then the beast will hunt one of them.”

“Not you?” Annja asked.

“I am a holy man. I tend to think that perhaps my soul is not to the beast’s liking.”

“You sound pretty sure,” Bob said.

Father Jakob spread his arms. “I do not have much material wealth being a lonely priest. But I do like to think that the wealth of God is with me. He will look after a kindly old servant long forgotten by the rest of the world. Perhaps I am presumptuous, but then perhaps I am allowed to be.”

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