by L. Todd Wood
“Don't fight it,” a voice said, a voice he recognized.
Rafe fought to speak. “Where's my daughter?”
“She's safe as I told you.”
“I want to see her.”
“That's not possible. Not now. You've seen her once today; that's enough.”
Rafe slowly started to realize where he was and looked at his surroundings. He turned his head left and saw dozens of white, hooded figures chanting softly towards the altar. The sight frightened him. I’m going to die. Somehow the thought calmed him and he turned his head to the right. There on the stage stood the man from Barcelona. He was clothed in a black robe. To his side was another black-robed figure. It was the congressman and he held a long blade. Its steel sparkled in the dancing light of the torches. The American walked over to Rafe, smiling an evil expression. The other man from Barcelona, the European he had met on Red Square didn't move; he just looked at Rafe from his black covering.
“What do you want from me?” asked Rafe with anger in his voice.
“I want you to find something for me,” the dark man answered, again with an accent Rafe couldn't quite place.
“And we want you to join us,” the congressman added.
“And if I don't agree to do this?”
“Then you will die right now, along with your daughter.” The American came closer with the knife, his smile widening, happy at the thought of slicing open Rafe's gut, although he said nothing.
“What is it you want me to find?”
“You will have to figure that out for yourself.”
“That's ridiculous. How can I find it if I don't know what I am looking for?”
“You will know, eventually. You will understand at the right time. Now is not that time yet.”
“Where do I look for it? And why me?”
“That will come in time as well. Do we have an agreement?”
“I don't have a choice,” said Rafe. “Yes. Now when do I get to see my daughter as you promised?”
“Your daughter will be returned to you in due time, when you have completed what I ask.”
“Who are you and these people? Are you the visitors the priest spoke of? Why do you go to Kiev? Why to Moscow?” Rafe motioned with his face towards the robed figures, who were chanting quietly.
“You will come to know who I am and who we all are. And you will become one of us. In due time.”
“I will never become one of whatever you are!”
“We will see about that.”
It was then Rafe realized there was another altar next to him, at his feet. There was a bound animal on the stone table. The American raised the knife high above what looked like a goat thrashing in the night. The crowd's chanting became louder. The poor animal was wailing loudly, obviously terrified. Rafe glanced around again, there were other symbols painted on cloth banners, held up by pikes. Impaled on these pikes were the bodies of animals recently slain. Rafe tried to make sense of the symbols; but alas, his mind was still groggy from the effects of whatever drug they had given him. Someone put a cloth over Rafe’s face, and he tasted metal before he blacked out yet again.
Chapter Fifteen
Rafe opened his eyes but quickly closed them as the blinding sun crashed through his pupils. His head hurt, really bad. The sunlight wasn’t helping. The straps were gone and he tried to sit up. The pounding in his head was like a jackhammer, and his back ached. Slowly he rose from the stone altar in the amphitheater to the sound of birds chirping in the nearby forest. He tried to regain his composure. The grogginess withdrew from his mind, ever so faintly. I have to stop waking up in these strange places, he thought as he struggled to become completely lucid.
The conversation from the night before with the leader of the visitors came back to him in bits and pieces, like an amnesia victim. The piecemeal recollections hit him like a brick. Clare! Rafe was jerked back to reality when he thought of his daughter. He jumped off the altar and then surveyed the area around him. There was no trace of the sacrifice from the night before, not even a drop of blood on the ground. Any evidence had been wiped completely clean, like it had never happened. He was alone and felt it. The aching for his Clare was more pronounced, like a deep hunger pain that wouldn't be satisfied, coupled with nausea by the thought of her predicament.
What do I do now? Rafe tried to make sense of the previous night's conversation. He needed to find a lead, a way forward. He needed to make something happen. I think it's time I get smarter on my Roman and Russian history. I need to figure out what’s happening. He started walking back towards the exit to Moscow. The estate was deserted. With nowhere else to turn, Rafe pulled out his phone and called his MI-6 contact once again.
