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“What do they want that’s more valuable than the treasure?” My heart kicks up speed as I fear I already know the answer. I swallow, and before he can say it, I do. “They want Tara, your granddaughter. When you refer to 'they’, I’m guessing you mean either the Russian Government, Military, or the RMSAD. Which could only mean that Tara is a prodigy like her grandmother.”
The room spins.
“Oh, she’s much more than a prodigy,” the general's voice lowers. “As you work closely with the RMSAD, I know you have access to their top secret projects, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then I assume you’re familiar with their prized initiative. The Jewel Program.”
A chill crawls over my skin.
“I don’t think they can call it their prized initiative, considering only one test subject survived,” I say. “And he wasn’t even the Jewel of the project.”
“That’s what you were told,” the General says. “The truth is—two survived. Ergorov’s son. And test subject Eleven.”
Now, shock has me frozen to the spot, and my chest feels like an anvil has been placed on it. The general doesn’t have to say it out loud. I already know.
Tara Craft is the new Jewel of Russia, and someone just found out she’s still alive.
11
TARA
It’s been two weeks since I had the procedure. It still seems a little surreal. I had another woman’s fertilized egg implanted in my uterus. I go from feelingwhat the fuck have I done?panic to anxious andwhat if this doesn’t take?
I find myself staring at my stomach—a lot! Like I’m going to be able to see the egg. I’ve been reading up about pregnancy and what to expect, and I haven’t had the courage to watch a woman giving birth. I saw that once at school and I can remember thinking, I’m fucking having a cesarean birth.
My eyes fall on my desk, littered with printouts of research into Lidiya Zorin and Anya Novikov or Anya Morozov. The research has hit a wall. Again.
I toss the latest stack of printouts onto the pile and lean back in my chair with my arms crossed, eyes burning from too many hours staring at screens. The name “Lidiya Zorin” might as well be a ghost. There are small breadcrumbs of information. But nothing solid. And unless I have definitive proof, there is no way I’m getting a full birth certificate from the Russian departmentof births and deaths. I even tried the Russian Embassy in Los Angeles, but they were no help either.
There are also no ties between Lidiya Zorin and Anya Novikov. Just that damn puzzle box and the swirling uncertainty it’s dredged up inside me.
Gavriil’s tried every contact he has in Russia, but nothing has turned up. I’ve even tried every genealogy site I can find—nothing.
Frustration itches at the base of my spine. “Aghh.” I rest my head on my arms, perched on my desk. “There has to be some clue somewhere.”
“Still nothing?” Irina walks in, and I can hear the paper bag in her hand.
Candy!is the first thought to hit my brain as I look up to see a brown paper bag in her hand. She pulls out a box, but it’s not candy.
“I think it’s time,” she says softly, shaking the pregnancy test.
My brow furrows. “Already?”
“It’s been two weeks,” Irina reminds me.
She drops the bag on the counter and hands me the pregnancy tests.
“Is there candy in the bag as well?” I look at her hopefully.
“After you’ve done the test,” Irina says. “Then we’ll talk candy.”
I stare at the box. My throat tightens.
“I know it’s early,” Irina says, her voice gentle, “but I thought maybe…”
She doesn’t need to finish.