Winter Palace (20 page)

“And then the Communists arrive,” Jeffrey said. “And you wait. Amazing.”

“Yes, dear brother. We wait. All over world we wait for time to come home. And now we are here. And we have people starving and churches ruined, oh, so many problems. So we open the crypt, yes, and the treasures, they are still there. Amazing!”

“And then they were taken.”

“Stolen,” the bishop agreed. “The crypt is opened, and after two nights it is empty.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“I know what people
say
, dear brother.”

“The Orthodox?” Jeffrey stared at him. “Orthodox priests stole from you?”

Bishop Michael spread his hands wide. “Is not strange? Strange they would come in robes to steal? Strange they leave Orthodox cross on broken chain? Torn robe?”

“Those are the clues you have? It sounds almost as though they wanted you to think it was them,” Jeffrey said.

The bishop clapped his hands in agreement. “So do I think also! And others! Orthodox also! We have new friends, dear
brother. Friends in Christ, they pray with us, and they are friends. They look. They go where we cannot. They tell us, yes, there are whispers here and there of treasures. Big gathering of treasures in Saint Petersburg. Too great to leave Russia easy. Icons and altars and miters and oh, so many things.”

“And they sound like your pieces?”

“Some, yes. Some not sound,
are
.”

“A big city like Saint Petersburg, close to the sea and having strong ties to the West; it would be a perfect gathering point.” Jeffrey thought it over, glanced around the impoverished apartment, reflected on how much the bishop was struggling to accomplish with so little. He reached his decision and said, “So you want me to go to Saint Petersburg as a buyer.”

The bishop weighed the air in open hands. “Is little chance they sell to you, brother. They are finding better prices in West, less problems with money. But yes, you have
reason
to be in Saint Petersburg. You go, Yussef goes as your hunter, like here, and Ivona goes too.”

“As my translator, just like here.” Jeffrey nodded agreement. “Where do I start?”

Bishop Michael examined him. “You are helping us?”

“I am helping you,” Jeffrey confirmed. “If you like. I will have to speak with my boss in London before saying for sure, but I think he will agree.”

“You take care? Great care? There is danger, dear brother. No treasure worth life.”

“I have already promised my wife to be extra careful.”

Bishop Michael nodded as though this made perfect sense. “Then you must know all.”

“There's more?”

“Oh yes, dear brother.” The bishop took a careful breath, then continued. “We are also needing help for finding what was there
before
.”

“You're telling me,” Jeffrey said, once they were underway,
“that the priests found other treasure already in the crypt when they took their own valuables down?”

“It was a good hiding place when the Communists arrived,” Ivona replied. “It had been so before. Long before.”

They made their rocking way back toward the Polish border, the car's windows opened wide in a futile effort to reduce the heat. The air blowing in felt drawn from a blast furnace. The sweat dried as fast as it poured from Jeffrey's body.

“How long?” he asked her.

“No one knows for certain,” she answered. “Perhaps as long as a thousand years. Long enough for all records and all memories to be washed away in the sea of time.”

“So they opened up this ancient crypt to put in the church's valuables and found somebody else had the same idea a couple hundred years before.” Jeffrey smiled at the idea. “Bet they were surprised.”

Ivona translated for Yussef, who replied, “They were too busy to be surprised for long.”

“So you've got two sets of treasures that have been taken together to Saint Petersburg—you hope.” Despite the heat, Jeffrey felt the faintest surge of adventure thrill. “Do you know what the first treasures were?”

“Not for certain,” Ivona replied, “but perhaps an idea. In the ninth century, Lvov was the provincial capital of the Kingdom of Kiev. Sometimes it is also called the First Kingdom of Rus. It was a great center of learning in those days, and of tremendous wealth, especially within the house of Rurik. One of the Rurik princes ruled Lvov when the first Asian hordes swept down out of the Steppes. Khazars, Pechenegs, Polovtsys—historians argue over which tribe finally defeated the First Kingdom. But in the twelfth century first Kiev and then Lvov were sacked, and the center of power in Rus shifted to the more easily defendable Muscovy.”

