Susan Downs - Ekaterina

The moon’s power waned thin as Vadeem’s desperation grew. The futility of his efforts rose like the dust, mocking, choking him, until nothing but desperation drove him to the next dirty sandstone hole. His candle finally flickered out, leaving only his fear to direct his search.

The alcove pushed musty, dry dust into his lungs. The mouth was wide enough for a cot, perhaps even a table. But it tunneled back quickly into darkness. Keep your eyes on the light. Vadeem angled back, hope pressing him into the shadows. He squeezed between a pinch of rock, and his eyes made out a swath of moonlight filtering in through a hole in the sandstone roof.

Vadeem began feeling the walls of the grotto. Hard, jagged rock, grooves and curves, crevasses. Nothing big enough to hide a lock box, or a precious necklace. He worked his way farther back, feeling in turn each side, high and low. Nothing. Frustration pinched his nerves. The moon had begun to pale. Dawn wouldn’t be long behind. I tucked my past into the darkness, then turned toward the light. Vadeem stood in the wash of lunar light, looking up, through the crack. The moon hovered in the lightening magenta backdrop; a beacon of majesty, pointing to God’s ever presence, breaking through life’s darkest hour. Deliberately, Vadeem turned his back to it, and put his hands against the far wall.

He reached into a crack, nearly up to his armpit, and felt something solid. Metal. Wedged tight.

He plunged the other hand in. His cheek grazed the rock as he felt around in the furrow of shadow. Catching a fingernail, he wedged the tips of his fingers around something sharp and cold. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tugged. Grunts bounced against the grotto walls, but hope kept his fingers on the object, even when dirt came loose from the walls and sanded his eyes. He thought he felt a creature crawl up his arm under his coat sleeve, but kept at the task until… it budged. A screech and then more tugs, past jagged rock. The skin scraped off the back of both his hands as Vadeem dragged the box out.

It grated against the rock as it released and fell into his arms. He cradled it appropriately, like Anton or even his faithful friend, Timofea, might have. A burden of incalculable wealth. A treasure that could redeem the life of Anton Klassen’s great-grandchild, a lady beyond worth. A lady used by God to remind Vadeem about the pearl of great price—salvation in Jesus Christ.

The breath whooshed out of Vadeem, and he realized he’d been holding it, counting his heartbeats. He set the box gently on the floor, nearly weak with relief. Fumbling for the key, he dropped it, then scraped it up, and fitted it in the gnarled lock.

It turned.

He opened the box, and inside found a dingy gray cloth. Slowing drawing it open, he could see, even in the milky moonlight, the dazzle of rubies, sapphires, and amethyst. He released his breath as he pulled it up by its golden chain.

The Crest of St. Basil. It glimmered, catching the moonlight, radiating mystery and awe. How had this jewel come into the possession of Anton Klassen and why had he chosen to hide it in a cleft of rock? What secrets had the walls of this cave heard as Anton spilled out his secret to the then-young Timofea? What images had that monk held onto until his deathbed?

The crest dangled in Vadeem’s grip, twisting slightly. It was everything he’d imagined, the fulfillment of every myth, the dazzling icon of faith and hope, once worn by Czar Nickolas, and every czar before him from the 13 thcentury. The emblem of salvation.

But whose? A rush of indecision swept through Vadeem. He could surrender this treasure into the hands of a murderous smuggler and forfeit everything Anton Klassen, Timofea, and even Kat had suffered for. Or he could leave, now, with the crest tucked in his coat and run straight for Moscow, turning it over to the church and restoring the tradition, the glory for which it was made.

The thought made him ill in the pit of his stomach. Was he still so selfish, so driven to self-honor that he would sacrifice the life of the woman who had turned to him in trust? Oh God, forgive me! Vadeem pressed the crest to his forehead as tears bit into his eyes, ran down his grimy cheeks. Yes, this crest was an emblem of redemption. Vadeem’s redemption from his traitorous past.

And at dawn, the crest Anton Klassen had so carefully hidden, would be used to redeem his great-granddaughter’s life.

Kat wrestled with the iron fingers clamped over her mouth as Grazovich manhandled her out of the hiding place behind a gravestone. Grazovich dug his fingers into the back of her neck and hissed, “Quiet!” as if he hadn’t been holding her down and gagging her with his gloved hand for the better part of two cold hours, forcing her silence.

Satisfaction swept through her when she managed to connect her heel to his shin. She didn’t care that pain knifed up her leg.

The blunt end of a pistol, an icy finger just below her ear, made her freeze. “Don’t cause any trouble now, or your boyfriend is dead too.”

She couldn’t think of enough choice adjectives for the terrorist as he hauled her, tripping and stumbling, toward the cave where Vadeem had disappeared fifteen agonizing minutes prior.

Her breath caught as she drew closer, and saw Vadeem emerge, a necklace dangling from his grip. Even twenty feet away, she caught the luster of gem and gold.

The Crest of St. Basil.

General Grazovich stiffened, as if shocked by his good fortune. “Be good,” he growled in her ear.

She had no intention of doing anything to persuade him to put a bullet into her skull. On noodle legs, she allowed Grazovich to push her forward until she stood in the ring of light a step outside the cave.

Vadeem looked up, saw her, and jerked like he’d been slapped. The general must have had an “I am serious” look on his face because Vadeem swallowed, audibly. Kat didn’t miss the anger Vadeem tried to keep flushed from his face. She knew him too well, had seen that look used on her too many times not to recognize it.

“You found it.” Excitement strummed in Grazovich’s voice. “Congratulations.”

Vadeem’s chest rose and fell as he glared at the thug. “Let her go. I’ll give it to you.”

“Drop your pistol first,” Grazovich said.

Kat winced when the weapon clattered on the cave floor. Then Vadeem looked at her, full in the eyes, his sorrowful gaze communicating every thing she’d dreaded. I was just trying to keep you safe.

Somehow, she found comfort in those unspoken words. She knew them now for what they were.

I love you.

She would have to be blind not to recognize the truth. Emotion piled in his gaze, spilling out as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched, holding the necklace. As he did it, she knew….

He was betraying his country to save the life of the woman he loved.

She saw it on his agonized expression, and it rocked her to her bones.

She couldn’t let him do it. He would live branded as a traitor for the rest of his life—something, she had a feeling, he already wrestled with. She ignored Grazovich’s threat and let desperation drive adrenaline into her veins.

“No!”

Her outcry startled Grazovich. The kidnapper loosened his grip.

Kat found flesh and bit, hard.

Grazovich cursed. Kat jerked away and stomped on his foot. She lunged toward the man who wanted so desperately to protect her. “No, Vadeem!”

Grazovich caught up fast and cuffed her, connecting with the back of her head. Kat slammed against the lip of the cave entrance. Pain exploded in her shoulder, then down her neck as the General pulled her up by her hair. “Good try.”

Tears burned her eyes as Kat scrambled for footing. Grazovich yanked her head back, and jammed his pistol under her jaw.