The Thieves of Faith

by Richard Doetsch

  “I thought you Russians were supposed to be tough,” Busch said as he began swimming toward shore.

  “I lost my air bottle,” Fetisov said defensively. He swam up next to Michael. “You sure you can do this?”

  Michael looked at Fetisov and nodded, his confidence thoroughly projected to Fetisov who swam off infected by Michael’s optimism.

  Michael watched Busch and the Russian swim ahead of him. After seeing the Kremlin underworld, after inspecting where they needed to go and digesting what they needed to do, Michael looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. He wanted to remember this moment, the blue sky above, the fresh air filling his lungs, for now that he knew what truly lay ahead, he thought this might be the last taste of freedom he would ever have.

  Chapter 29

  Stephen Kelley changed into a pair of jeans and a white oxford shirt that he found in the closet of the suite where he was being held. He was not surprised to find that the clothes fit him perfectly. He walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on his face. He leaned on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t thought on it, but as he looked at himself, he couldn’t help seeing Michael: the blue eyes, the strong chin, the wide shoulders. They were more alike than Stephen had realized. There was no doubt they were father and son.

  The guilt that Stephen had felt over the years once again filled his heart. Though Michael seemed unaffected by being put up for adoption, it didn’t negate Stephen’s feeling that he had failed his son, a feeling he spent his life trying to overcome.

  After burying his young wife and giving up Michael, Stephen submerged himself in his job and his schoolwork, barely keeping his head above water. He vowed that if he was ever to be lucky enough to fall in love again he would wait before having children; he refused to face an economic abyss again that would burden those he cared about. He graduated from Boston College with honors and headed right to Yale Law School, this time on a scholarship, where he was second in his class. The Boston DA’s office was only supposed to be a layover on his way to corporate life but the allure of justice was too enticing for him to escape. He worked his way up handling all types of criminal matters on behalf of the city. Before he knew it, he found himself as the DA of the city of Boston. Though he chose to only hold the office for one term, he had left his mark as one of the most successful prosecutors in the city’s history with a higher rate of conviction than any of his predecessors. His task forces shut down drug operations, gambling, prostitution, and burglary rings. He was credited with reducing crime and making the city a safer place for all of its residents.

  After four years, he left the public sector and was offered several prestigious partnerships in some of the city’s best law firms. But he had other plans. He started his own firm and built it into a powerhouse, hiring the best young minds, sparing no expense to satisfy his clients. His was the only name on the door. There was no need for partners. His reputation alone won contracts and retainers far greater than any of the reputed, multi-named competition. He had never even considered a partner until a few years earlier. And that was when his son Peter joined the firm.

  Kelley & Kelley was a partnership in memorial. A change of name to revere the son he lost. Peter was a bright young man in his own right, who swelled Stephen with pride. And Peter never took advantage of his name, achieving success—and respect—through long nights of honest hard work, an easy manner, and a charitable demeanor. He became that rare attorney everyone liked.

  Peter never knew he was not the firstborn son, he never knew he had a half brother. He and Michael were siblings unaware of each other, who stood in stark contrast in their respective careers. And though Michael lived on the other side of the law, Stephen knew—through his detached voyeurism and his heart—the label of criminal was far too harsh and judgmental. Michael was a good person, a good man, and a good husband, and although Stephen knew he did the right thing in giving up Michael, he had carried the guilt with him every day of his life.

  Two intelligent men, two sons, two brothers: Stephen wondered who would have prevailed if they had been pitted against each other.

  But as he wandered back out on the seaside balcony, Stephen knew that when it came down to saving his life, there was no question which son was better prepared.

  Chapter 30

  The noonday sun blazed through the air-conditioned room of the hotel suite, lighting up the well-appointed living room. It was a mix of European, Russian, and American furniture: thick and comfortable sofas, elegant chairs that would surely break if Busch was to sit in them, and antiques acquired from around the continent. Vases overflowing with fresh-cut flowers adorned the tables throughout the room, the blooms’ subtle odor filling the air. The windows were beginning to fog as the abnormal temperature climbed into the nineties and the heavy humidity condensed on the cool glass.

  Nikolai walked out of the kitchen and threw Michael and Busch each a bottle of Budweiser. “Kinda makes it like home, huh?” Nikolai said in his heavy Russian accent.

  Busch cracked his open and drew a long sip. “If I close my eyes and hold my nose, maybe.”

  Nikolai turned to Michael. “Sorry about the neck.”

  Michael looked at him, staring into his one good eye, but said nothing.

  “It’s just…my niece. Lexie’s little sister.” Fetisov paused and looked away. “We Russians thought ourselves so great, so superior, and yet when Chernobyl melted down we lied to the world instead of welcoming its help. Our national pride was more important than our people. My sister was pregnant at the time. Now Ylena, such an innocent, she is paying the price for our pride. She is sick, they can’t even figure why. Zivera promised that he could help her, he could make her better. He has worked miracles before and said if I saw to your success, his doctors would work miracles for my niece. If I helped you get this job done.” He finally turned back to Michael. “I can’t fail her.”

