Overture to Disaster (Post Cold War Political Thriller Trilogy Book 3)

by Chester D. Campbell

  "I was going to call you about that," said Kovalenko. "We finally determined that the Major's escape resulted from inside help."

  "I knew you'd turn up something. What happened?"

  The jailer who released Romashchuk was a fastidious dresser, Kovalenko explained. Nobody else would have paid any attention to it, but two days ago, the jailer noticed a tear on the left uniform sleeve of a militia captain. He recalled having seen the identical blemish on the uniform of the man who had arranged for Nikolai Romashchuk's release. He reported it to one of his superiors. When they called the captain in, he claimed his uniform had been misplaced while at the dry cleaners. A check with the dry cleaner showed this to be a lie.

  "He finally confessed he had loaned his uniform to an acquaintance," said Kovalenko. "Guess who formerly employed the acquaintance?"

  "I give up."

  "KGB."

  "Now we're getting somewhere. You said loaned?"

  "Rented might be more accurate. He was paid a nice little sum."

  "What did you get out of the ex-KGB man?"

  "We haven't been able to put our hands on him yet. He now drives a big trailer rig and left early yesterday on a run to Gdansk, Poland."

  "When is he due back?"

  "Tomorrow or the next day," said Kovalenko. "We'll be waiting for him."

  A man in a job with easy access to the heart of Europe, Yuri thought. Could he be one of the couriers the Russian report had mentioned? "I'd like to sit in on his interrogation. Would that be possible?"

  "I don't see why not. Incidentally, another weird thing happened in regard to our Major."

  "Oh?"

  "A report came in yesterday of a grave apparently disturbed at a local cemetery. The deceased was one Ilya Romashchuk."

  "A relative?"

  "The cemetery is at an Orthodox church," Kovalenko said. "After I saw the report, I got the priest in charge to check his records. Next of kin was listed as a brother, Nikolai Romashchuk."

  "Has the Major been digging into his past?"

  "According to the priest, he was walking through the cemetery when he noticed the dirt over the grave had been 'freshly turned.'"

  "Does that translate as 'dug up'?"

  "He didn't know what had been done, just said it resembled a new grave."

  "How long had this Ilya been buried there?"

  There was a pause while he checked his notes, then Kovalenko said, "Since September twenty-first, 1991."

  Yuri Shumakov's heart did a flip-flop. That was the day following the explosion that killed Captain Anatoli Shumakov.

  Kiev, Ukraine

  22

  The Church of the Blessed Savior was a small, undistinguished stone structure on the western edge of Kiev. If the saints came marching in, said Chief Investigator Kovalenko, they would probably pass it by without a glance. It was worlds removed from downtown Kiev's eleventh-century St. Sophia's Cathedral, with its thirteen onion-shaped domes, where Kovalenko had attended services on a few occasions since his daughter's family had embraced Christianity. The main lure was his two small granddaughters, who were always decked out like a pair of oversize dolls.

  The only thing of notable proportions about the Church of the Blessed Savior was its cemetery, which was surrounded by a weathered stone wall. The investigator introduced himself and his colleague Shumakov to the priest, Father Andreyev. They walked through a stone archway and headed for the final, though apparently not tranquil, resting place of one Ilya Romashchuk.

  A robust young man, the priest had long, flowing black hair and a beard that gave him a biblical look. It also made him appear older than his thirty years. He was a dedicated young man of God who had joined the priesthood at a time when the government was doing everything possible to discourage such a life. He was not easily swayed by officials, oppressive or otherwise.

  "I've only been here about ten months," he said, "so I can't tell you much about the man in the grave."

  "Do you know if he lived around here?" Kovalenko asked.

  "Not according to one of my parishioners I talked with yesterday. She said the man had requested to be buried here and Father Dedov agreed. In return, the brother made a generous contribution to the church."

