Red Star Falling by Steve Berry

Author:Steve Berry [Berry, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2024-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

GEORGY ALEKSANDROVICH SHEREMETEV PICKED HIS WAY THROUGH the rubble-strewn streets. Moscow was in ruins. Night had fallen an hour earlier and the nearby buildings cast shadows deep enough to hide him each time a Bolshevik roving patrol approached.

Patrol, though, was too generous a term.

That suggested proud, disciplined soldiers. This was nothing but a gaggle of drunken thugs. The Bolsheviks had shattered all of the surrounding streetlights with rifle practice. The ongoing artillery barrage, having finished its work with the shelling of the Ascension Convent, had moved a few streets to the east. Every minute or so one of the cannons boomed and the ground beneath his feet trembled as another church crumbled. Having won the Russian Civil War and vanquished the tsarists’ White Army, the Red revolution had taken religion as its new enemy.

But not all of the Whites were gone.

Cells existed throughout the country, though not so many here in Moscow.

Tsar Nicholas II had been gone for over a decade. Most likely murdered in 1917, along with his wife and children. Probably by more criminals, just like the ones now taking potshots at Moscow’s most sacred places of worship.

Reds. Godless monsters.

Ahead, a trio of Red soldiers rounded the corner, their arms intertwined as they tried to march in a drunken lockstep. He ducked left through an archway and crouched behind a pile of shattered bricks. They stumbled past his hiding spot and disappeared around the next corner. He waited until their voices faded, then sprinted across the street, through another open doorway, into an enclosed courtyard.

He took a moment and grabbed his bearings. This was the third time this week he’d made this trek, each effort probing farther and farther into the ruins. The destroyed streets looked so unfamiliar. Especially in the dark. He heard a crackling fire and tasted smoke in his mouth. He spotted a trellis that seemed sturdy enough to hold his weight and scaled a stone wall before him, dropping to the other side.

He’d reached his destination. Or what remained of it.

The Ascension Convent had long been holy ground. An Orthodox nunnery where grand princesses, tsarinas, and other noble ladies from the Muscovite royal court were buried. Its foundation stone was laid in 1407. Fires had gutted it through the centuries, which led to one renovation after another. During the Russian Civil War the ancient buildings were damaged by Bolshevik artillery. Now, twelve years later, the Reds had returned to finally level the ancient structure. First with artillery practice, then with heavy equipment. Rumor was the All-Russian Central Executive Committee intended to erect a commanders school on the site.

He spat on the ground to show his disgust.

Not much remained of the convent except for the lower portion of its outer walls and smoldering timbers. A curved piece of the onion dome, seemingly floating in the darkness, had survived. But it would not last long. Tomorrow, or the next day, some Bolshevik commander would notice the oversight and order a cannon to take aim.

Anger and pride swirled through him.

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