Tsar Wars: Agents of ISIS, Book 1 (15 page)

“A tsaritsa has no friends. They were just
staff.”

Eva made no attempt to deny the impulse; she
reached out and slapped Natalia’s face, although she did pull the
punch at the last second to avoid breaking the girl’s jaw. She got
up and looked down at Natalia, her heart filled with righteous
anger. “Don’t you dare dehumanize them like that! They were people!
I worked with some of them for a while, and most of them were
decent people. Yes, it was their job to take care of your needs,
but that doesn’t make them less human. The crew of the ship, the
military officers, the secretaries, the cooks who made you those
splendid meals, even those ninnies who were your other
freiliny—they
all
deserved a better fate than getting blown
up. You’d better rethink your values fast, young lady, or I’ll walk
out of here right now and leave you on your own.”

In panic, Natalia reached out to her. “No,
don’t! Please!”

The fog of anger evaporated, and Eva could
see the scared fourteen-year-old again. Her heart melted. She sat
back down on the bed and gently took Natalia’s outstretched hand.
“No, I won’t leave you,” she said. “But please don’t think of your
subjects as some faceless
schmoes
—or this won’t be the last
assassination attempt against you. The teachers who fed you all
that kittledung about how a tsaritsa should act, they weren’t
completely wrong. In public, the tsaritsa has to be a leader, and
the people draw their emotional cues from her. Yes, she has to
appear strong. But backstage, like now, you can let your feelings
out. That’s the only way to stay sane.”

Eva could hear a slight involuntary sniffle,
so she decided to take a risk and continue. “And about a tsaritsa
not crying—well, I was in the closet when Col. Groenwald told you
the tsar was dead—”

“You were spying on me?” Her old indignation
rose again.

“Well
nu
, that was my job, remember?
But in this case I just happened to be there accidentally. I heard
you crying your heart out.”

“You had no right—”

“No right to what? I should have closed my
ears? You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s perfectly human.
You’d just lost your great-uncle—”

“I wasn’t crying for
him!
“ Natalia
snapped angrily. “I didn’t even
like
him. I hadn’t seen him
since his stroke, and even before that I only saw him two or three
times a year at state occasions. He was a cold man, he hated kids.
If I wasn’t his only heir I don’t think he’d have cared if I lived
or died.”

“Then why
were
you crying?”

Natalia didn’t answer immediately. Eva waited
patiently, quietly. The silence stretched on loudly for several
minutes.

“I was crying for
me
, okay?” the girl
blurted out angrily. “I was crying because my life is over, don’t
you understand?”

Eva continued to stare quietly,
sympathetically.

After a minute, Natalia continued. “As
Velikaya Knyaghinya, I still had some freedom. Not as much as
normal girls, I know, but I could still do a lot of what I wanted.
I could be
me
, just Natalia Ilyinishna. Now I can’t. I don’t
belong to just me any more. I’m the tsaritsa, I belong to the whole
empire, and Natalia Ilyinishna doesn’t exist.”

Eva reached out to stroke the girl’s hair and
shoulders, but remained silent.

“Everyone will be looking at me. I have to
have all the answers. I have to make the decisions. I can’t
hesitate, I can’t show any doubt. I have to be right every time.
And I … I’m not ready. I don’t know what I’m doing.
I’M NOT
READY!
“

The tears and the sobbing came in earnest
now. Eva lay back down beside the frightened girl, put her arm
around the shaking body and held her tightly. Natalia occasionally
tried to get out a few words from time to time, but her weeping
made them incomprehensible. The events of the past day crashed over
her like an emotional tsunami, carrying her away with grief.

Finally the tears eased, and the tsaritsa of
the largest empire ever known to man cried herself to sleep in
Eva’s arms.

Pavel Lubikov, prime councilor to Knyaz
Yevgheniy, entered his lord’s study to find Kuznyetz talking with
someone on his monitor. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.
Meanwhile, you go and pack. We’ll be leaving soon.”

He signed off and turned to look at his
adviser. “Yes, Pavel, what have you got for me?”

“The tsar’s death has been confirmed.”