“Hello, it's me,” he said into the phone quietly, although he could see no one around him as he walked the long trek back to the entrance to the Tsaritsyno Estate. The gates would not open for several more hours.
“Where are you?” asked Neal.
“I'm leaving Tsaritsyno. Let's just say it has been a long night.”
“Really, I guess you will fill me in at some point. What can I do for you?”
“I need a resource. I'm not that connected here and I need to speak to someone. Someone very learned in Russian history. I’ve got to make some sense if I can with what is going on around me. There is a method to this madness. I just have to find out what it is! Can you do that for me? Somewhere discreet? I'm sure I'm being followed or watched somehow.”
“Sure I can do that.” Neal was silent for a moment as he thought about the situation. “Head to Gorky Park. There is a parkour arena there with seating around so people can watch. Have a seat and call me when you get there. I'll have someone meet you.”
“Thanks, Neal.”
“No problem. Also, whatever you are on to, believe me, it's big. There are people all over the country involved in the U.S. It's the same in the UK. People in very high places. It's alarming. It's been happening for quite some time, right under our noses. We appreciate your bringing this to our attention, and please keep me in the freaking loop, okay?”
“Well you should know what happened last night. They have me on a mission now. I just don't know what it is.” Rafe told Neal of the prior evening’s conversation while he lay prostrate on the altar.
“Interesting. Again, keep me informed. We are not as deep as far as resources as we were during the Cold War, but we do have people there. You will talk to one of them today. Take care.”
Rafe hung up the phone and found a place to wait near the gardens behind the estate residence. Two hours later, the huge gates to Tsaritsyno were opened and he exited, making his way to the metro.
Neal hit the red button on his cell phone and terminated the call. However, he did not replace the phone into the pocket of his sport coat, from where he had taken it when Rafe's call came through. Neal had another call to make. He typed the numbers and dialed.
“Yes?” a European male voice answered.
“I've sent him to Gorky Park as you requested. My guy is going to meet him there. I’ve told him what to say, how to lead him in the right direction. I’ve done what you asked me to do.”
“Thank you, Neal. You have done your job well as always since we concluded our little agreement. Your loyalty and efficiency will be rewarded in due time. Let me know please if he calls again.”
“I most certainly will. Do you have any other instructions for me?” Neal asked.
“No, just keep me in the loop if he calls you.”
“Done.” Neal ended the second call and pulled out a cigarette to light, in spite of the heat of the Mediterranean, which beat down on him from above, to try to quell his uneasiness. He needed to calm his nerves. I hate doing this to Rafe. I hope he's going to be okay. He really is a nice chap. But I really hate talking to this Spanish guy, whoever he is. He gives me the freaking creeps. Neal looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking. He felt cold.
Rafe left the metro station near Gorky Park after a f
orty-minute ride. He walked to the entrance, which was guarded by a large triumphal gate, reminiscent of Soviet days gone by. The face of Lenin stared down at him from above as he passed under the ornate structure and entered the plush park. Huge banners for IKEA also billowed down from overhead. Lenin and IKEA, interesting. Rafe smiled to himself. How things change.
Several years back, the Kremlin pressured one of the many extremely wealthy oligarchs in Moscow to pay for refurbishing the park, which was always a favorite destination for Muscovites. Today Park Gorkova, as it was called, was teeming with visitors. The sky was blue, the weather warm, the breeze cool, and it seemed no resident of Moscow was going to miss taking advantage of their new oasis in the city on this beautiful day. Gone was the drab landscaping and rusting benches. The area now boasted of restaurants, outdoor theaters, gardens, fountains, bike trails, and other amenities. It was an adult playground now as well as for children. The more crowded the better. I want to be invisible.
Rafe stopped at a metal sign that highlighted the attractions of the park and their location. He studied the map intently. The parkour arena was about a quarter mile down on the left, hidden behind a small lake, where one could row two-person rowboats, and a skateboard ramp. He could make out the grinding noise of the skateboard attraction as he approached and bypassed it for the area behind.
