The Thieves of Faith (30 page)

“I don’t really get the warm and fuzzies anymore with that guy,” Busch said.

“Really? I thought you liked him. You seem alike.” Michael smiled.

“Thanks.”

Susan walked in the room and flopped down on the couch. “Where was he going?”

“Shopping,” Michael said as he pulled out a second list. “How connected is Martin?”

Susan looked confused. “Connected to what?”

Michael handed her the list. “There are a few things I’m not trusting to that guy.” Michael pointed toward the door that Nikolai just went out.

“Like?” Susan said.

“Our lives.”

Michael stared at the object before him as it lay on the black cloth. He had spent the last hour and a half working on it, tuning, restoring it, ensuring that it would work without fail. Michael always loved working with his hands; he had a knack for design, construction, and repair, an ability that not only proved a great asset to his career, but to his mind. Working with his hands, whether it was with precision instruments or a hammer and saw, allowed Michael’s mind to switch gears, to slow down, to rejuvenate. Michael reveled at being lost in the moment, forgetting the enormous tasks that were ahead of him. He took one last look at the object, covered it under the black cloth, and tucked his tools away, his mind resharpened, thankful for the short respite.

Michael walked to the other end of the dining room table and looked upon the hosts of documents before him. He had reread every piece of paper that Julian had provided him, hoping that the info he had procured would be enough to see him through. He sat down and studied Genevieve’s map, the chamber area in particular. He charted his bearings as it related to the cavern where the entry pool stood. The tunnel was on a forty-five-degree angle, a drainage pipe with a continuous flow of raging waters. Michael estimated that the entrance to the Liberia was one hundred and twenty feet in. It was constructed over five hundred years ago, and he wondered if it had actually stood the test of time, or if they were on a wild-goose chase, racing to find a decimated archive buried in rubble. As he deliberated on the map, he noted the initial entrance built five centuries earlier. It was a lone private hallway that meandered a quarter mile before exiting up into the Cathedral of the Assumption. The underground hallway’s entire length had been filled in and sealed on Ivan’s orders. There was no doubt in Michael’s mind that the men who performed Ivan’s wish were entombed somewhere along the length of the Liberia’s former entrance.

Michael worked out the entire plan, scheduling it down to the minute. They would get the box first and then go for Genevieve.

Susan walked in and sat down next to Michael. She looked at the papers on the table, and was naturally drawn to the ancient elaborate map. She stared at it a moment before finally turning to Michael.

“What do you think? Can you do it?”

“Paul and I are going in early tomorrow; we’re going to grab the box first and then we’re getting Genevieve.”

“I should come with you.”

Michael shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I can dive.”

“That’s nice. So can I. So can Paul. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s probably a bit stronger. He’s going to have to help Genevieve out, maybe even carry her.” The sudden thought of her being held against her will sent a chill up Michael’s spine. “We’re going to need to have you and Martin pick us up downriver in the Moskva. We need to be wheels up less than an hour later.”

“Why?”

“We’re opening up a hornets’ nest, that’s why. The entire government will be looking for us. The quicker we are out of here, the safer we will be.”

“What if something goes wrong?” Susan asked.

Michael held up his hand. “First off, you should know, things will go wrong. No matter how much planning, how much research, that fellow Murphy and his law are always right around the corner. These things are like playing chess. You have to think many moves ahead and be prepared for the unexpected.” Michael took a moment to gather up the documents on the table. “How you doing with my list?”

“Martin got the car to pick you up and the syringe of adrenaline. What can I do?” Susan pleaded. “I’m feeling useless.”

“You provided the means to get us here and to get us out. You’ve done more than your fair share.” Michael stood and walked back to his work area. He lifted the black cloth, picked up the object he was working on, and came back to sit across from Susan. Without a word, he handed her her watch. She looked at it a moment, memories flooding in, of warmth and comfort, of Peter. Seeing the second hand sweep past twelve, a tear formed in her eye.

“Where did…?” She choked up. “I thought it was gone forever.”

“Paul found it, in Red Square.”

“I never lost a case after Peter gave this to me,” Susan said, almost to herself.

Michael smiled.

“It hasn’t worked since he…” She watched as the second hand continued its sweep. “Since he died.”

“I know a little bit about timepieces,” Michael softly said.

She looked up at Michael, tears filling her eyes, overcome with the significance, at the kindness, and smiled back. “Thank you.”

Chapter 31

G
enevieve lay sedated on the gurney. She was
in a small medical observation room filled with vital-signs monitors, yet none of them was hooked up. An IV ran into her left arm keeping her hydrated in her sleeping state.

Skovokov glanced at her through the observation window from the desk in his research lab. He had a host of notebooks open before him, and his computer monitor played an animatic of a human chest cavity, its throbbing organs displayed to a team of doctors mid-surgery. Skovokov had brought back all of the research that he had created while in the employment of Julian Zivera, and had already ordered the drugs put into production, patents be damned. He was studying notes on a medical procedure that would stimulate the kidneys to increase the production of EPO, which naturally boosts the production of red blood cells. While the treatment would be highly beneficial to those with anemia and other blood disorders, the allure was far greater to the sports world as a way to naturally dope the blood without detection.

