by L. Todd Wood
The whole concept of a Christian cathedral in Medieval Europe was to impress upon the peasantry the absolute supremacy of God. If God could create a majestic buildings such as these, how puny was mankind in his presence. No expense was spared by the leaders of church and state. The cathedrals across Europe were also sources of pride for the host city and evidence of their advanced civilization. They were meant to impress visitors from other cities as they arrived from other jurisdictions.
The Neo-Byzantine structure was constructed in the eighteen hundreds to commemorate the baptism of Kievan Rus’ by Volodymyr the Great nine hundred years earlier. Seven cupolas adorned the yellow and white brick structure. Although the architecture was striking from the outside, the inner beauty was overwhelming. Rafe entered the immense, cavernous hall of worship and was once again struck by the amazing art covering every inch of the interior. Gold leaf glittered from the ceilings, from the icons, and from the altars. Unbelievably artistic paintings, frescoes, and mosaics adorned the walls, and ornate religious symbols were perched for all to see. The massive columns reached for the heavens and held the roof aloft. Opulent designs dominated the curving interior roofline. The bright light streamed into the structure imposing strategically placed illumination.
The cathedral was built entirely by private contributions and almost destroyed by the Bolsheviks. The structure also narrowly escaped destruction during the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1920. For decades it was used as a museum of religion and atheism by the Soviets. However, during the latter twentieth century, it was one of the few places in the U.S.S.R. that one could visit a working church as the state loosened controls on religion. After the fall of the Soviet Union, the cathedral once again became a full-fledged liturgical site.
Rafe stood still inside the entrance and silently marveled at the beauty above and in front of him. He looked forward to the altar apse and saw the incredibly detailed painting of the Holy Mother of God by Vasnetsov. He saw the worshipers kissing the glass above the relics of saints which lay in their small coffins, sometimes portions of their skeletons exposed, the bones covered with a leathery remnant of skin, centuries old. Shortly, however, memory of his task returned and he focused again on his errand.
The thought of Cecilia sent a shiver of pain through his body. He again felt an agonizing sense of loss. Two of the most important people in his life had just vanished. The two girls he cared about on this earth were being held by some mysterious cult that he knew nothing about. All he could hope was that they were okay. He felt impotent. I have to do something and change this dynamic. I have to find a way to get an advantage, and that will require information. So now I will get it. Rafe continued into the cathedral and found a place to stand with the parishioners to pray. The man he had come to see soon appeared on the altar above and motioned for him to come forward. A short while later, after ensuring no one was watching him, Rafe left his position and piously strolled towards the altar at the rear of the cathedral where several analogla, or lecterns, were located near an iconostasion. He set his backpack on the floor and waited. Soon the bishop made his way toward him to hear his confession.
"Your Eminence, I come to confess my sins," Rafe said first in Ukrainian. All services in the cathedral were conducted in the native language.
"Tell me, my son," the bishop responded, and he read a prayer of absolution.
Rafe waited a few seconds after he finished then reached into his backpack and took out the icon. He slid it across the top of the lectern and kept it covered with a cloth. They were in an area of the cathedral where others did not have a good view of them, but he was taking no chances. There was a long silence after the bishop took the work of art and marveled silently at its beauty.
Finally he said, "Where did you get this?"
"Somewhere far away. Someone made sure I found it. I believe they wanted me to come here."
"Most certainly. When you called and said you wanted to meet, I had no idea you were bringing such a treasure. Do you know what this is?"
"I think it's a copy of an Orthodox icon, Your Eminence.”
"You may be correct. It may be a copy of the original. However, the copies were quite valuable themselves." There was a short pause. The bishop slid the icon, once again wrapped in the cloth, to Rafe, who returned it to his backpack. "What do you want from me?"
"I need help. Some people I care about have been kidnapped. For some reason, the kidnapper wants me here--wanted me to have this icon. I need to find out why. Whoever it is has my daughter."
There was another long pause, and Rafe could hear the bishop sigh. I will pray for you, my son. This icon most likely came from a small village near Volodymyr on the Polish border called Zymne. That is where the artist lived and worked for most of his life, centuries before. That is where you need to go. There is a monastery there, an ancient one. The painting is a rendering of Vladimir the Great’s wife, Anna, and was believed to be painted in the year 988. Anna was a Byzantine princess and the wedding was a big deal in the kingdom and tied together the fortunes of the two empires. She was the real force behind the conversion of Kievan Rus'. She would not marry Vladimir until he converted and then proceeded to ensure the entire Slavic kingdom was baptized. The icon is called “Our Lady” and is said to have miraculous powers of healing and protection. There are shells from WWII embedded in the walls of the monastery that she is said to have prevented from exploding. There is also a legend that the icon put out the sight of a Catholic man who occupied and destroyed much of the Orthodox symbology there in the early eighteenth century. Yes, you need to go to see the monks. They will know how to direct you further."
"Who should I speak to when I arrive?"
"I will give you my introduction and blessing. That will be enough. Stay here." The bishop left and walked behind a partition only meant for priests. Rafe didn't move. Fifteen minutes later, the bishop reappeared and walked slowly to the lectern. He slid an envelope sealed with his wax imprint to Rafe.
