Chapter 9
THE FIREBIRD’S FLIGHT
"Catherine, please tell me you're not seriously considering walking into that church alone," Robert said as we huddled in his office at Scotland Yard, maps of the Ennismore Gardens area spread across his desk.
"Of course not," I replied. "But what if I appeared to be alone while actually being anything but?"
Robert studied my face carefully. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"Volkov expects me to come alone and frightened, carrying the evidence he wants. Instead, I come prepared, with backup he can't see, and with something that looks like what he wants but isn't."
Sergeant Mills looked up from the church blueprints he'd been examining. "A decoy envelope?"
"Exactly. We create convincing duplicates of the documents, put them in an identical envelope, and I carry that to the exchange."
"Meanwhile," Robert said, catching on to my plan, "we have the church surrounded and officers positioned inside before you arrive."
"The Russian Orthodox Church has multiple entrances," Mills added, pointing to the architectural drawings. "Main entrance on Ennismore Gardens, side entrance through the parish hall, and a rear entrance that connects to the cemetery."
I studied the layout carefully. "If Volkov is as professional as we think, he'll have these entrances watched or blocked. But there's something else to consider. He's been using this church for months. He knows every hiding spot, every escape route."
"Which gives him the advantage," Robert said grimly.
"Unless we turn that familiarity against him." I traced my finger along the church plans. "Robert, how long have you had this place under surveillance?"
"Three weeks, on and off."
"Then you know the patterns. When do they typically meet? How many men does Volkov usually bring? Which entrances do they use?"
Mills consulted his notes. "Tuesday and Friday evenings, usually. Volkov typically arrives with two or three associates. They use the side entrance through the parish hall—it's more discreet than the main doors."
"And tonight is Thursday. So they're not expecting their usual meeting crowd."
"Which means the church should be largely empty except for Volkov, his men, and hopefully Anya," Robert concluded.
I felt a flutter of fear mixed with determination. "Then we have an advantage too. They won't be expecting a full police operation."
"Catherine," Robert said seriously, "even with backup, this is incredibly dangerous. Volkov has killed six people that we know of. He won't hesitate to add you to that list."
"He won't kill me immediately," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "He needs the evidence first. And he'll want to make sure there are no other copies before he eliminates witnesses."
"That's what worries me. He'll want to interrogate you first."
The thought made my skin crawl, but I pushed the fear aside. "Which gives you time to get into position and close the trap."
We spent the next two hours planning every detail.
Mills would position constables around the church perimeter, focusing on the known entrances but watching for others.
Robert would enter through the cemetery with a small team, using the cover of darkness and the large monuments to approach unseen.
I would arrive at midnight as instructed, carrying the decoy envelope and wearing a concealed whistle to signal when I'd located Anya.
"What if she's not there?" Mills asked. "What if this is just a trap to get you and the evidence?"
"Then we spring our own trap," Robert said. "Either way, we end this tonight."
As evening fell, I found myself back at the Ladies of Distinction Detective Agency, preparing for what might be the most dangerous case of my career. Emma insisted on helping me prepare, despite my protests that she shouldn't be involved.
"Don't be ridiculous, Kitty," she said, checking the small electric torch I'd hidden in my coat. "We're partners. Besides, someone needs to ensure you're properly equipped."
She handed me a small mirror—the kind ladies used for checking their appearance, but positioned cleverly in my handbag where it could be used to see around corners. "And this," she added, producing a hatpin with an unusually sharp and long point, "in case you need to defend yourself."
"Emma, I'm supposed to appear harmless and alone."
"Appearing harmless and being harmless are two entirely different things." She studied me critically. "You look appropriately nervous but determined. Perfect for a woman walking into danger to save someone's life."
At eleven-thirty, Robert's police vehicle dropped me several blocks from the church. The night was cold and damp, with fog beginning to roll in from the Thames. Perfect cover for police movements, but also perfect concealment for Volkov's men.
I walked slowly toward Ennismore Gardens, my footsteps echoing in the quiet residential streets. The Russian Orthodox Church rose before me like something from a fairy tale, its onion domes and ornate architecture creating dramatic silhouettes against the cloudy sky.
The main entrance was locked, as expected. I made my way around to the side entrance through the parish hall, my heart hammering with each step. The door was unlocked. Clearly, I was expected.
Inside, the church was dimly lit by scattered candles, creating pools of golden light separated by deep shadows. The air smelled of incense and old wood, and my footsteps seemed unnaturally loud on the stone floor.