She dabbed the perspiration beading on her temples with an embroidered handkerchief. “The Rurik crown jewels were
never recovered. Legends abounded, but nothing was ever located.”

Jeffrey twisted in his seat and examined her impassive face. “Treasures have lain hidden under this church for over seven hundred years?”

She translated for Yussef, who replied, “A wooden structure burns and falls upon a stone floor. Records burn with the rest of the city. All the city's noblemen and priests are murdered.” He shrugged over the steering wheel. “A river of blood and a mountain of ashes. Those were the only records the invaders left behind. It would be easy to lose a world of secrets beneath them.”

Jeffrey Allen Sinclair arrived back at the border feeling as though he wore a second skin of grit. He climbed out of the car with the stiffness of one several days in the saddle. Yussef came around and asked through Ivona, “How is your neck?”

“Still there.”

Yussef gave his discolored smile. “It shouts to you, does it?”

“Only when I blink,” Jeffrey replied. “No, seriously, it's much better. And it's been worth it.”

“No doubt you will enjoy a bath tonight.”

Jeffrey looked down at his rumpled form. “I've probably been dirtier,” he replied, “but not since I was five years old and rolled around in mud puddles.”

Yussef grinned. “There is a certain flavor to friendship after a week of such work, yes?”

“Flavor and aroma both,” Jeffrey agreed. “It's been great, though. Really.”

Yussef spoke again. Ivona's internal struggle and hesitant voice returned. She gave Yussef an affronted stare before translating, “Can you tell me, where did you learn to read Bible?”

“I've studied with some different people,” Jeffrey replied. “And I've read some books. But the most important lessons for me have come through God showing me some special
message in His Word. I know that's hard to understand, but it is true.”

“Yes,” Yussef responded once Ivona's flat-toned translation was completed. “I see that you speak what is truth. For you.”

“For anyone,” Jeffrey replied. “For anyone willing to read God's Word with a listening heart.”

“I have watched you,” Yussef said, as though trying to convince himself. “You live what you believe.”

“I have doubts,” Jeffrey countered. “I have difficulties. But I try to do as He commands.”

“Well said.” Yussef scuffed his shoe in the dust, studied the road stretching out before him, decided, “I will think on what you say.”

“And I will pray for you,” Jeffrey replied quietly.

“A kindness for which I am grateful.” He straightened from his thoughtful slouch. “Now, to business.”

Yussef motioned toward fenced pens where crowds of exhausted-looking people stood in the dust and the heat. “Usually there are between three and four thousand people in the holding areas, waiting to cross from the Ukraine into Poland. They are treated horribly by the guards because they're the poorest. They can't afford cars, so their bribes will be small. Give me thirty dollars, and I'll take care of your way out.”

“All right.” Jeffrey handed over the money. “How will you get the items we've purchased across the border?” he asked, and instantly regretted the question. “Sorry.”

When Ivona had translated, the young man laughed. “You will not pass it on to other dealers?”

“I need no other dealer in the Ukraine,” Jeffrey replied simply. “Not ever.”

Yussef grinned at the translation and then explained. “According to the law of today, what I take out of the country is not illegal. But yesterday it was, and tomorrow again, perhaps. Besides, such wealth is an invitation to every dishonest guard at the border, yes? So I stock heavy items that will require a large bribe. Automobile parts and wrenches are the
best. Underneath is a false bottom to both the trunk and the backseat. It is too much trouble for the guards to shift all that weight, and too unlikely that a simple trader would carry anything else.” He showed his gap-toothed grin. “Sometimes it is best to look the peasant, no?”

“Yes,” Jeffrey agreed, and offered his hand. “These were the longest days of my life. I can't say it was fun, but I learned a lot, and I am grateful for the company.”

Yussef accepted the hand. “You share your Cracow friend's honesty.” Ivona hesitated a moment, then continued translating, “Bishop Michael was right to trust you.”