"Show them this. They will help you."
"Thank you," Rafe responded and got up to leave.
"One more thing," the bishop said. Rafe hesitated. "You must be very careful. This icon is worth more than you can imagine. The religious icon has a very special place in Ukrainian and Russian history. It took a lifetime to learn how to paint these masterpieces. In fact, these were said to just appear at magical times and were known to carry mystical powers. Most of the time, the paintings were given the name of the location they were made. The icons were tied to these places and people protected them. There were also many copies made of the most famous ones. People were killed or worse for these. Do you understand? For someone to give this to you, they are luring you to the monastery.”
“Yes, I understand, Your Eminence," Rafe replied.
“As I said, I will pray for you. Just be careful my son.”
Chapter Ten
Rafe left the cathedral and walked into the warm afternoon light as the sun started slowly heading towards the horizon. I guess I'm going to Zymne, he thought to himself. I wonder what's the best way to get there? I need to eat and figure out what to do.
Kiev was bustling all around him as he started back up the hill towards the Golden Gate. This part of the city had escaped the drab remnants of the Soviet existence. There were no dull high-rise apartments here, as there were with most of Kiev. This district looked like any other European capital.
He found a cafe a few streets over that he knew from experience was popular with the locals. Rafe enjoyed revisiting places in foreign cities that he had found enjoyable in the past, especially in Europe. The locals usually knew where to eat and get great food without spending a fortune. The late afternoon crowd was just starting to pick up, and he selected a table outside out of the way of the pedestrian crowd. He sat down and ordered a glass of wine and a menu from the young, Slavic waitress. Being out of the way of the crowd suited him just fine. He needed to relax and find his bearings. His head hurt from the blow he had taken ea
rlier. Luckily, it did not break the skin, but there was a swollen bulge on the back of his skull, which he touched lightly and winced. He needed to think and make a plan for the next couple days.
Clare is missing. Cecilia is now missing. He felt a wave of nausea as he thought of both of them. The situation was making him sick, the anxiety overwhelming. I guess I'll rent a car and drive out there. Probably will take me half a day, depending on the condition of the roads. I wish I had a weapon. I'll have to think about that. Rafe's phone rang. He picked it up and accepted the call.
"Hello?"
"Rafe, it's Neal."
"What have you got for me, Neal?"
"I've checked again with law enforcement in the States. There's been no more word of Clare. However, I have asked the FBI to get involved as a favor to us. I'll let you know of any updates."
"Thank you again, Neal, that means a lot."
"No problem, least we could do. And, there's something else."
"What now?"
"We've been searching travel records here in the UK, and we've picked up something quite extraordinary from our database provided by the airlines. It seems we've had other individuals making frequent trips to Kiev."
"And who might these people be and any idea why?"
'No, that's just it. They don't seem to be related to your hooded lady friend in any way. Except that they are fairly prominent in their fields. Some in media, but there are other professions as well, academics, et cetera.”
"That makes no sense."
"No, it doesn't. That's why we're going to keep working on this. You'll be my first call if anything more comes to light."
"Thanks, Neal. I've also got some bad news. Cecilia's been kidnapped. It was the man I saw in Barcelona, I'm sure of it. They took her from the train. I'm in Kiev now alone."
"Rafe, I'm really sorry. I'll put our people on this trail as well. What are your plans?"
"I've got some leads here myself. It seems the icon is associated with a monastery out in the countryside. I'm going to take a ride and see what I can find out. I have a feeling however that whoever wanted me to find that painting knows I'm coming. I sure would like to have something to protect myself with."
"Where are you currently?" Rafe told him. "Stay there. In one hour, go to the park several blocks over to the west and sit on a bench. Someone will sit next to you and leave you a present."
"Thanks, mate! I knew I could count on the Brits."
"No worries. Let me know what you find at the monastery. And take care of yourself. The good news is if someone wanted you dead, you would be already. Cheers." The phone went dead.
The waitress brought Rafe a glass of wine and a bowl of borscht per his request. The wine went down very easy and he started to relax. I've got to eat to take care of myself and sustain my energy. Even if I don't feel like eating. His plan started coming together. After finishing his meal, he paid the bill and left the cafe. A short stroll later, he found himself sitting on a bench in the park square, watching the girls walk by on the path through the center of the grassy area. He was soon joined by an older woman, who said nothing as she sat on the other end of the bench and began to read a newspaper. Ten minutes later, she folded the paper and set it down next to her. Saying nothing, she got up and left, disappearing into the crowd. After he was sure no one was watching, Rafe picked up the folded newspaper and walked in the direction of a hotel he was familiar with. He stuffed the newspaper into his backpack. It was heavy as something was inside.
Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the hotel located on the corner of a building several blocks away. It was a nondescript place that wouldn't draw attention to him, and no one would suspect him staying there. Usually Rafe stayed at the more luxurious tourist hotels while in Ukraine, but this was not a usual trip. The hotel had seen its better days. The lobby walls were covered in a cheap stone and the decor was something straight out of an American television set in the nineteen seventies. However, everything seemed functional and clean.
