Lieutenant Colonel Naylor knew what former Lieutenant Colonel Svetlana Alekseeva looked like. Sweaty — her Christian name had quickly morphed into this once she became associated with Lieutenant Colonel Castillo and his associates — was a striking redheaded beauty given to colorful clothing that did the opposite of concealing the lithe curvature and other attractive aspects of her body.
Today, the women’s hair, which usually hung below their shoulders, was drawn tightly against their skulls and into buns. They wore no detectable makeup, not even lipstick.
“Hey, Sweaty, where’s your otxokee mecto nanara?” Vic D’Alessandro asked, as he kissed her cheek.
She waited until he had exchanged kisses with Laura, Sophie, and Anna before saying, “You will find out soon enough, if, when you get in the dining room, you — any of you — do or say anything at all that offends His Eminence the Archbishop or His Grace the Archimandrite in any way.”
“Not a problem, Sweaty. Liam Duffy told us about the archbishop and Mandrake the Magician. So we will just stay away from them until Charley’s free.”
“Archimandrite, you idiot!” she flared. “He’s the next thing to a bishop. A holy man.”
“As I was saying, Sweaty, where can we hide until these holy men are finished with Charley, or vice versa?”
“If the archbishop did not wish to talk to you, you wouldn’t be here,” she again flared. “Or Janos and I would have greeted you with swinging otxokee mecto nanaras when you tried to get off your airplane.”
“What do these fellows want to talk to us about?” Torine asked.
“Not ‘these fellows,’ Jake,” Sweaty said. “I expected better from you. They are an archbishop and an archimandrite and deserve your respect.”
“Jake,” Anna said, “His Grace and the archimandrite are here in connection with Charley and Svetlana’s marriage problem. This is serious.”
“Okay,” Torine said.
“Now, when Janos takes you into the dining room, what you do is bow and reach down and touch the floor with your right hand…”
Sweaty demonstrated.
“… then you place your right hand over your left hand, palms upward…”
Sweaty demonstrated this.
“… then you say, ‘Bless, Your Eminence.’ In Russian.”
“I don’t speak Russian,” Naylor said.
“Repeat after me. , ,” Sweaty ordered.
“, ,” Naylor repeated.
“Again,” Sweaty ordered.
“, ,” Naylor said again.
“Now you know how to say ‘Bless, Your Eminence’ in Russian,” Sweaty said. “When you say it in the dining room, the archbishop will reply, ‘May the Lord bless you,’ and make the Sign of the Cross, and place his right hand on your hands. Then you kiss his hand. That’s it, unless His Eminence decides to introduce you to the archimandrite. If he does, then you go through the routine for him.”
“Got it,” Naylor said.
“You better have it. If you fuc— don’t get it right and His Eminence or His Grace is offended, I’ll chop you into small pieces with my otxokee mecto nanara.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can opt out of this charming ritual?” Dick Miller asked.
“Not and live, there isn’t,” Sweaty said. Then she ordered, “Janos, take them to His Eminence.”
Janos opened the door to the dining room and announced, in Russian, “Your Eminence, Your Grace, the Americans are here.”
“Please ask them to come in,” a voice replied in Russian.
Janos signaled for the Americans and Liam Duffy to enter the dining room.
There were six men in the room, all dressed in black. One of them was Aleksandr Pevsner, a tall, dark-haired man who appeared to be in his late thirties; his eyes were large, and blue, and extraordinarily bright. Another was Lieutenant Colonel Carlos G. Castillo, who was a shade over six feet tall, weighed 190 pounds, and also was in his late thirties. The third was Tom Barlow, who looked so much like Castillo they could pass for brothers. The fourth was Nicolai Tarasov, a forty-odd-year-old short, stocky, and bald Russian. His mother and Aleksandr Pevsner’s mother were sisters. These four wore dark blue, nearly black, single-breasted suits, white shirts, and red-striped neckties. They were all cleanly shaven and looked (at least everyone but bald cousin Nicolai did) to be freshly barbered.