Parkour was an urban fad emanating from France and owing its origin to military obstacle course training. It consisted of jumping from site to site throughout an urban environment using a fluidity of movement and a certain grace, using momentum to propel themselves. There were about ten teenage boys and a few younger kids actively jumping, climbing, and rolling around a gauntlet of structures meant to mimic an urban area. Rafe sat down to watch the festivities. It was quite interesting to watch and he almost lost himself in the spectacle. Soon however, he gave Neal a call. His English handler informed him someone would be there within the hour. He casually kept an eye on the entrance to the arena for whomever may walk through to meet him. He didn't have to wait long.
A middle-aged, Slavic man dressed in business casual walked into the arena, acting as though he was just there to be amused by the parkour demonstration. A couple minutes later he purposely locked eyes with Rafe then turned and walked out of the arena. Rafe waited about a minute then stood and followed.
He left the arena just in time to see the man enter a small cafe overlooking the pond, where children were laughing while they furiously pedaled white paddleboats around the water. Ducks cautiously kept an eye on the humans and swam opposite their presence while looking for food in the water. On the opposite shore, a bocce tournament raged on the predesigned play area. Rafe casually walked towards the cafe. The tables were spread out under the edge of the forest and were mostly hidden in the shadows. The man had sat at a bistro table on the edge of the cafe's territory, set several meters into the trees and totally secluded.
Good, thought Rafe. He slowly walked to where the man sat and joined him in the opposite chair.
“Who are you?” Rafe asked.
“Call me Leo. I work at the State Historical Museum on Krasnaya Ploshchad, or Red Square. I've helped out my British friends from time to time. I was told you were yearning to discuss Russian history with someone knowledgeable. Am I correct?”
“Yes, you are right. I want to know about Ivan the Terrible.”
“Ah, the most influential tsar in all Russian history. Peter the Great is more famous, but Ivan Grozny left his mark upon Russian society and culture like no other. You see he established the concept of a guard to enforce the tsar's will and protect his power. They were a group of favored soldiers and called the oprichnina. You can still see the effects of this invention today in Russian society. The oligarchs cling to power by protecting the status quo, the powers to be, whether they be corrupt or not. And, they are definitely corrupt.”
“Why would someone want me to learn about him?”
“Strange question. Someone wants you to learn about him? Perhaps it is because he wanted to establish the third Holy Roman Empire?”
“Yes, I've thought of that. Tell me, in the end Ivan was responsible for ending the Rurik Dynasty, which eventually installed the Romanovs to power. Why did he kill his own grandson by beating his son's pregnant wife and then killing his only son who could have children, condemning the Russian empire to the rule of his incompetent brother?”
“Ivan had become quite corrupt and quite paranoid. He thought his loving wife, Anastasia, had been poisoned. Ivan was emotionally attached to her. He was never the same after her death. The regime was deep with corruption. That is what destroyed him. Did you know he engineered a campaign of terror against the nobility he perceived were conspiring against him? He used to fry them in giant skillets. It was the corruption that killed the Ruriks. Ivan was just a convenient vehicle to make it happen. That's all. Corruption is a constant in Russian history and still is today. It's in our DNA unfortunately.”
“So if Ivan's son Ivan, had been allowed to take the throne, Russian history could have turned out much differently.”
“Quite likely.”
“Tell me about the third Holy Roman Empire,” Rafe requested.
“After the fall of the second eastern holy empire in the fifteenth century, Russia saw herself as the natural heir to the title. The monks actively strove to have Russia take the imperial mantle. The concept was based on the Christian religion. After the Ottomans defeated Constantinople, Russia saw herself as the last stand of Christianity. But Ivan the Terrible's son was the end of the Rurik bloodline. Upon coming to power after a short struggle, the Romanovs over time strove to weaken the influence of the church. The rest is history.”