“Excellent,” Kuznyetz said with a satisfied
smile. “And Federico knows what his role is, so we have no worries
on that score. Time to mobilize.”

“I’ve already taken the liberty of sending
out the orders, sir. Our onplanet ships should start lifting off
within minutes, and our in-space forces just started moving to
their rendezvous coordinates.”

“Efficient as always. What would I do without
you, Pavel?”

Lubikov nodded curtly. “Just trying to serve
you well, Your Grace.” Then he hesitated. “This just leaves the
slight matter of Ivan Borodin, Wettig’s spy.”

“Ah yes, him. I just finished talking with
Marya about him. It seems she had an unpleasant encounter with him
a little bit ago. She doesn’t even know he’s a spy, and even
she
wants him dead.”

“I’ll be happy to dispose of him for you,
sir. A quick shot to the back of the head should do the trick.”

“Your usual efficiency. However, in this case
Marya requested a particularly painful death. I know I spoil the
girl, but I’ll humor her this once. Send the spy to me. I’ll see
he’s taken care of.”

* * *

Judah Bar Nahum was trying to decide what
tactic to take. He was due on duty again in just a few minutes.
Should he keep his cover identity intact and stand his watch in the
hallway? But that would waste seven crucial hours of inactivity,
hours Wettig might need to plan an effective counter-response to
the coup.

But there was probably little more he could
learn here, and the information was critical. “Your cover identity
is just a means to an end,” Ilya Uzi had said, “not the end in
itself.” It was time to kill Ivan Borodin, get outside the palace
and into town, and make a call to Wettig. He didn’t have a Q-line,
but he didn’t really need one. Even a short, totally uncoded
sentence—”Kuznyetz is really Pyotr Sokolov”—would be enough of a
warning for the former ISIS commissar; he’d know what to do from
there. Then all Judah’d have to do is get safely off Kyrby.

He started toward a side exit of the palace,
but he barely got a dozen meters when he met Cdr. Aab. “Borodin!”
the officer said. “Just the man I was looking for. I’ve got orders
to take you directly to the knyaz. Follow me.”

Judah met more indecision. Should he break
and make a run for it? But he was still deep within hostile
territory, and an alarm raised now could be fatal. He had no reason
to suspect his cover had been blown; this could be a perfectly
innocent situation.

“Improvise and trust your wits,” was Ilya
Uzi’s constant mantra. He decided to play along and see where this
would lead.

He followed the officer to the most inner
portion of the palace, where he was passed off to another officer
who took him directly to Kuznyetz’s office. He had to surrender his
beamer before he could enter. Then the door slid open for him and
he walked in alone.

Kuznyetz was sitting in a large green leather
chair behind his desk, staring intently at the built-in monitor.
Judah stood at attention for over two minutes, while Kuznyetz
appeared not to see him. Then the knyaz looked up and spoke. “Lt.
Borodin, I presume.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Judah said with crisp
formality.

“Events are happening, lieutenant—events far
above your head, but of empire-wide significance. Do you
understand?”

“No sir,” Judah said more slowly, even though
he knew exactly what Kuznyetz meant. Playing dumb might gain him
more information.

“I don’t have time to explain it now. Just
know that I am about to receive a critical package, and it’s
imperative that the messenger not recognize whom he gives the
package too. My staff and I are all too well known. As the newest
officer of my kavalergardy, you would not be recognizable. Do you
understand now?”

“I believe so, sir. You want me to receive
the package on your behalf.”

“Exactly. Then you will return it here to me.
Can you do that?”

Judah was actually thinking of various
possibilities. Here he was, alone in a room with Kuznyetz, maybe
five meters of space between them. All he’d have to do is leap
across the desk and snap the man’s neck to end Kuznyetz’s threat to
the imperial succession.

But then the Ilya Uzi part of his brain
started ticking off the reasons why that would be a bad idea.
One:
Kuznyetz was paranoid enough to have automated defenses
against assassination, particularly in his lair. While Judah’s
reflexes were much faster than those of an unmodified human being,
he couldn’t beat the electronic speed of automated weapons. At most
he could get in one incredibly brief attempt to kill Kuznyetz
before he himself was killed. That might not be enough to
accomplish his goal. He was prepared to die to save the Empire—but
dying in a useless attempt would be worse than simple failure.