  That was an interesting gesture for a dedicated Kah-Geh-Beysh-nik, Yuri thought. He was sure General Borovsky would enjoy that little twist. The General had arrived at his office shortly after the call came in from Oleg Kovalenko the previous afternoon. Yuri had immediately briefed him on the new development. Judiciously, he had omitted mention of the coincidence in the burial date and that of his brother's death. In fact, he decided to see where this new aspect of the case might lead before cluttering it up with questionable events from several years ago. Borovsky agreed that he should follow up on the situation immediately. He had headed for Kiev early this morning. Larisa could only shake her head at word that he would be on the road again. He vowed to make it up to her the moment things calmed down.

  "It's this one over here," said Father Andreyev, pointing beyond a sharp twist in the broad graveled path between the graves.

  Yuri noted the rectangular plot had been squeezed into an area near an iron gate, which provided an opening in the wall on the side away from the church. He saw the name "Ilya Romashchuk" on the headstone and bent down to press his hand against the mound of dirt. It had not been packed down by years of rain and sun.

  "Yuri Danilovich," Kovalenko said, staring at the path beside the grave, "did you see this?"

  "What?"

  "Looks like broom marks along the edges. Must be where they piled the dirt."

  "And did a neat clean-up job," said Yuri. "These were fastidious vandals."

  Kovalenko turned to the priest. "Have you had any problem with grave robbers in the past?"

  "I am not aware of any."

  "I believe you told me on the phone that your quarters are over on the other side of the building. You heard nothing that night?"

  "I could not have heard anything unless they were terribly noisy."

  "What about others in the area? Have you questioned anyone else?"

  The cross on the chain about his neck swung like a gold pendulum as the young priest leaned forward and nodded. "I talked with three families who live nearby. They are older people and sleep soundly. No one heard a thing."

  Yuri walked toward the iron gate and called back over his shoulder, "Has this been used lately?"

  "Only once since I've been here, and that was several months ago. There hasn't been a burial in at least a year. We have only a few plots left. Those destined to fill them are still in remarkably good health."

  The ground around the gate appeared to have been scraped by someone obliterating footprints. Weeds just outside showed obvious signs of having been trampled recently. "They must have gone in and out through here," Yuri said.

  A car screeched to a halt somewhere beyond the wall, and a few moments later four stalwart young militiamen came strolling up the path carrying shovels as though they were rifles.

  "Chief Investigator Kovalenko, your grave digging squad is reporting for duty," said the senior policeman with a broad grin.

  Father Andreyev frowned at this seeming disrespect for the dearly departed.

  While Kovalenko instructed the militiamen in what he wanted done, Shumakov turned to the priest.

  "You mentioned Father Dedov," Yuri said. "Is he still around?"

  "He's retired now. Lives at Pecherskaya Lavra."

  Yuri nodded. "I visited the caves when I was here recently. Fascinating place."

  "Yes. I talked to him a couple of weeks ago. He's enjoying himself. Works some in the Historical Museum."

  "It won't take them long," said Kovalenko, rejoining Yuri and Father Andreyev.

  The priest's frown deepened as he watched the dirt fly. "Please ask them to be careful of the graves nearby," he cautioned.

  "Hey, you clowns!" the investigator bellowed. "Don't mess up the other graves. We need to leave the place just as
nice as the people who dug it up the first time."

  The men began to peel off clothes as the dirt pile grew larger. Kovalenko called them down a time or two and apologized to Father Andreyev as the exertion brought on some rather salty language. Finally a shovel clunked against the lid of the casket. Heavy ropes were worked under either end, and they began to haul it up. Yuri and Kovalenko guided the big black box to a resting place at the graveside.

  Yuri was surprised to find very little deterioration, except on two corners near the bottom. That had apparently resulted from accidental damage that marred the surface. The casket was obviously an expensive one, quite large, well made of a very hard species of oak and treated to resist rot and decay.

  Kovalenko checked the lid carefully, then released the latches that sealed it shut. Yuri noticed Father Andreyev watching with a tortured look. He clearly was opposed to disturbing the remains of those who had gone to meet their Maker.

  "Well, let's see if we can find any indications of something being removed from the body," said Kovalenko, heaving up the heavy lid.