  Michael looked at Busch, sharing an unspoken moment before turning back to the Russian. “You said you could get anything on a moment’s notice.” Michael passed Fetisov a sheet of paper. Michael had drawn it up and whittled it down to the twenty essential items he would need come tomorrow morning.

  Nikolai studied the list, nodding as he read.

  “The air tanks have to be full,” Michael said. “And make sure the batteries in the helmet lights are new.”

  “Okay. I can do this, but who are the guns for?” Nikolai looked up.

  “I don’t really have a taste for guns, I’m not figuring to run into anyone. But it’s better not to be caught off guard.”

  Nikolai turned to Busch. “You know how to use one?”

  Busch smiled, looking from Michael to Nikolai. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Not all cops can shoot,” Nikolai said, trying to backpedal his statement.

  “Not all Russians drink vodka.” Busch raised his beer to Nikolai.

  Nikolai studied the list. “What is an induction field antenna?”

  “It’s used by miners. It allows low-frequency radio waves to pass through rock. It’s not absolutely necessary, just a precaution. Think you could scrounge one up?”

  Nikolai folded up the list, tucked it in his pocket, and turned to Michael. “This will take some doing but I’ll get you what you need.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “Two, maybe three hours.” Nikolai headed for the door but then turned back to Busch. “Actually, all Russians do drink vodka,” Nikolai said with a serious eye, sending the insult at Busch before vanishing out the door.

  “I don’t really get the warm and fuzzies anymore with that guy,” Busch said.

  “Really? I thought you liked him. You seem alike.” Michael smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  Susan walked in the room and flopped down on the couch. “Where was he going?”

  “Shopping,” Michael said as he pulled out a second list. “How connected is Martin?”

  Susan looked confused. “C
onnected to what?”

  Michael handed her the list. “There are a few things I’m not trusting to that guy.” Michael pointed toward the door that Nikolai just went out.

  “Like?” Susan said.

  “Our lives.”

  Michael stared at the object before him as it lay on the black cloth. He had spent the last hour and a half working on it, tuning, restoring it, ensuring that it would work without fail. Michael always loved working with his hands; he had a knack for design, construction, and repair, an ability that not only proved a great asset to his career, but to his mind. Working with his hands, whether it was with precision instruments or a hammer and saw, allowed Michael’s mind to switch gears, to slow down, to rejuvenate. Michael reveled at being lost in the moment, forgetting the enormous tasks that were ahead of him. He took one last look at the object, covered it under the black cloth, and tucked his tools away, his mind resharpened, thankful for the short respite.

  Michael walked to the other end of the dining room table and looked upon the hosts of documents before him. He had reread every piece of paper that Julian had provided him, hoping that the info he had procured would be enough to see him through. He sat down and studied Genevieve’s map, the chamber area in particular. He charted his bearings as it related to the cavern where the entry pool stood. The tunnel was on a forty-five-degree angle, a drainage pipe with a continuous flow of raging waters. Michael estimated that the entrance to the Liberia was one hundred and twenty feet in. It was constructed over five hundred years ago, and he wondered if it had actually stood the test of time, or if they were on a wild-goose chase, racing to find a decimated archive buried in rubble. As he deliberated on the map, he noted the initial entrance built five centuries earlier. It was a lone private hallway that meandered a quarter mile before exiting up into the Cathedral of the Assumption. The underground hallway’s entire length had been filled in and sealed on Ivan’s orders. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind that the men who performed Ivan’s wish were entombed somewhere along the length of the Liberia’s former entrance.

  Michael worked out the entire plan, scheduling it down to the minute. They would get the box first and then go for Genevieve.

  Susan walked in and sat down next to Michael. She looked at the papers on the table, and was naturally drawn to the ancient elaborate map. She stared at it a moment before finally turning to Michael.

  “What do you think? Can you do it?”

  “Paul and I are going in early tomorrow; we’re going to grab the box first and then we’re getting Genevieve.”

  “I should come with you.”

  Michael shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

  “I can dive.”

  “That’s nice. So can I. So can Paul. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s probably a bit stronger. He’s going to have to help Genevieve out, maybe even carry her.” The sudden thought of her being held against her will sent a chill up Michael’s spine. “We’re going to need to have you and Martin pick us up downriver in the Moskva. We need to be wheels up less than an hour later.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re opening up a hornets’ nest, that’s why. The entire government will be looking for us. The quicker we are out of here, the safer we will be.”

  “What if something goes wrong?” Susan asked.

  Michael held up his hand. “First off, you should know, things will go wrong. No matter how much planning, how much research, that fellow Murphy and his law are always right around the corner. These things are like playing chess. You have to think many moves ahead and be prepared for the unexpected.” Michael took a moment to gather up the documents on the table. “How you doing with my list?”

  “Martin got the car to pick you up and the syringe of adrenaline. What can I do?” Susan pleaded. “I’m feeling useless.”