Skovokov would be giving a full presentation tomorrow to a select group of Russian doctors, businessmen, and government officials that would include his animatic presentation along with a demonstration of the procedure on a human cadaver. He had hoped to demonstrate on a live subject but the “volunteers” would not be arriving until the following week.

“Any word?”

Skovokov looked up to see Ilya Raechen standing in the doorway to his lab. “Raechen, come in.”

“Where do we stand?” Raechen asked as he walked in the room. Though only ten years his senior, Skovokov was the physical antithesis to Raechen’s muscular, ramrod straight physique. In his old age, Skovokov had become bone-thin, hunched, and wrinkled, preferring to concentrate his exercise on his mind.

“There’s been no response from Julian.”

“He’s not going to give in to this, he’s testing you, analyzing his alternatives,” Raechen said.

“How do you know?”

“He’s a businessman, this is a transaction to him.”

“It’s his mother. He’ll give in.”

Raechen stared at Skovokov. It was a moment. “What about my son? Should I bring him to Russia?”

“Once we secure the painting, my full focus will be your son,” Skovokov said without the least bit of deception in his voice.

Raechen walked about the lab, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts turning inward. “Every day that goes by…” There was pain tinged with anger in his words.

Skovokov turned to Raechen and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “I won’t be able to give your son’s illness my full concentration until I have the map. I said five days.”

“Then we make Zivera desperate, we move up the schedule, remove his time to think of options.”

Skovokov listened, liking what Raechen was saying.

“And we demonstrate the seriousness and the finality of the matter.” Raechen glanced in on Genevieve.

“The anticipation of suffering is a powerful weapon. And when those you care about suffer, you will do almost anything to help them.” Raechen looked at Skovokov. “Do you have a video feed and recording equipment?”

“Of course. Why?” Skovokov asked.

“Showing is so much more effective.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Raechen turned back to the observation window and looked over at Genevieve. “I suggest we turn up the pressure.”

Chapter 32

N
ikolai walked into the living room, two overly
large Russian behind him. They threw down three duffel bags. Michael walked over, looked at Nikolai, and, without a word, crouched down to the bags. He unzipped the first and riffled through its contents: two dive tanks, masks, fins, and assorted dive gear. He unzipped the second and pulled out two climbing harnesses, several coils of rope, a bag of glow sticks, and a low-frequency antenna. Unzipping the third he found guns, radios, two white doctor’s coats, and flashlights. He checked all of the gear, amazed that it was all brand-new and of the finest quality. And while Michael was thankful, it put him on even stronger guard against Fetisov. The supplies were procured in short order without a complaint or hitch. Scuba gear, in a city far from any large body of water; climbing equipment far from the mountains. The guns were brand-new, never-been-fired Heckler & Koch pistols and the Semtex was only available through the military. Fetisov had proven resourceful beyond Michael’s expectations, but if he was capable of this in such a short period of time, what else was he capable of? Michael continued looking but didn’t find one item and looked up at Fetisov. “What about the timers?”

Nikolai leaned down and picked up the Semtex: a ziplock bag, three squares of tightly wrapped tan clay inside. “Do you know how to use this stuff?”

Michael nodded the affirmative.

“And what would you be using it for?”

“It’s a Boy Scout thing. Be prepared. We don’t know what we’re going to find down there. Who’s to say we won’t find a cave-in or a sealed chamber?”

“You could bring the whole Kremlin crumbling down on you,” Fetisov warned.

“Yeah. Maybe. But I’m a pretty careful guy.”

Nikolai pulled out three small electronic timers and placed them, along with the plastic bag, in Michael’s hand, but didn’t let go. “Well, we’ve got an obstacle, it’s a big one, and I don’t think this Semtex is going to help.” And Fetisov let go of the bag.

Michael, Busch, and Susan all turned their attention to the Russian, waiting for him to finish.

Fetisov turned to the two Russians and, with a nod of his head, dismissed them. He waited until they left the suite, closing the door behind them. “They moved up the timing for the surgical demonstration.”

“Why?” Michael asked, the shock running through his core.

“Trying to make a point to Julian.”

“What?” Michael said, confused. “What does a surgical demonstration have to do with Julian?”

Fetisov paused, leaving everyone in the room on a precipice. He looked around and finally gathered himself, taking a deep breath. “It’s apparently some procedure on the kidneys. They are going to hook up a video feed so Julian can watch.”

“I don’t get it,” Michael said.

“They are going to demonstrate it on Genevieve.”

Michael’s head spun. The complications were escalating by the second. Genevieve was being turned into a guinea pig, a piece of meat for surgical exploration. Her life was suddenly hanging in the balance. “How could they do this? She could die on the table.”

“Are they on to us?” Busch asked.

“I doubt it. Their head of security is simply being overly cautious. Apparently, it was his call to move up the timing, to make Genevieve the patient, to throw Julian off. He doesn’t like all the pomp and circumstance surrounding this, either. Can’t say I blame him, medical research is no place for an audience or a circus-like atmosphere. They want Julian to know that they will kill her if he doesn’t turn over your map, and this will be their first step, a demonstration of their commitment.”