“I will try to help.”

“You
will
help, of that I am sure.” Yussef pointed beyond the border station. “There is a bus just across the frontier at Medyka which leaves every two hours for Cracow. With luck, you will arrive at the Hotel Cracovia before midnight.”

Making for another very long day, Jeffrey thought, and said, “Fine.”

“You will travel to Saint Petersburg tomorrow?”

“If I can get a flight, yes.” And if Katya doesn't mind too much, he added to himself.

“Then we shall see each other in the big city.” Yussef grinned. “I will keep looking for antiques there through my contacts, and I will bring you anything I can find of value.”

“Great.”

“It is indeed our good fortune that you have this other business to take you to Saint Petersburg.” He examined Jeffrey, added, “You would call it a miracle, no?”

“I find God's hand in almost every part of my life these days,” Jeffrey replied. “Will you consider praying with me when we meet there?”

“It is so important? That I pray with you?”

“It is important that you pray,” Jeffrey replied. “With or without me.”

Yussef nodded and changed the subject. “You will come to the Ukraine again?”

“If you like.”

“I like very much. Your coming has enriched our lives as well.” He clapped Jeffrey's shoulder, then said, “Wait here while I arrange your passage through the border.”

When he was gone, Jeffrey turned to Ivona and began, “I can't thank—”

She handed him a slip of paper. “This is the name of a small guesthouse run by Ukrainian friends of ours in Saint Petersburg. They are people you can trust. You will be much safer there than in the larger hotels.”

Jeffrey nodded his acceptance, both of the news and of her barriers. “All right.”

“I will depart from Lvov by train before dawn,” Ivona told him. “I should arrive in Saint Petersburg that afternoon. As the bishop explained, I will act as your interpreter whenever you need me. If anyone asks, you should explain that we worked together here and that you asked me to join you. With work in dollars so hard to come by, there should be no questioning of this.”

“I understand.”

“Yussef will travel as your buyer. When you do not need us, we will continue with our search for the missing church treasures.” She nodded to where Yussef was motioning for him to come, and said, “Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair. Until we meet in Saint Petersburg.”

Chapter 20

Jeffrey watched his plane descend through smoggy Saint Petersburg skies and missed Katya with an ache that had settled in his bones. The very fiber of his being knew the need of her. That his heart continued to beat so steadily baffled him.

Their telephone conversation had been surprisingly smooth and intensely painful. Katya had listened carefully as he described the trip, the problem, and the need for him to travel on to Saint Petersburg immediately. “Five days,” she had said quietly when he was finished. “Five days more is all I can bear.”

“I miss you,” he said, feeling the words carried by a wind that scorched the heart's lining.

“I woke up this morning and reached for you,” she said, her voice a sorrowful tune. “When I realized you weren't there, and how far away you were, I started crying.”

“Katya,” he whispered.

“I couldn't help it,” she said, the words trembling like leaves in rainfall. “My heart wasn't there where he was supposed to be.”

“Five days,” he agreed. “I'll confirm the reservation from Saint Petersburg back to London before I fly out tomorrow.”

****

Only one shuttle bus was there to meet the plane from Cracow. It was too small and soon full. Jeffrey came off the plane too late to have a place. He milled about with a hundred or so other passengers until a militiaman finally arrived and escorted them to the terminal on foot.

The hall was vast, as high as it was long. On the distant domed ceiling, ornate cupolas and gilded wreaths surrounded square paintings of bombers flying overhead and releasing scores of paratroopers. Jeffrey joined the jostling throng and
filled out the required currency declaration form, listing his watch and wedding ring as instructed. He fought his way through the worried passengers calling in a dozen different tongues as bags were tossed carelessly onto the single revolving band. After a wait, he picked up his bag and headed through customs.

The exit was a squeeze. Currency traders and taxi drivers jostled one another and called out offerings of business. A harried Intourist guide shouted warnings to avoid unofficial traders because many were giving out counterfeit bills. Her voice was drowned out by the clamor.