Leo leaned forward in his seat and looked Rafe in the eye. “Rafe,” Leo said softly, “You didn’t hear this from me, but I know what you are up against. It has been going on for centuries here. It is very dangerous. You don't know what you are dealing with. People have tried to fight it in the past. You need to be very careful. Heed my warning!”
“That’s not an option. They have my daughter.”
"Then I feel you are doomed. I don't know what to tell you. You can't win against these people. I shouldn't even be telling you this!"
The two of them sat silently for a moment, then Rafe spoke again. “How do I find out more?”
Leo looked around hesitantly. “If you want to know how it started, you need to talk to the Old Believers.” Leo suddenly looked very frightened, like a switch had been flicked in his brain. “I've said enough. I’ve said too much,” he stated tersely and got up from the table. The conversation was over.
He started walking back to the entrance to the park. Rafe followed some distance behind as they made their way through the myriad of gardened walkways, wondering where Leo was going and who he was going to talk to next. Soon Leo reached the gate. The metro station was across a six-lane thoroughfare in the middle of the city. Unlike in the West where there were overhead walkways, in Moscow, crosswalks were constructed across these roads, and it was an understatement to say the signage and safety of these crossings were not vivid enough. A pedestrian may make it across a couple lanes and then step out in front of a speeding vehicle to his death. If the visibility was low, the danger was even more acute as the driver usually had no idea the person was coming. It happened frequently, especially to old women.
Leo made it across four lanes before a large delivery truck slammed into him as he walked from the secluded view of a stopped car at the crosswalk, knocking him across the other two lanes. His body was thrown like a rag doll. Leo soon lay lifeless in the gutter. The truck never stopped.
Chapter Sixteen
Rafe stared in horror as Leo’s body was catapulted across the busy thoroughfare. Multiple cars heading the opposite direction could not stop, and Leo was pummeled under several automobiles as they repeatedly drove over his mutilated corpse. Many of the follow-on cars that hit him didn’t bother to stop. There was much more grief if one faced
the police for hitting a pedestrian; the risk of a hit and run charge was worth taking. Rafe looked into the eyes of the driver of the truck that first struck him as he fled the scene. The man stared directly at Rafe and then he was gone, his eyes were wide but filled with hatred. He meant to hit him. Am I next? thought Rafe to himself, and he blended back into the crowd of onlookers, frantically trying to get away from the scene. Someone called the emergency services, and the wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. I need to get out of here!
Why was he killed? Rafe asked himself. Because he told me to be careful? That I had no idea what I was dealing with? What was it he said? I need to talk to the Old Believers? This is getting crazier by the minute. Rafe keep walking and walking, with no specific destination in mind. He just wanted to get away.
He eventually found himself on the metro, just riding, going nowhere in particular. The doors opened and closed at station after station. No one paid attention to him. I’m safe here I think. He had to clear his head and make a plan. He had been one step behind in this whole episode or journey or whatever it was. He had to get ahead of things. He had to figure out a way to get a grip on what was happening to him and the people he loved. The train slowed to a stop and the doors opened once again. Rafe made a snap decision and decided to exit the subway, following the crowd to the passageway to the city. He looked at the sign upon exiting the fairly new metro station. He was at Preobrazhenskaya Ploshchad, or square. Upon climbing to the street level and walking out into the open, Rafe took in the area. He was in a nondescript but bustling area of the city. Large Soviet era apartment buildings surrounded him as he viewed the busy thoroughfare which split the group of buildings down the middle. To live here was a drab, dull existence, he thought to himself. The people here on the outskirts of Moscow were not fashionable and beautiful as they were in the center of the city, they were just ordinary. A bevy of workmen were hurriedly worked to remove the dirty effects of winter. They were cleaning the sidewalks, painting the small metal barriers that surrounded the landscaping beds, removing the dead plants, and injecting new bulbs into the ground. In a few months, Old Man Winter would destroy their efforts all over again.
