by L. Todd Wood
Rafe was stumped. And he was really getting sick to death about his daughter. The image of the man plunging the knife downwards toward Cecilia tormented him. He tried not to think of her and kept looking through book after book until his eyes were red and stinging with pain.
After another hour with no success, Rafe slammed his current book shut to the annoyance of several nearby library patrons. They looked at him with angry faces. He was not following the rules, and in former Soviet republics, the rules were paramount. He was getting nowhere. Why am I on this wild goose chase? Where the hell is my daughter? I don’t have time to keep looking at books! Rafe stood up to stretch his legs and walked to the library exit and into the late afternoon sun. The library would be closing soon. He pulled out his phone and called Neal to ask if there was any news about Clare. There was nothing additional Neal could report. Rafe was at a dead end and in danger of losing his daughter. Then he had an idea. He took his phone back out and dialed the number of a Ukrainian friend from years ago who now taught at KNU, or the National University of Kiev.
After the phone call, Rafe was on his way. Since the library and the university were fairly close together in Kiev, Rafe and his friend Maxim had agreed to meet at a restaurant for dinner that was located approximately equidistant between them. The place was a Georgian establishment which served a style of food that Rafe loved. The Georgian cuisine developed over time as the trade routes between East and West crossed the Georgian territory in central Asia for centuries. The food was a blend of many cultures and tended to be spicy and exotic. The style of food permeated all the countries of the former Soviet Union, as Stalin himself was a Georgian and encouraged the cuisine to be prepared wherever he traveled within the Soviet republics.
Rafe entered the establishment after driving the short distance required. The mild smoke from the hookah pipes hit him in the face as he walked in. Smoking the hookah or kalyan had made its way up to the Ukraine from the Levant over the centuries. It was the custom of smoking a device that forced the smoke through water before being inhaled. Westerners would know it as a form of a bong. A myriad of tobacco flavors were available, and the practice was quite fashionable during a long meal with friends. Georgian meals tended to be long. Every table was adorned with colorful, ornate pipes set to one side.
Rafe and Maxim enjoyed a nice meal complete with wine and enjoyed catching up with each other and discussing the current events in Ukraine. This had been Rafe’s task in the past to stay up to speed on the happening in Kiev, so Maxim expected the same at this meeting. After some time, Rafe changed the direction of the conversation.
“I need your help, my friend.”
Maxim said nothing for a moment and then replied. “Tell me what you need and it will be done.”
Rafe reached into his pocket, pulled out the coin, and handed it to him. Maxim’s eyes widened as he visualized the imprints on the silver.
“Where did you get this?” he said excitedly.
Maxim had built his reputation at the university as being an expert in Ukrainian, Russian, and general Slavic history. That is why Rafe had cultivated a friendship with him over the years while working to provide Neal information on what was happening in Ukraine.
“It’s not important where I got it. What I need to know is what it represents. I need to know anything you know about this coin. It’s a long story, but my daughter’s life depends on it.”
“Your daughter’s life? I don’t understand.”
“And you won’t understand. I just need to comprehend completely everything you know about the period and what this could represent. What it could be telling me.”
Maxim thought for a few moments and then began speaking. “Ivan the Terrible had these struck in the mid sixteenth century. After Russia captured Kazan, he commissioned a cathedral to be built near the Kremlin in Moscow to commemorate the event. The cathedral consisted of a central church surrounded by eight smaller churches. There were one hundred coins struck to celebrate the cathedral being finished. See the central cross surrounded by the smaller images? These represent the central and surrounding churches of the cathedral. It is said that Ivan thought the structure was so beautiful that he had the eyes put out of the architect to prevent anything so beautiful from being built again. Although, that probably is not true but we will never know.”
“You mean this coin was struck to commemorate the completion of St. Basil’s Cathedral on Red Square?”
“Yes. And there are only a couple known to be in existence, and they are in museums. Where did you get this again?”
“Like I said, that’s not important. I appreciate your expertise. This has been very helpful.”