  Everyone stared, wide-eyed. The casket was empty!

  "What the hell?" Oleg Kovalenko looked around.

  "It appears that Ilya Romashchuk has flown the coop," said Yuri, folding his arms and staring down at the open box.

  Father Andreyev quickly stepped forward to gaze in open-mouthed disbelief. He shook his head in confusion. "This is terrible. Who would have done it? Why?"

  "Good questions, Father." Yuri continued to study the interior of the casket. It had obviously been well sealed. The white fabric lining was hardly soiled. What little discoloration he observed had not resulted from body fluids. If the late Ilya Romashchuk had occupied this burial crypt, he realized, the corpse must still be in mint state, as a coin collector might describe it. But if a body had not occupied the casket, what had?

  "If some member of the family should come to see the grave," Father Andreyev moaned disconsolately, "what should I tell them? What can I do?"

  Kovalenko stepped over to lay a large consoling hand on the priest's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Father. In the first place, I doubt any of the family are likely to come here. Let us do some quiet checking into the situation. I suggest we replace the casket for the present and say nothing. Obviously, it's a very strange affair. If the people who did it are unaware of what we know, we may stand a lot better chance of coming up with some answers."

  "You have my full cooperation," the priest said, obviously happy to have the burden lifted from his own shoulders. "I shall say nothing to anyone."

  As they talked, Yuri thought about the explosion in the Nikolayev Oblast, some 400 kilometers to the southeast. The casket had been buried within twenty-four hours of the disastrous event that had taken his brother's life. And as he recalled the circumstances, a shocking thought suddenly hit him, a brilliant flash of intuition. He reacted instantly. Taking out his pocket knife and checking to see that the others were focusing their attention on Kovalenko and the priest, he leaned over and grasped the fabric lining with his handkerchief, sliced off a small square, folded it into the handkerchief and shoved it back into his pocket. It was a wild chance, but it also might be the key to the whole mystery of his brother's death.

  During the drive back to Kovalenko's office, the two investigators puzzled over their startling discovery. "I don't believe there was ever a body in that casket," said the burly Ukrainian.

  Yuri nodded. "Not unless he was swathed like an Egyptian mummy."

  "So what was in it? Why bury it at that church? Why dig it up now?"

  "I hope you're about to give me some answers."

  "Ha! I have no damned idea. Do you?"

  "The only thing that seems certain is that Major Romashchuk was involved."

  "Romashchuk. And what do we know about him, except that he deals in cash? Would he have hidden cash in that casket? Maybe gold? Maybe diamonds?"

  Yuri looked out at the large tree-filled park they were passing, an oasis of green that reminded him of home. He wondered if he would be able to make it back to Minsk tonight. He turned back to Kovalenko. "I think our man prefers to keep his money in Swiss banks. But it sure would help to know what he spends it on."

  "I'll see if they've made contact with that truck driver yet. Perhaps he can enlighten us."

  When they got to his office, Kovalenko called the militia detective charged with keeping an eye out for the driver. The man still had not been seen. Then the investigator got a sudden summons for an audience with the Kiev prosecutor.

  "I don't know how long this will take," he apologized. "If you—"

  "Don't worry about me. I have a little errand to run."

  The "little errand" took him over to Pecherskaya Lavra. He found Father Dedov at the Historical Museum. A thin, slightly emaciated man with stringy white hair, the elderly priest was puttering around the exhibits of Ukrainian folk art, staring through thick lenses at a display of krashenki, delicately painted Easter eggs.

  "It took a fine eye and a steady hand to do that," Yuri said in admiration, standing behind the old man.

  "Two things that I lack," replied the priest without turning his head.

  "I'll wager you had them in your earlier days."

  That prompted him to look around. "Yes, I was a fair painter in my time. Was that just a guess, or do I know you?"

  "A guess, Father Dedov. My name is Yuri Shumakov. I'm from Minsk. Father Andreyev told me I would find you here."

  That brought a thin smile. "And how is my young replacement?"