He ordered a rental car for the morning, checked in, and soon was in his room. He locked the door then put his backpack on the single bed and pulled out the folded newspaper and opened it. There he saw a 9mm Beretta handgun and three extra magazines full of ammunition. He stuffed the rounds into his sport coat pocket and put the pistol in the rear of his belt. Now I feel a little safer. Rafe grabbed his laptop and made his way down to the hotel bar, where there was WiFi. Now let's see what I can learn about Zymne.
He sat in the bar in the corner where no one could see what he was looking at on his screen. No one noticed him, except the waitress. She offered him a menu but he waved her off. Rafe just wanted to work for a bit and collect his thoughts. He felt sure he hadn't been followed to the hotel. His plan was coming together. Tomorrow he would show up at the monastery and see what he was supposed to see. At least he would be prepared.
The monastery was built by Vladimir the Great in honor of his chosen religion, Orthodox Christianity, and was perched on the top of Holy Mountain, overlooking the Luh River. He is said to have built two churches and a palace near Zymne, meaning wintry in Ukrainian. The village was located five kilometer south of Volodomyr, Ukraine. Initially several monks secluded themselves in the caves surrounding the area, and eventually a religious community developed. At some point fortifications were constructed but were not sufficient to keep out the eastern invaders who occupied and destroyed Kievan Rus' in the thirteenth century.
Why does someone want me to go there? What am I supposed to find? Is my daughter there? Is Cecilia there? Rafe ordered another drink. There was nothing more to be done tonight. He had to wait until the morning to proceed. A few hours later, Rafe went back to his room and crashed for the night, putting the pistol under his pillow. He slept intermittently, dreaming nightmares alternately of Clare and Cecilia.
The drive to the monastery the next morning was long and arduous. Most of the trip was spent on the main national highway which was somewhat well serviced. However, once he departed Volodomyr for the local direction to the site, the road turned to a potholed path more than a modern transportation route. The last few kilometers took longer than the first fifty. Rafe was tired when he arrived. He first drove into the nearby village of Zymne and booked another room in a small inn, perched on the hillside and surrounded by trees. It was a nice enough place. He would be assured of a good meal by the proprietors, he could tell. He looked forward to that on his return from his visit with the monks.
An hour later, he arrived at the monastery which was perched on the top of a large hill overlooking the river running below. Rafe marveled at the contrast of the golden domes with the deep green meadows surrounding the complex. Dark clouds were approaching from the north. There was a thunderstorm coming. Such a beautiful place, I'd like to come back here some day and explore, but under different conditions. The monastery had been fortified at one point and the massive red brick walls and guard towers were a pronounced addition to the religious architecture. He parked the car, and walked inside. He was met by an elderly priest.
"I wasn't expecting anyone quite at this hour," the priest said softly.
"Well, I came rather unexpectedly."
"Very well, follow me." Rafe decided to play along and did as he was told. He deferred showing the blessing from the bishop until it was needed.
The priest led him through the outer building and then through several passageways that seemed to go on forever, deep into the building. He seemed to know what Rafe was here for. At some point the priest stopped, turned and handed Rafe a long, thin candle and pointed to another lit candle mounted on a stand near a small door. "You'll need the light," the priest said. Rafe dipped the tip of the small candle into the flame. The wick sparked a small glow and the flame slowly grew. Then the priest lit a candle as well and motioned for Rafe to follow him into the ensuing corridor. The priest opened the small iron door, revealing a low passageway, and slowly started down the darkened steps. Rafe followed. He immediately rea
lized they were descending into the mountain. Soon they were walking through a tunnel that was carved into the rock. The air grew colder. The walls had been smoothed over the centuries and whitewashed. We're in the catacombs, Rafe thought to himself. Soon he passed the miniature coffin of a monk which lay on a small shelf carved into the rock on the side of the tunnel. Then another. Eventually they passed close to fifty caskets. Amazing how small these people were a thousand years ago, Rafe thought to himself. It's an eerie feeling being down here among all these bodies, even if they are hundreds of years old.
Centuries ago, the monks would commit themselves to a life of reclusion. Some would even seal themselves in a small cave in order to commit totally to worshiping God. Food and water was placed in front of a small opening every day. If the servants noticed the food was uneaten, they assumed the monk was dead. They would then seal the tomb completely for three years. At the end of that time, they would check if the body had deteriorated. If not, they would consider the monk a saint and prepare the body for burial in the catacombs. If the body did deteriorate, the monk was obviously a sinner and the skeleton would be scattered among the caves. Since Rafe had been raised an Orthodox Christian, he turned and kissed one of the caskets as he walked by, saying a small prayer for the dead. The priest acknowledged his act with a look of surprise in his eyes. Rafe was not what he thought him to be.
Eventually Rafe and the priest stopped in front of an opening to a cavern naturally eroded into the earth. The priest turned and said," I haven't seen you here before. But, you should be able to let yourself out. If you need anything, please ring the bell on the wall." He pointed to a long tapestry cord hanging in the corner. Attached to a bell. He turned to leave.
"Wait," said Rafe. "Have there been others here before me?"