“This belongs in a museum.”
“Once I find my daughter, I give you my word, I will put it in the museum of your choice.” Rafe and Maxim finished their meal, parted, and Rafe was once again on his own in Kiev.
Rafe again sat alone in a bar in Kiev, surfing the net on his laptop and trying to make sense of his whole situation. Why does someone want me to go to Moscow? The questions were too numerous to make sense of anything. I guess I have to go. Luckily my visa is still valid. Whatever rollercoaster ride I’m on, I hope I get off soon.
He pulled up information on St. Basil’s Basilica. The onion-domed church was a historical symbol of Russia and Moscow in particular. The architecture was unique among Russian work and was not replicated anywhere else during the tsar’s reign. The multiple domes were meant to portray a flame flickering towards the heavens. Rafe had visited the structure, now a state museum since being secularized almost a century before by the Soviets, years before on a trip to the Russian capital. He tried to remember the layout, but the details were fuzzy in his mind. He studied the web page which described the cathedral in depth. What is the relation to me? Nothing was clear.
Rafe ordered another drink and tried to reorient his thinking. Maybe I am thinking about this the wrong way? How is all of this connected? Ancient Rome, Mythraism, Kiev, the Monastery, Vladimir the Great, Ivan the Terrible, now Moscow? And the rituals? Clare’s disappearance? Cecilia’s death? The thought of Cecilia being gone chilled his soul and he felt a numbness from his body's natural reaction to the psychological pain.
Rafe was tired and the alcohol was clouding his thinking. He couldn’t put the pieces together. Nothing made sense. Someone is taking me on a tour through history. But what history? What is the significance? Rafe went over his words again in his mind.
Suddenly he sat upright in his chair and started typing on his electronic notepad while the thoughts were clear in his mind. All of these things are connected! When western Rome fell, all that was left was the Byzantine Orthodox Christian Empire. When they were overrun by the Ottomans, Vladimir the Great had turned Kievan Rus' into a Christian kingdom. Kiev was also overrun by the Mongolian hordes and destroyed! Then Moscow attempted to become the Third Holy Roman Empire, taking the mantle from the kingdom of Kievan Rus.’ Ivan the Terrible tried to make this happen! Is that the connection? The fortunes of these great civilizations? Suddenly Rafe had energy. He redoubled his efforts to study the layout of St. Basil’s Cathedral. The answer is here somewhere! I can feel it! I’m coming Clare! Daddy’s coming! Hold on my love, I’m getting closer!
Rafe poured over the diagrams of the cathedral. There had been many changes and additions over the centuries. There were countless nooks and crannies as the nine different churches were designed to all fit together. There was a crypt located below the entire structure with secret entrances. A tenth church was added after Ivan’s death and was built upon the grave of the famous St. Vasily; hence the cathedral’s name was changed in his honor. There were thousands of places inside the structure where clues could lie. Rafe decided he could not figure out the answer by looking at the cathedral online. I have to go there. I have to go to Moscow.
Chapter Thirteen
The Aeroflot jet descended towards Sheremetyevo Airport in Moscow, the capital of the Russian Federation. The fl
ight had been a pleasant one, the Russian female flight attendants taking good care of him. Aeroflot had changed dramatically since the Soviet days, now flying state of the art aircraft and staffed with professional crews schooled in customer service. However, Rafe missed having Cecilia next to him, and the loss was unbearable. I’m going to make whoever did this to her pay! he thought murderously to himself. The flight had been delayed on the runway for some time due to unknown reasons, but the delay had given Rafe a lot of time to think. He had tried to draw out a diagram of everything he knew was going on and put the pieces together. Luckily the flight was not full, and he could spread out with his hastily jotted notes on the seat next to him. He was no closer to enlightenment, but he could feel the answer somewhere in the back of his brain. It just wasn’t part of his consciousness yet. The thought of this was maddening all the same. It was like waking from a vivid dream and trying in vain to remember what his mind had told him while asleep.