  “You provided the means to get us here and to get us out. You’ve done more than your fair share.” Michael stood and walked back to his work area. He lifted the black cloth, picked up the object he was working on, and came back to sit across from Susan. Without a word, he handed her her watch. She looked at it a moment, memories flooding in, of warmth and comfort, of Peter. Seeing the second hand sweep past twelve, a tear formed in her eye.

  “Where did…?” She choked up. “I thought it was gone forever.”

  “Paul found it, in Red Square.”

  “I never lost a case after Peter gave this to me,” Susan said, almost to herself.

  Michael smiled.

  “It hasn’t worked since he…” She watched as the second hand continued its sweep. “Since he died.”

  “I know a little bit about timepieces,” Michael softly said.

  She looked up at Michael, tears filling her eyes, overcome with the significance, at the kindness, and smiled back. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 31

  Genevieve lay sedated on the gurney. She was in a small medical observation room filled with vital-signs monitors, yet none of them was hooked up. An IV ran into her left arm keeping her hydrated in her sleeping state.

  Skovokov glanced at her through the observation window from the desk in his research lab. He had a host of notebooks open before him, and his computer monitor played an animatic of a human chest cavity, its throbbing organs displayed to a team of doctors mid-surgery. Skovokov had brought back all of the research that he had created while in the employment of Julian Zivera, and had already ordered the drugs put into production, patents be damned. He was studying notes on a medical procedure that would stimulate the kidneys to increase the production of EPO, which naturally boosts the production of red blood cells. While the treatment would be highly beneficial to those with anemia and other blood disorders, the allure was far greater to the sports world as a way to naturally dope the blood without detection.

  Skovokov would be giving a full presentation tomorrow to a select group of Russian doctors, businessmen, and government officials that would include his animatic presentation along with a demonstration of the procedure on a human cadaver. He had hoped to demonstrate on a live subject but the “volunteers” would not be arriving until the following week.

  “Any word?”

  Skovokov looked up to see Ilya Raechen standing in the doorway to his lab. “Raechen, come in.”

  “Where do we stand?” Raechen asked as he walked in the room. Though only ten years his senior, Skovokov was the physical antithesis to Raechen’s muscular, ramrod straight physique. In his old age, Skovokov had become bone-thin, hunched, and wrinkled, preferring to concentrate his exercise on his mind.

  “There’s been no response from Julian.”

  “He’s not going to give in to this, he’s testing you, analyzing his alternatives,” Raechen said.

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s a businessman, this is a transaction to him.”

  “It’s his mother. He’ll give in.”

  Raechen stared at Skovokov. It was a moment. “What about my son? Should I bring him to Russia?”

  “Once we secure the painting, my full focus will be your son,” Skovokov said without the least bit of deception in his voice.

  Raechen walked about the lab, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts turning inward. “Every day that goes by…” There was pain tinged with anger in his words.

  Skovokov turned to Raechen and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “I won’t be able to give your son’s illness my full concentration until I have the map. I said five days.”

  “Then we make Zivera desperate, we move up the schedule, remove his time to think of options.”

  Skovokov listened, liking what Raechen was saying.

  “And we demonstrate the seriousness and the finality of the matter.” Raechen glanced in on Genevieve.

  “The anticipation of suffering is a powerful weapon. And when those you care about suffer, you will do almost anything to help them.” Raechen looked at Skovokov. “Do you have a video feed and recording equipment?”

  “Of course. Why?” Sko
vokov asked.

  “Showing is so much more effective.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  Raechen turned back to the observation window and looked over at Genevieve. “I suggest we turn up the pressure.”

  Chapter 32

  Nikolai walked into the living room, two overly large Russian behind him. They threw down three duffel bags. Michael walked over, looked at Nikolai, and, without a word, crouched down to the bags. He unzipped the first and riffled through its contents: two dive tanks, masks, fins, and assorted dive gear. He unzipped the second and pulled out two climbing harnesses, several coils of rope, a bag of glow sticks, and a low-frequency antenna. Unzipping the third he found guns, radios, two white doctor’s coats, and flashlights. He checked all of the gear, amazed that it was all brand-new and of the finest quality. And while Michael was thankful, it put him on even stronger guard against Fetisov. The supplies were procured in short order without a complaint or hitch. Scuba gear, in a city far from any large body of water; climbing equipment far from the mountains. The guns were brand-new, never-been-fired Heckler & Koch pistols and the Semtex was only available through the military. Fetisov had proven resourceful beyond Michael’s expectations, but if he was capable of this in such a short period of time, what else was he capable of? Michael continued looking but didn’t find one item and looked up at Fetisov. “What about the timers?”

  Nikolai leaned down and picked up the Semtex: a ziplock bag, three squares of tightly wrapped tan clay inside. “Do you know how to use this stuff?”

  Michael nodded the affirmative.

  “And what would you be using it for?”

  “It’s a Boy Scout thing. Be prepared. We don’t know what we’re going to find down there. Who’s to say we won’t find a cave-in or a sealed chamber?”