The fifth and sixth men in the room looked as if they hadn’t been close to a barber in a decade or more. Their black beards dropped down over their chests. They, too, were dressed in black, but it was not a single-breasted business suit.
The material of the archimandrite’s garment, the hem of which nearly touched the floor, was velvet, heavily embroidered with white-gold thread. Near the bottom were two representations of winged cherubs surrounded by a leafless tree, also embroidered in gold or white-gold, or maybe platinum, thread.
Draped over his shoulders was a foot-wide — for lack of a better term — black velvet shawl with a white-gold fringe at its ends. Running all the way around it was a white-gold-embroidered border an inch and a half wide into which had been sewn at six-inch intervals gemstones, most of which seemed to be emeralds. The shawl also had representations of cherubs, various versions of the Holy Cross, and some other decorative features. A large golden crucifix hung from a golden chain around his neck, and on his head was a foot-tall white-silk-covered headdress with a tail — like that of French Foreign Legionaires in the desert, D’Alessandro thought — reaching down past his shoulders.
The archbishop was similarly attired, except that he had even more white-gold embroidery and a larger golden crucifix.
Taking a chance that the latter might be His Eminence Archbishop Valentin, Vic D’Alessandro dropped to his knees, touched the floor, put his right hand over his left hand, palms upward, and said, “, .”
“May God bless you, my son,” His Grace the archbishop said, in American English.
When Archimandrite Boris saw the surprised look on Vic’s face, and as he waited for Torine, Miller, and Naylor to play their parts in the ritual as Sweaty had taught them to do, he smiled and said, “Both His Eminence and I were born and raised in Chicago.”
PART III
[ONE]
La Casa en el Bosque
San Carlos de Bariloche
Río Negro Province, Argentina
0115 6 June 2007
Colonel Jacob Torine was accustomed to being around very senior people, some of whom had worn exotic clothing — among other assignments, he had served as the senior aircraft commander of Air Force One — so while he was impressed with Archbishop Valentin, he wasn’t dazzled.
As soon as the introductions had been made, he said, “It is very gracious of Your Eminence to hold dinner for us.”
“Not at all,” the archbishop replied. “While we were waiting, we’ve been at these magnificent hors d’oeuvres and heeding the advice of Saint Timothy, who admonished us, you may recall…”
“‘Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake,’” Torine picked up. “In the King James Bible, First Timothy, chapter five, verse twenty-three. One of my favorite bits of Holy Scripture.”
“That would suggest you’re a Christian, Colonel,” Archbishop Valentin said, “which is one of the questions I planned to pose.”
“I think I am, Your Grace,” Torine replied. “My wife is not so sure. Which brings us, of course, to the First Epistle to the Corinthians….”
“‘Let Your Women Keep Silent,’” the Archbishop quoted, chuckling. “On the basis of your knowledge of Holy Scripture, Colonel, I will regard you as a Christian. I’ll get to the other gentlemen in a moment, but right now, why don’t we all have a glass of the very excellent Saint Felicien Cabernet Sauvignon that Aleksandr has so graciously provided.”
He raised his hand and a man in a starched white jacket appeared with a tray holding bottles of wine and glasses.
When the wine had been poured, Archimandrite Boris raised his glass.
“I would like to thank you all for coming here to help His Eminence and myself, even understanding that wasn’t your primary purpose in coming.”
When there was no response to that, the archimandrite went on: “Will someone tell us what that primary purpose is?”
When there was no response to that, the archimandrite nodded toward Naylor.
“Perhaps you would be willing, my son, to do so.”
Naylor opened his mouth. But before a word came out, the archimandrite asked, “Are you a Christian, my son?”
“When I was a kid, I was confirmed — Colonel Castillo and I were — in the Evangelische Church in Germany. Saint Johan’s, in Hersfeld. And then I became an Episcopalian when I was at West Point. My parents are Episcopalian.”