The monk’s comments about the visitors kept creeping back into his mind. Who are these people? Why did they want to come to a monastery in Ukraine? How can I find out more about them? Do they have Clare? He was being swept up by something that had been going on for a thousand years. Or longer? But why me? The questions kept coming that he couldn’t answer. Are they in Moscow as well? I guess I’m going to find out one way or the other.
Upon landing, the plane taxied for a long time. Eventually Rafe looked out the portal near his seat to find out what was going on. They had parked at the Aeroflot terminal, which was currently not being used and located across the airfield. There had been some type of fire on one of the parked commercial airliners. The top of the plane was burnt and fire trucks and crews were all around it. This was the reason for the delay. Soon, his aircraft was parked and then began to exit onto the tarmac. Buses were waiting to take them to the main Aeroflot concourse. A long drive and forty-five minutes later, Rafe was waiting at immigration for entrance into Russia.
He processed through customs and immigration quickly, as his bag was spit out immediately on the baggage claim conveyer belt. He had taken a chance and he felt the outside pocket of his sutcase. His pistol stock was safely inside. The remaining pieces were spread throughout the bag.
The first thing he noticed about Russia was the plethora of young, beautiful women in high heels strutting around the different boutiques. Rafe resisted the urge to have a coffee and people watch at one of the many small cafes sprinkled among the high-end retail shops dominating the airport interior. Multiple stores with a myriad of matryoshkas of all shapes and sizes on display were also prevalent. The nesting dolls were an old Russian village craft which was said to represent the generations of mothers in Russia, taking care of their young and passing on the ancient traditions of the Motherland.
Instead, Rafe bought a ticket at the kiosk and boarded the Aeroexpress train into the city from Sheremetyevo. Soon he was staring out the window of the train. Forests of white birch trees lined the sides of the railway tracks as he endured the forty-five minute ride. The cabins of the train were spacious and modern and filled with travelers. Rafe understood most of the Russian language being spoken, as it was similar to Ukrainian. His Russian was somewhat out of practice. The passengers left him alone. I must look like I fit in. He closed his eyes to rest as the train rolled on, rocking him back and forth.
The cabin was equipped with a thin-screen television mounted over the entrance to the car. The channel was tuned to some kind of state media, and Rafe did his best to ignore the talking heads as he tried to sleep away the ride. It was then that he had a flash of insight. Rafe opened his eyes and stared at the screen. Some type of business investment show was airing. The face I saw before at the underground ritual. I remember it now. He’s a former politician. Now he is some type of political operative. A talking head on the Sunday shows. Yes, I remember him now. But how does he connect to the woman I saw before? Rafe was no closer to an answer. Fully awake now, he pulled out his phone and called Neal.
“Yes?” Neal answered.
“Have you found any more information on people from the UK traveling to Ukraine, specifically Kiev?”
“No, not from the UK. But we have done similar runs with our friends across the pond. And yes, there are many. All very high-profile people. Why?”
“Because I’ve seen one of them.” Rafe recounted the incident at the monastery to Neal including his assumption that Cecilia was dead. He also mentioned his discovery regarding the coin the priest had given him. Did the priest really find it next to me or was he instructed to give it to me? “I again recognized one of the participants. His name is Roger Badson. He’s all over the Sunday talk shows talking about domestic policy. I think he was in a previous administration in the U.S. as an undersecretary or something. I never really listened to him, so I’m not positive on his background. Check him out for me, okay? He’s in up to his eyeballs in whatever is going on, and I want to know what he knows.”
“Got it, will do. I’m sorry about Cecilia, Rafe, but let’s concentrate on finding your daughter,” replied Neal. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Moscow. I’m going to find out what the hell is going on no matter where it takes me. Someone wants me here. St. Basil’s Basilica is next on my must-see list.”
“Be careful. Call if you need help.”
“Will do, thanks.” Rafe hung up the phone.
