Brad Thor - State Of The Union

It took them a little over four-and-a-half hours driving north-northeast to reach their destination. The tiny, Byzantine domed chapel sat alone in the heavily wooded countryside on the outskirts of the city of Petrozavodsk. Petrozavodsk, located on the western shore of Lake Onega-the second largest lake in Europe, was the administrative center of Karelia, an autonomous republic in the Russian Federation. The city was not only the site of Petrozavodsk State University but also a branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences. In his dossier, Alexandra’s father had identified Petrozavodsk as the location where the Russian scientists were working on the secret air defense system.

As Alexandra pulled the Cherokee to the side of the road, Harvath gave his map and coordinates a final check.

“This is it?” she asked, staring out the windshield at the little church. “This is where we’re supposed to find Nesterov’s Albert?”

“It looks like it,” replied Harvath, as he placed one of his fly-fishing books onto the dash and carelessly threw the other into the backseat. Coupled with the rods, reels, waders and other gear he had purchased and left in the cargo area, to anyone who might come upon them, he and Alexandra would look like two New Russians pursuing the hottest sporting craze to sweep the country since golf. Even in winter, fly-fishing was still a very popular pastime, especially in the Karelia region where the winters were much milder than the rest of Russia. If anyone should happen to ask what business they had at the church, they would simply state they were taking a break on their way to fish one of the many popular rivers that fed the nearby lake.

As it was, they didn’t have to worry about feeding anyone their cover story because the church was completely empty. In fact, were it not for the supply of fresh candles, Harvath would have sworn it had been abandoned altogether.

Alexandra left a coin and lit one of the candles. She closed her eyes for several moments and when she opened them, she saw that Harvath was looking at her. “For my parents,” she said.

Harvath nodded his head and began walking around the small church, which was formed in a perfect circle. It smelled of earth and cold stone, solid, as if it had been there since the beginning of time and would continue to stand until the very end of it. The whitewashed walls were decorated with painted panels depicting the lives of saints and various religious events. “Who uses this place?” asked Harvath as he continued studying the copious artwork. “There aren’t any houses for miles around.”

“Country people most likely, though sometimes people from a nearby town or city will adopt a small church and help with its upkeep and maintenance, as well as buying or donating other things that it might need,” answered Alexandra from the other side of the room.

“This would go a lot faster if we knew what this Albert guy’s connection with this church is,” said Harvath as he abandoned his review of the paintings. “Why do you think Nesterov picked this place?”

“Who knows? It’s close enough to Petrozavodsk and the Academy of Sciences to have been convenient for him, yet remote enough to keep whatever he was doing well hidden. Maybe Albert is the priest,” replied Alexandra as she continued around the edge of the room, examining the paintings and artifacts.

Alexandra was making her second pass of the artwork, this time paying less attention to the images and more attention to their titles. When she arrived at a rather unimpressive iconostasis and read the neatly written placard proclaiming that she was looking at, “St. Albert in Agonyby Andrey Rublyov,” something didn’t seem right. She stood back to examine the faded triptych that greatly resembled Da Vinci’sMadonna of the Rocks and after several moments said, “I think I’ve got something.”

“What is it?” asked Harvath as he came over to join her.

“According to the title plate, this work of art is by Andrey Rublyov and is calledSt. Albert in Agony.”

Bingo, thought Harvath, but there was also something else about the title that rang a bell with him. It was as if he’d heard the saint’s name before, sometime long ago in his past. “What about it?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t believe the Russian Orthodox Church has a St. Albert.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

Harvath was pretty sure, too. Pretty sure he knew that name and that Alexandra was right. It didn’t belong in this church. Then it came to him. “The patron saint of scientists.”

“The what?” said Alexandra.

“St. Albert. He’s the patron saint of scientists. I knew I knew that name. I went to a Catholic grade school, and St. Albert’s picture hung in our science lab. The teacher would look up and literally refer to him on a daily basis.”

“Then this must be Nesterov’s Albert,” said Alexandra. “What else would a Catholic saint be doing in a Russian Orthodox Church?”

“Keeping an eye on the competition?” offered Harvath as she ripped the screen away from the wall.

Alexandra didn’t answer. Ignoring the adjacent plaque recognizing the Nworbski family for its generous donation, Ivaona unceremoniously tore the hinged painting from the wall and dropped it onto the floor.

“Not much of an art lover, are you? I guess you didn’t see the hinges?” said Harvath as he bent down and easily flipped over one of the sidepieces, revealing a manila envelope taped to the back of it.

“So maybe I’m a little overzealous,” replied Alexandra, ripping open the envelope and shaking its contents onto the floor.

Harvath didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he helped her sift through the documents, which comprised pages of schematics, printed pages, and a sheaf of handwritten notes.

“I speak Russian a lot better than I read it, which isn’t saying much,” he offered as he handed the notes to Alexandra and returned to the schematics. “Let me know if there’s anything interesting in there.”

Alexandra skimmed the pages and read Nesterov’s account of how he progressively became aware of the true purpose of the project he was working on. After his last meticulous, laser-printed entry were a series of handwritten notes. “Scot?” she said, drawing his attention. “You need to take a look at this.”

Harvath set down the schematics he was looking at and turned his attention to Alexandra. “What is it?” he asked.

“The notes on the bottom of this page. They’ve got yesterday’s date. Nesterov must have stopped here on the way to St. Petersburg to-” she paused.

“To what?”

“To update his memoirs in case something happened to him.”

“Let me see those,” said Harvath as he stuck out his hand.

Alexandra handed over the page, and Harvath looked down at the hastily inscribed entry. The notes obviously referred to his meeting with Ivanova, but there was also a reference to the final deployment of the technology that he and his follow scientists had been working on.

It appeared to be a command and control system capable of feeding commands up to a series of Russian military satellites. When Harvath read that the system was designed to be mobile, the blood in his veins ran cold. If it was mobile, it could be anywhere.

At the bottom of the page, Nesterov had written two words and placed a question mark next to each-Arkhangel? Gagarin?

“Do you know the significance of these words?” asked Harvath.

“Arkhangel. It means the same in English,archangel. Maybe it’s the name of the program.”

“But why would Nesterov have placed a question mark next to it? Wouldn’t he have known the program’s name?”

“Not necessarily. Maybe the scientists weren’t told. Maybe they called it Project 243 or something like that.”