  "He's fine. He said you might be able to tell me about a man named Ilya Romashchuk you buried at the church back in 1991."

  The priest's smile faded abruptly. It was as though a light in his eyes had been switched off. "Why do you ask?"

  Yuri kept his voice casual. "I'm trying to locate his brother, Nikolai. I believe he made the arrangements."

  "Are you a friend?"

  The old priest was being guarded. Apparently he knew something of Major Romashchuk's background. Yuri decided to play it straight. "I'll be frank with you, Father. I'm a chief investigator for the Minsk procuratura. I am pursuing an investigation that involves Nikolai Romashchuk."

  "Then you know he was a KGB major."

  "Yes, sir. Which makes this burial in a Christian cemetery a bit strange."

  "'Strange' is a rather mild way of putting it," said Father Dedov, looking over the top of his glasses. "It was bizarre."

  "Would you tell me about it, please?"

  After a moment's hesitance and a shrug of resignation, the priest began his story. "He came to me two days before the funeral, dressed in his intimidating uniform. Said his brother, Ilya, was at the point of death. Ilya had expressed the desire for a Christian burial. I told him I was sorry but all the space in the cemetery was taken. I really didn't want to have anything to do with him. But he wasn't accustomed to being told 'no.' He insisted, said he was prepared to make a very generous contribution in his brother's name. Well, you may have heard how, in the early days, those who made the largest contributions were given the choicest burial spots. And you know from seeing it that the Church of the Blessed Savior is a very poor parish. I decided if setting cemetery priorities was good enough for the early saints, it would certainly do for a latter day saint. So I admitted there was one gravesite available. I showed it to him, and he obviously liked the location."

  Because of the gate, no doubt, Yuri thought. "That doesn't sound so bizarre."

  "I haven't come to that part. He gave me the money, a very large sum for that church, and said he would contact me about the funeral. Well, I didn't expect to hear from him for maybe several days. But two mornings later, quite early, he came knocking on my door, said his brother had died the night before and they were ready for the funeral. I told him I would have to make arrangements with the grave diggers. Forget it, he said. He had his own grave diggers. I told him I would need to prepare for the mass. Forget it, he said. Say a prayer, then
see that no one disturbed them while they buried his brother.

  "There was another officer he called 'General,' and four other men, all in KGB uniforms. They went back to the cemetery and dug up the grave. Then they brought out the casket, a beautiful, expensive casket, and he said 'go ahead and pray.' By then I was beside myself. But somehow I managed to say a prayer for that poor departed soul. Then they marched back to the grave and lowered the casket into it. They shoveled the dirt over it and left without another word. It was an experience I'll never forget. And, I might add, one I have never related to anyone before."

  When the old priest lapsed into silence, Yuri nodded. "I agree. That was bizarre. What kind of vehicle did they bring the casket in?"

  "Something like a military truck. It had canvas over the back. The officers were riding in a long, black Chaika limousine."

  The two vehicles Vadim Trishin had reported seeing at Anatoli's compound. It was enough to convince Yuri that he was on the right track. He looked back at the old priest with an indulgent smile. "Wasn't dealing with the KGB major a bit like making accommodation with the devil?"

  Father Dedov stared over his glasses. "In your position, you must have been a Party man. Have you become a Christian since the fall of communism?"

  "No, sir. But my mother was a Christian. A very devout one."

  "Well, she could have told you that God promises forgiveness for those who repent. I have spent many prayerful hours asking forgiveness for what I did. The one redeeming factor was that I helped that poor soul receive a halfway decent burial."

  Yuri didn't have the heart to tell him that it had all been in vain. He drove back to the prosecutor's building and found Oleg Kovalenko in his office, a rather grim look on his face.

  "You can forget about interrogating that truck driver," he said.

  Yuri frowned. "What happened? An accident?"

  "No. Evidently he heard we were looking for him. The Port of Gdansk called the trucking company that employed him. It appears he abandoned his rig in a parking area at the port. They've been looking for him since yesterday. The company says it doesn't know why the truck would be parked there. He didn't have any cargo consigned to the port."