No longer able to sleep, Rafe soon arrived at Belorusskaya metro station in Moscow. The station was on the outer ring of the subway and was packed. He had difficulty getting to the other line on the perpendicular track. Finally, he changed trains and took the line into the center of the city. The passengers on the subway were more finely dressed than in Kiev and carried themselves in a different manner. There was much more wealth in Moscow. The people emanated a more obvious self-confidence. The confidence of a people used to ruling others.
He emerging into the terrazzo area outside the Kremlin near Red Square thirty minutes later. The area was full of tourists and groups of Russian schoolchildren taking tours of Russian history. Laughter and the excitement of being let out of school filled the air. The center of Moscow gave a visitor a feeling of power, which was the original architect's intention. The massive, deep red walls of the Kremlin, which means fortress in Russian, stood menacingly, surrounding the interior where the heart of the Russian government was located.
The site where the Kremlin stood, overlooking the Moscow River, was initially inhabited at the end of the first millennium by Slavic tribes using the river for trade. As the seat of Slavic civilization moved north to Moscow after the Mongol invasions, slowly a fortress city took shape on the historical trading route. In the fifteenth century, Italian master craftsmen, fresh from the Renaissance, were hired to build the Kremlin walls that exist today. The Italian style of design can be seen in the architectural flourishes that adorn the towers.
The interior of the citadel initially held multiple cathedrals, palaces, and churches and had changed drastically over the centuries as each successive government made its mark on the area. Many of the structures had been demolished and others rebuilt. Invaders such as Napoleon also destroyed many of the relics. Stalin and the Soviets tore down many buildings as well. Currently, the Russian government was slowly restoring what remained to its former glory. The residence of the Russian president was also located inside the Kremlin walls, curiously accessible to the wandering tourist.
Rafe made his way from the metro towards Alexander Garden on the west side of the citadel. He passed the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, a reminder of the Great Patriotic War, the Russian name for World War II. After almost being defeated by Hitler, the Soviets repelled the Nazi invasion of Moscow early on in the war in a cataclysmic battle and pushed the Germans back towards Eastern Europe. They lost twenty million men to the Axis powers during the war, a scale of loss that most Westerners can't comprehend. The victory was a great source of pride for the Russian people.
Rafe crossed the gar
den to the ticket office for entrance to the Kremlin. After paying the fee, he crossed through Kutafya Tower, a medieval outer defense perimeter, and walked the causeway towards the open gates of the Trinity Tower and soon was crossing the cobblestone road near the president’s residence. However, Rafe did not notice his surroundings; his eyes were focused across the Cathedral Square, towards a single golden-domed structure on the eastern corner of the area. He was headed towards the Archangel Cathedral. There was something located inside he wanted to see.
Rafe passed the Tsar Bell and Tsar Cannon and found himself staring up at a single golden onion dome surrounded by three blue, circular, smaller domes. The cathedral was made of white stone and had many frescoes adorning the sides of the structure, mainly ordered by Ivan the Terrible in 1564. He walked to the southwestern wall of the building and entered through the main entrance. The first things he saw were the icons, hundreds of them, large and small, decorating the interior walls of the cathedral and filling the air with glittering gold masterpieces. Then he saw the tombs, which lined the floor of the cathedral near the columns; for the Archangel Cathedral was the royal necropolis. More than fifty members of the royal dynasty were buried here. The bodies were entombed under the floor beneath white stone grave monuments covered with polished brass. Rafe looked skyward inside the structure and saw the walls and columns were decorated with elaborate murals depicting religious scenes and ancient Russian saints, their lives playing out across the ages through art. However, Rafe was not here to look at icons or graves of unremarkable tsars. He moved through the crowd towards the eastern corner of the church where a special vault was located on the altar. There were three graves. Rafe patiently waited his turn to look, as this was the most popular part of the cathedral, and there was a small line. Rafe finally arrived in front of the vault a few minutes later. There he saw three graves with ornate, polished-stone monuments above. There lay Ivan the Terrible and his two sons, Ivan and Feodor.