Two:
The tsar was already dead, which
was certainly the signal for the rebellion to start. Even if he
killed the strongest claimant to the throne, there’d be plenty of
others. They wouldn’t stop just because Kuznyetz was dead; if
anything, that would probably make the fighting fiercer as the
different factions fought for control. It could be years, possibly
decades, before the fighting ceased; the Empire might even end up
as a bunch of independent principalities with no unifying sense of
order. It had almost happened before, and sensible people shivered
at the mere thought of what that would be like.

Three:
Well, to look at it bluntly,
he’d never killed anyone before. He’d trained as a dancer, not an
assassin. In theory he knew what must be done—but there was an
unspannable distance between theory and practice. He had the
physical strength to snap a person’s neck—but when it came right
down to the act, could he do it? Or would he hesitate, even a tiny
bit, just enough to ensure failure?

All these factors flashed through his mind in
a split second. Discretion would definitely be the better part of
valor in this case. He’d play the game out and see how it
developed.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said mildly. “I can do
that.”

“Good. Here is the key you’ll need. Go
through that door and down the hallway to room 278. Your contact
will meet you there.”

After Judah left the room, Lubikov
re-entered. “We really must be going now, Your Grace. The ships are
all ready to launch. I still think a beamer ray to his head would
have been quicker and more efficient.”

Kuznyetz nodded. “I’m sure you’re right,
Pavel. But I’ll set the room to record the events. I’m sure Marya
will derive great satisfaction from watching them when we get
back.”

* * *

Judah walked down the long corridor, noting
the doors on either side. He wondered what could be in this package
that was so vital. Field reports from Kuznyetz’s admirals? Requests
for last-minute instructions? Positions of Imperial Navy forces?
Whatever it was, he’d have his hands on it before even Kuznyetz.
Either he could destroy it so Kuznyetz wouldn’t get the
information, or at least he could find a way of relaying it to
Wettig as well. Either way, he was at last in a position to make a
positive difference in the upcoming war.

The numbers at this end of the hall began in
the low 200s, so there was a significant distance to go before he
reached door 278. The corridor did not branch off anywhere, even
though it made several turns along the way, so there was no
confusion about which way he needed to go.

At last he reached door 278. He pressed the
key to the lockplate in the wall. There was a faint click as the
door unlatched and slid silently open. Judah walked into the room
and the door slid shut behind him.

The room was big and empty. There was no
furniture at all, and the walls, ceiling and floor were pure white;
the only spot of color was a bright red rectangular touchplate high
up on the opposite wall, right where it met the ceiling. Unless
Kuznyetz was expecting a giant, a touchplate that high was
completely useless.

No one was here right now, and Judah started
pacing impatiently. He wanted to get this errand done and over with
as soon as possible. He still had to get free of the palace and get
word to Wetting about Kuznyetz’s true identity. He began to wonder
whether it might have been a mistake after all to accept Kuznyetz’s
summons, but it was too late now. Just wait it out and hope for the
best.

A large section of the wall slid rapidly open
on the far side of the room. Judah’s blood ran cold when he saw
what was coming through the portal: the pair of stone-cats he’d
watched with Marya earlier. A hunting pair, she’d called them, and
there was suddenly little doubt in Judah’s mind what they’d be
hunting. Their yellow eyes glared at him with hungry intensity.

Judah turned back to where he’d entered, but
as he suspected the door had seamlessly joined with the wall, and
pressing the key against the spot where the latch should be yielded
no results. The door on the other side had already closed, and he
was trapped in here with the stone-cats.

Despite his fear he tried to think
rationally. He’d watched the cats in action and knew how they
operated, which was an advantage for him. Although he had his
Zionian strength, they were equally as strong—and there were two of
them. Their reflexes were almost as fast as his. But they operated
on instinct, while he could use human thought. He hoped that would
be enough.