“That’s very interesting, but my question was ‘Are you a Christian?’”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what is it that brings you here, that so infuriates Mrs. Alekseeva?”
Naylor looked at Castillo, obviously asking for his permission to answer. Castillo nodded.
“I am to relay to Colonel Castillo the request of the President of the United States that he enter upon extended hazardous active duty in connection with the Mexican drug and Somali pirates problems.”
“And why would you say this so infuriates Mrs. Alekseeva?”
Naylor again wordlessly asked for — and got — Castillo’s permission to reply.
“Probably because the last time Colonel Castillo worked for the President, the President tried very hard to kidnap Colonel Castillo — and Mrs. Alekseeva and her brother — with the intention to load them on a plane and ship them off to the SVR in Russia.”
“So they’ve told me. So why are you in effect doing so?”
“Obeying orders, Your Grace.”
“Obeying orders from whom?”
“My father.”
“Heeding the scriptural admonition to ‘Honor thy father and mother…’ et cetera?”
“It’s more that my father is a general and I’m a lieutenant colonel, Your Grace.”
“And do you think the President will again try to turn Colonel Castillo over to the kind ministrations of the SVR?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, Your Grace.”
Castillo snorted.
The archimandrite asked, “Yet you’re here to tell him what President Clendennen wants him to do?”
“And to tell him I think he’d be a damned fool to do it.”
The archbishop joined in: “Your father is aware of what might happen to Colonel Castillo if Colonel Castillo accedes to President Clendennen’s request?”
“Yes, Your Eminence, he is.”
“Then why…?”
“Because he’s a soldier, sir. Soldiers do what they are ordered to do.”
“Soldiers, I would suggest,” the archbishop said, “like priests, are expected to do what they have been ordered to do. Sometimes, a priest — and, I would suggest, a soldier — gets an order he knows it would be wrong to execute.”
“Yes, sir. That’s true, Your Eminence.”
“Posing for him the problem of doing what he’s ordered to do knowing it’s wrong, or disobeying the order, while knowing disobedience is wrong.”
“Then, Your Eminence,” Naylor said, “he must decide which is the greater evil: disobedience, or complying with an order he knows is wrong.”
“Or choosing the middle path,” the archbishop said. “Which apparently you have done. Complying with your orders, but making it clear that Colonel Castillo would be a ‘damned fool’ for doing what your father and the President want him to do.”
“Sorry about the language, Your Eminence,” Naylor said.
“That wasn’t blasphemy, my son, simply colorful language spoken in the company of men. But, while fascinating as this conversation is, I think we should turn to why the archimandrite and I are here, and your role in that. That is, I’m afraid, going to take some time.”
“We are at your pleasure, Your Eminence,” Jake Torine said.
“My pleasure was the exchange between Colonel Naylor and myself. This is duty, and as we just discussed, duty sometimes — perhaps even often — is not a matter of pleasure.
“And so I am here to deal with a matter between Patriarch Alexius the Second and myself. Do any of you know who His Beatitude is?”
“Isn’t he sort of the Pope of the Russian Orthodox Church, Your Eminence?” Torine asked.
“His Beatitude is the Patriarch of Moscow and all Russia,” the archbishop said. “A position analogous to the Roman Catholic Pope. But having told you that, I suspect that you don’t know much more than you did previously.
“Let me ask this question, then, of all of you. How much Russian history do you know? Specifically, how much do you know about the Oprichnina?”
“Not much about either, Your Eminence,” Torine confessed.
The others shook their heads, joining in the confession of ignorance.
“Sweaty… Svetlana has told me about the Oprichnina, Your Eminence,” Castillo said.
“In addition to his other duties, the archimandrite is in charge of our seminaries,” the archbishop said. “In that function he has reluctantly become far more of an academic than I am. Boris, could you give our friends a quick history lesson — Oprichnina 101, so to speak?”