"Miss Worthington." Volkov's voice came from the shadows near the altar. "How punctual. I do appreciate reliability in business matters."
I moved slowly toward the sound of his voice, my eyes adjusting to the candlelight. "Where is Anya?"
"Patience. First, the envelope."
"First, proof that she's alive and unharmed."
A soft sound came from somewhere behind the iconostasis—a muffled cry that was unmistakably female. My heart leaped with relief and fear. Anya was here, but clearly not free.
"Satisfied?" Volkov stepped into the light near the altar. He was dressed in expensive clothes, and he carried himself with the confidence of a man on his own territory. "Now, the envelope."
I reached into my handbag, making sure the movement was visible. "Let me see her first."
"I think not. You see, Miss Worthington, you are hardly in a position to make demands." He gestured, and two men emerged from the shadows on either side of the church. I recognized one as the companion from Pemberton's office. Both carried revolvers.
"The envelope," Volkov repeated. "Place it on the altar and step back."
I had no choice but to comply. The decoy envelope looked identical to the original, and I could only hope the fake documents would pass casual inspection. I placed it on the ornate altar cloth and stepped back as instructed.
Volkov moved forward and examined the envelope without opening it. "You will forgive me if I don't trust you completely. Viktor, please search Miss Worthington to ensure she's carrying no weapons or additional documents."
This wasn't part of our plan. As Viktor approached, I realized he would discover not only the hatpin and mirror Emma had given me, but also the small whistle I was supposed to use to signal Robert.
"That's hardly necessary," I said, backing away. "I've given you what you wanted."
"What I wanted, Miss Worthington, was the original evidence. Not copies, not summaries, but the actual photographs and documents that could incriminate me." He opened the envelope and examined the contents by candlelight. "These appear to be genuine, but I've learned not to trust appearances."
He was more careful than we'd anticipated. If he discovered these were copies . . .
"They're exactly what Anya left with Pemberton," I said. "The originals she mentioned hiding are probably somewhere in her lodgings or the theatre."
"Yes, the originals. My dear niece was always cleverer than I gave her credit for." He smiled that cold smile. "Which is why I've spent the past few days persuading her to tell me where she hid them."
The way he said 'persuading' made my blood chill. "If you've hurt her—"
"Nothing permanent. Yet. But she has been most stubborn about revealing the location of the complete evidence." He nodded to Viktor. "Search her."
As Viktor moved toward me, I backed against one of the massive stone pillars that supported the church's vaulted ceiling. My hand found the small whistle in my coat pocket, but Viktor was too close for me to use it without being caught.
Then I heard it—the softest scrape of a shoe against stone, coming from somewhere behind the altar. Robert and his men were already inside.
"You know," I said loudly, hoping to mask any sounds they might make, "Anya was right to hide the evidence. After what you did to those other Russian exiles, she knew you'd kill her regardless of whether she cooperated."
Volkov's eyes narrowed. "Those men were traitors to the old regime. They deserved their fate."
"They were innocent people trying to build new lives."
"They were in possession of information that could have compromised legitimate business interests. I simply resolved potential conflicts."
Keep him talking, I told myself. Give Robert time to get into position.
"Business interests? You mean your blackmail and murder operation?"
"I mean the recovery of property that rightfully belongs to the Imperial Family and their loyal servants." His voice grew colder. "Property that was stolen during the revolution and smuggled out of Russia by fleeing criminals."
"So you became a criminal yourself to get it back?"
"I became a patriot, Miss Worthington. Something your English sensibilities could never understand."
Viktor was now close enough to grab me, but I noticed his attention kept flicking toward the shadows behind the altar. He could sense something was wrong, even if he couldn't identify the threat.
"Where exactly did you hide Anya?" I asked. "I heard her cry out, but I don't see her."
"She's quite safe, I assure you. Hidden in a place where she can contemplate the wisdom of family loyalty." Volkov tucked the envelope inside his coat. "And now, Miss Worthington, I'm afraid our business relationship must come to an end."
He nodded to Viktor, who raised his revolver.
"Armed police!" Robert's voice rang out from behind the iconostasis. "Drop your weapons!"
The church exploded into chaos. Viktor spun toward the sound, giving me the chance I needed to pull out my whistle and blow the signal for the officers outside. Volkov dove for cover behind the altar as constables poured through every entrance.
But in the confusion, I realized something terrible—if Anya was hidden somewhere in this church, she was now trapped in the middle of a gun battle.
And Volkov, cornered and desperate, would have nothing left to lose.