The Blood Gospel (Page 92)

Rhun tightened his lips. “I am not here to discuss sin and repentance with you.”

“A pity.” Rasputin looked at Erin. “We’ve had many enlightening discussions about that over the years, your Rhun and I.”

“We are here for the Gospel,” Erin reminded him. “Not enlightenment.”

“I have not forgotten.” Rasputin smiled at her. “Tell me from where was it taken and when?”

Rhun hesitated, then spoke the truth. “We found evidence that the book may have been at a bunker in southern Germany, near Ettal Abbey.”

“Evidence?” Rasputin fixed his intense eyes on Jordan, as if he were more likely to answer than Rhun.

Jordan tensed. His instinct was to hide everything from Rasputin that he could. “I’m just the muscle.”

“Russia is a big land.” Rasputin looked to Erin. “If you do not help me, I cannot help you.”

Erin glanced at Rhun. She tugged at the cuff of her sweater.

“Piers told us,” Rhun answered. “Before he died.”

Rasputin’s face drooped. “Then he turned to the Nazis after all?”

When Rhun did not answer, Rasputin continued: “He came to me early in the war. I was not as comfortable as I am now.” He paused and gazed around at the church, smiling at the silent followers lined up against resplendent walls. “But even then I had my resources.”

Surprise flickered across Rhun’s face. “Why would he go to you?”

“We were close once, Rhun. Piers as first, you as second, and I as third. Do you honestly not remember?” Hurt was plain in his voice, with an undercurrent of anger. “Where else could he go? The Cardinal threatened to excommunicate him if he continued searching for the book. So after visiting me, Piers went next to the Nazis, seeking help that I could not provide. He refused to give up the hunt. Obsessions are hard to forsake, as you can attest with Lady Elisabeta.”

Rhun turned away. “Cardinal Bernard would have done no such thing to Piers.”

But Jordan heard the lack of conviction in Rhun’s words. Even with the little experience Jordan had with the Cardinal, he knew how much importance the man placed upon the prophecy of the three. To the Cardinal, Father Piers had no role to play.

How wrong he was …

Grigori continued: “Rhun, you do not know your precious Cardinal so well as you think. Remember, he excommunicated me. For committing a sin no greater than your own. And I did not take the life of the one I sought to save.”

“What are you talking about?” Jordan asked, feeling like he’d walked into the theater in the middle of a movie.

Erin sat straighter, guessing the truth. “You’re referring to Czar Nicholas’s young son, aren’t you? The boy named Alexei.”

Rasputin favored her with a sad smile. “The poor child suffered. Finally, he lay near death. What was I to do?”

Jordan now remembered the history. The czar’s son was once Rasputin’s young charge. Like many of Queen Victoria’s grandchildren, he had suffered from what was known as “the Royal Disease” of hemophilia. According to history, only Rasputin could bring him relief during his episodes of painful internal bleeding.

“You should have let him die a natural death,” Rhun said, “within the grace of God. But you could not. And afterward, you would not repent for your sin.”

Jordan pictured Rasputin turning the boy into a monster rather than letting him die.

“That is why you could not be forgiven,” Rhun said.

“What makes you think I wanted the Cardinal’s forgiveness? That I needed it?”

“I think we have gotten off topic here,” Jordan cut in. Rhun and Rasputin’s old arguments did not advance their cause. “Will you help us find the book?”

“First tell me, how did Piers die?” Rasputin took Erin’s hand. She looked like she wanted to take it back, but she didn’t. She should have. “Please.”

She told him of the cross in the bunker, of the moment in the boat when Piers passed on.

Rasputin dabbed at his eyes with a large linen handkerchief. “How can you explain that, Rhun?”

“God’s grace.” Rhun’s words were simple and fervent.

“Explain what?” Erin asked, looking between them.

“Tainted as Piers was for breaking his vow, for creating and feeding upon blasphemare creatures, he should have been burned to ashes by the sunlight.” Rasputin folded the handkerchief and secreted it away in his robes. “That is what happens to strigoi who do not drink the blood of Christ. Has Rhun told you nothing?”

He hadn’t told them much. Just that sunlight killed them, not that they burned up. Jordan remembered how Nadia had carefully lifted the coat from Piers’s face, and her fear as she held him against her side so that he might see the sun one last time. His death had seemed peaceful, not violent, more of a letting go. Had God somehow forgiven his sins at the end or was there enough of Christ’s blessing still within Piers’s veins to keep him from burning? He suspected they would never know the true answer, and at the moment they had a more important concern.

“The book,” Jordan said. “Let’s get back to the book.”

Rasputin straightened, visibly drawing back to the matter at hand. “The German bunker was far south. Do you know when Russian troops might have reached it? If I had a time line …”

Jordan tried to remember his history, expecting Erin to interrupt with the answer. “The last major German unit in the south surrendered on April twenty-fourth, but the Russians were probably still mopping up until the formal surrender of Germany on May eighth.”

He counted off dates in his head. “By mid-May, though, the Russians were formalizing the division of Germany and the whole of the Iron Curtain. I would guess the Russian smash-and-grab teams peaked around May twentieth, although there were probably Russians clearing out bunkers before and after.”

Rasputin eyed him with what might be respect. “You indeed know your history.”

Jordan shrugged, but he kept talking, eager to find the book and get the three of them out of Russia alive. “I’ve studied a lot about the World War Two era, heard a lot more from my grandfather who fought during it. Anyway, that bunker was far south and isolated. Calculating travel time back then, plus a buffer to get out before American troops began their patrols, I would guess the most likely time for the Russians to have hit the bunker would have been between May twenty-eighth and June second. With a wide margin of error, of course.”