Church

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The ringing phone shattered the silence in the room.

"Beep, beep, beep—"

John walked over to the nightstand and picked up the vintage rotary phone.

A courteous voice came from the receiver. "Mr. Wick, I'm very sorry to disturb you at this hour. But we've received several complaints from guests about unusual noises coming from your room. Is there anything you need help with?"

John glanced at Perkins, sprawled on the floor, and replied without changing expression, "No trouble. I'll keep the noise down."

"Thank you very much for your cooperation. Good night, Mr. Wick."

After he hung up, the only sound in the room was Perkins's faint breathing.

Beta stood in front of the sink, washing the blood from between his fingers. He shook the water from his hands. "I'm going to Little Russia to find that church. You stay at the hotel."

He glanced at Perkins on the floor. "And have Winston take care of this mess."

John rubbed the bandage around his abdomen. "It'll be safer if we go together."

"Is that so? And you're not the poor bastard who got stabbed with a bottle?"

Beta slowly pulled the Honda sedan to a stop at the corner across from the church.

He lowered the window to let in the cold air, his gaze sweeping over the Eastern Orthodox church. Its gray-white domes glimmered faintly in the dusk, and a few worshippers climbed the steps. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary.

He reached out to adjust the rearview mirror. In it, he saw an unfamiliar face: a dark brown wig, a neatly trimmed beard, and clear-lensed glasses that hid his eyes.

Once he had confirmed his disguise was in order, he opened the car door and crossed the street with his hands in his pockets, like any ordinary Slav coming to pray.

The stone steps in front of the church were a little slippery. Beta deliberately slowed his pace to look more natural. As he crossed the oak threshold studded with brass nails, solemn hymns echoed through the church, the organ's notes spiraling beneath the dome.

Beta knew nothing about religious music. He could only just make out that it was some kind of gospel song. His gaze casually swept over the worshippers on the long wooden benches: an old man with a stooped back, an elderly woman in a black headscarf, and several burly Slav men.

Beta chose a seat in the middle rows. As he adjusted his posture, he noticed a Slav in black standing on the upper gallery, in a position that overlooked the entire church.

By then, the priest had noticed the unfamiliar face and was walking over.

"Can I help you, my child?" the priest asked, his voice gentle and weathered.

Beta answered in fluent Russian. "I just felt I ought to come here, though I've never believed in the Lord." His voice carried just the right note of confusion.

The priest smiled and nodded. "Every lost soul will find guidance. Can you tell me your name, child?"

"Paull Ostrovsky," Beta said without batting an eye, giving the hastily invented name a distinctly literary ring.

The priest noticed nothing amiss. "Let me guide you onto the right path. Would you like to talk about your story in the confessional?"

Beta feigned hesitation. "I think... perhaps I should first prepare a gift for the Lord. Would it be appropriate to make an offering on my first visit?"

"It is always appropriate to express your devotion to the Lord," the priest said kindly.

Beta slowly got to his feet. "Thank you, Father. I'll fetch it from the car."

He inclined his head slightly and turned toward the door.

The priest remained where he was, watching the young man leave with a trace of mockery at the corner of his mouth. What a devout fool. Rushing to make an offering on his first visit to the church—there aren't many idiots like that around these days, he thought.

Less than five minutes later, the young man reappeared at the church entrance.

The priest narrowed his eyes and saw a bulging black backpack slung over the young man's shoulder as he strode toward him. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled shadows across him and making him look as if he'd been split into pieces.

"Child, what have you brought for the Lord?" the priest asked, keeping up his kindly expression as he gestured toward the side hall. "Let's go to the back and present your offering to the Lord."

The young man suddenly smiled. The smile sent a chill crawling up the priest's back.

"I've brought the Lord a Slavic specialty," Beta said cheerfully. "And a few damned souls."

The instant the priest froze, Beta yanked open the backpack and pulled out a CAA-modernized AK-Alfa rifle. Its metal components gleamed with a cold, matte sheen in the church's candlelight.

Gunfire erupted beneath the church's dome.

The first bullet struck the priest's knee with pinpoint accuracy. The 7.62 mm round shattered his bone in an instant. The priest let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed.

Beta's muzzle barely paused before swinging to the right as the priest fell.

A burly Slav was surging up from the bench, his right hand already reaching inside his coat.

Beta calmly squeezed the trigger. Two short bursts struck the man in the chest. Blood bloomed across his white shirt, and he crashed heavily into the wooden bench, knocking an entire row of seats askew.

Hurried footsteps sounded from the second-floor gallery.

Beta raised his hand and fired three shots in quick succession at the spot he remembered. The bullets pierced the railing. With a dull thud, the lookout's chest erupted in a spray of blood. His body pitched forward, and momentum carried him over the railing. He hit the first-floor tiles like a sack of cement, the crack of breaking bones ringing out.

The entire church instantly descended into chaos.

Beta moved like a precision killing machine, adjusting his aim again and again to pick off the gangsters trying to hide behind the pillars.

Bullets tore through wooden benches, shattered candlesticks, and sparked against stone columns. Every short burst was followed by a scream, and blood soon wound like a river across the sacred marble floor.

The echoes of gunfire gradually faded beneath the church's dome, and an eerie silence settled over the space. On the front bench, a hard-of-hearing old woman continued praying intently, completely unaware of the bloodbath behind her.

Apart from that, only the priest's pained groans and the muffled sobs of a few innocent worshippers could be heard.

Beta walked through the pool of blood to the priest. He ignored the Russian curses spilling from the old man's mouth, raised his rifle butt, and smashed it hard into the priest's right cheek. Bone cracked, and several broken teeth flew out.

"Take me to Viggo's vault," he said calmly.

The priest glared at Beta with bloodshot eyes and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Do you know who you're picking a fight with?"

"Very well." Beta's muzzle didn't waver. "Take me to Viggo's vault."

"Viggo will skin me alive." The priest's voice began to tremble.

Beta pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullet pierced the priest's left palm, splashing blood across the stone floor. His scream rang especially sharply through the empty church.

"What about now?" Beta asked.

The priest trembled and gave in.

Beta seized him by the collar and hauled him up. Dragging his shattered knee, the priest limped toward the basement passage, leading the demon onward.