“If that is your desire, Your Eminence,” the archimandrite said. He took a long moment to collect his thoughts, and then began.
“I suppose I should begin with Ivan the Fourth, sometimes known as ‘Ivan the Terrible.’”
Both Castillo and Naylor had first heard of Ivan the Terrible when they were eleven and students at Saint Johan’s School in Bad Hersfeld. He had stuck in their memory because they had learned he had amused himself by throwing dogs and men off the Kremlin’s walls because he liked to watch them crawl around on broken legs.
“Ivan the Terrible — Ivan the Fourth — was born in 1530,” the archimandrite went on. “There was then no Czar. Most of the power was in the hands of the Grand Duke of Muscovy, Ivan’s father, Vasily the Third. His power came from the private armies of the nobility, the boyars, who placed them at Vasily the Third’s service, providing they approved of what he was doing.
“Vasily the Third died in 1533, when Ivan was three years old. The boy became the Grand Duke of Muscovy. The boyars ‘advised,’ through a series of committees, the Grand Duke what Grand Ducal decrees he should issue.
“As soon as he reached puberty, and very probably before, the boyars began to abuse Ivan sexually, more to remind him how powerful they were than for pleasure, although at least some of them enjoyed what they were doing.
“In the belief that he was firmly in their control, they allowed him to assume power in his own right — in other words, without the advice of the committees — in 1544, when he was fourteen.
“During the next three years, Ivan developed a close relationship with the church, specifically with Philip the Second, Metropolitan of Moscow. The Metropolitan discovered Holy Scripture that suggested God wanted Ivan to be Czar, and in January 1547, the Metropolitan presided over the coronation of Czar Ivan the Fourth. Ivan was then seventeen years old.
“Ivan, who had figured out that if he had the church on his side, he would also have the support of the peasants and serfs, who were very religious, then began to favor the boyars he felt sure he could control, and undercutting the power of the others.
“Phrased less kindly, as soon as he became Czar, he began feeding those boyars who questioned his divine right to rule to pits of starving dogs. Then he seized their property and divided it between himself, the church, and the boyars, who did think he had God on his side. It is important to remember here that boyar property included the serfs who lived on the land, and that the various private armies involved were made up of serf conscripts.
“The church — Philip the Second, it must be admitted — was involved in this un-holy scheme of things up to his ears. In payment for telling th
e faithful that Ivan was standing at the right hand of God, and making the point that challenging Ivan was tantamount to challenging God, the church grew wealthy.
“Ivan also began to form an officer corps from the merchant class. Their loyalty was to him personally, and he bought it by paying them generously. What had been two or three dozen private armies under the control of that many boyars became one army answering only to Ivan.
“This went on for about eighteen years, until 1565, when he decided he had arranged things as well as he could. Then he went into action. First, he moved his family out of Moscow to one of his country estates. When he was sure that he and they were safe in the hands of his officer corps, he wrote a letter to Metropolitan Philip the Second. The Czar said he was going to abdicate and, to that end, had already moved out of Moscow. He posted copies of the letter on walls and, importantly, in every church.
“The people, the letter said, could now run Russia to suit themselves, starting by picking a new Czar, to whom they could look for protection. This upset everybody. The people didn’t want a new Czar who was not chosen by God. The boyars knew that picking one of their own to be the new Czar was going to result in a bloodbath. The officer corps knew that the privileges they had been granted were almost certainly not to be continued under a new Czar, and that the boyars would want their serfs back.
“The Czar was begged not to abdicate, to come home to Moscow. After letting them worry for a while, during which time they had a preview of what life without Czar Ivan would be like, he announced his terms for not abdicating.
“There would be something new in Russian, the Oprichnina—‘Separate Estate’—which would consist of one thousand households, some of the highest nobility of the boyars, some of lower-ranking boyars, some of senior military officers, a few of members of the merchant class, and even a few families of extraordinarily successful peasants.
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