Chapter 11

11

May 11, 9:18 P . M . MSK

Moscow, Russian Federation

Gray scowled in frustration at Father Bailey. He had little patience for the priest's obtuseness, especially as his ankle throbbed with every heartbeat.

"A lost continent?" Gray pressed him. "What are you talking about?"

"Give me a moment to explain," Bailey said.

The Vatican prefect shuffled through a stack of photos spread across the tabletop, then leaned over and consulted with the bishop and nun from the Russian Orthodox Church. Since arriving here, the trio had been poring over the snapshots taken of the ancient Greek text. They had whispered amongst themselves, sometimes arguing, sometimes nodding.

Like now.

Gray remained wary of these two strangers, especially after witnessing Valya meeting with other members of the Russian Orthodox Church. He had initially balked at including these two in the meeting, but Bailey had insisted, vouching for them. Even Monk had said they were worth hearing out.

Gray had finally acquiesced, but only because he needed answers quickly.

Still, a lost continent...?

Bailey picked out several of the photos and held them up. "Monsignor Borrelli was very thorough in recording anything of note in the old Greek text. Besides photographing the book's gilded frontispiece with its sketch of the Trinity Lavra, he also took pictures of several other pages."

"I'm well aware of that," Gray said. "I was able to briefly review them on the flight here."

"Yes, of course. Then you must have noted the pages with sections that had been underlined or boxed off."

Gray shrugged in agreement.

Bailey continued, "What you must understand is that the Greek book—Herodotus's Histories —is more of a travelogue than anything else. It describes the lands and peoples of the known world at that time. Some regions Herodotus had experienced personally. Others that he wrote about came from accounts that he had heard while traveling."

Gray could guess the direction of this conversation. "Like this continent you mentioned? Hyperborea?"

"Precisely, Commander." Bailey spread the pages that he had picked out. "All of the marked sections are places where Hyperborea is mentioned in the text. Here is one, which Sister Anna helped me translate from ancient Greek. She had studied alongside her brother Igor to be an archivist... until she had a greater calling."

"I've not entirely abandoned my studies," she added quietly. "Presently, I serve our convent as its librarian. We have a collection that rivals many museums. Igor came often to assist me in cataloging and preserving our books."

Her voice caught slightly at the mention of her brother.

Bailey interceded, "As I mentioned, the passages she helped me translate all speak about the lost continent of Hyperborea." He read a couple of the underlined sections. "‘ Among the northernmost tribes are the Hyperboreans, whose territories reach to the sea... Concerning the Hyperborean people, neither the Scythians nor any other inhabitants of these lands tell us anything. '"

Monk leaned closer. "Who are these Scythians?"

Bishop Yelagin answered with a furrowed brow. "A Bronze Age people. Nomads of our northern steppes. They were known for their militant nature."

Yelagin gave a small shake of his head, as if struggling to put these pieces together. But the man's lips drew into hard lines, suggestive that he wanted to say more, but was holding off.

Bailey drew forth another page. "Here is an account of two maidens of Hyperborea who traveled to Greece, to the city of Delos. They came bearing offerings of bundled straw, a hay impregnated with medicinals that were said to heal the incurable."

Sister Anna nodded. "According to legend, the Hyperborean were a peaceful people from a verdant land and were gifted with long lives, many times a normal lifespan."

"Perhaps such long lives were due to this strange medicine," Bailey suggested.

Monk frowned. "If so, what became of these maidens and their miraculous cure?"

Bailey sighed. "According to Herodotus, the maidens were killed in Delos, which angered the Hyperborean people and caused them to close their borders. Afterward, Herodotus writes, ‘ In honor of the maidens, Delian girls and boys still cut their hair and make sacrifices with bundles of straw .'"

Bailey lowered the page. "And it's not just Herodotus who writes about Hyperborea. Plato mentions it in Charmides . Pseudo-Apollodorus in Bibliotheca . And so many others. Virgil, Ovid, Seneca, Pliny the Elder, on and on."

Gray huffed in exasperation. "Still, this all sounds like hearsay. Does Herodotus—or anyone else—offer concrete information about this place? Like where it might be located?"

"No," Bailey admitted. "And I can't say for sure if these marked passages are even related to the Golden Library. Whoever annotated them could've done so long before the illuminated sketch was added to the front of the book."

"Then why are we focusing on this angle?" Gray pressed him.

"Because of those other drawings in the book." Bailey slid over a page. "Like this one. I've consulted with Sister Anna and Bishop Yelagin. From the exacting detail, the strokes of the lines, and the fade in the ink, we all believe this was drawn at the same time, possibly by the same hand, as the sketch of the gilded book and the Trinity Lavra."

Gray reached over and drew the photo closer. During the flight to Moscow, he had studied all the pics transmitted by the monsignor. This one had caught his eye, not only because of its strangeness, but also because it had nagged at him, and more so now—but he could not pin down what troubled him.

The photo was of a page from the book, likely a chapter ending, where someone had filled the lower half with a detailed sketch of jagged peaks surrounding a valley, one that contained what appeared to be a circular labyrinth, or maybe a shimmering lake, encompassing a lone mountain at its center.

Gray understood why Bailey had pointed out this page. "You believe this is a sketch of Hyperborea?"

"At least some corner of it. But whether the artwork was based on an eyewitness account or on some fanciful speculation, I can't say. But the presence of this sketch—one that was drawn at the same time as the gilded artwork at the front—suggests that the marked passages concerning Hyperborea are related to all of this."

Gray sighed, recognizing that it was worth considering. Still, he could not shake the persistent sense he was missing something.

He stared again at the drawing.

Something about that sketch...

His rumination was interrupted by Bishop Yelagin, who had found his voice again, loosening those tight lips. "Commander Pierce, the two men who you saw at the monastery, could you describe them?"

Up until now, Gray had avoided sharing too much information with the Russian pair, but he recognized that the two had been cooperative so far. Plus, he wanted any information he could gather on those who had hired Valya Mikhailov.

Not that he wasn't already pursuing the matter on his own.

Since arriving here, Jason had sequestered himself in a neighboring room, working on a solo project, while also consulting with Sigma Command. Gray had already briefed Director Crowe about all that had transpired, and Kat was doing her own research into Valya's employers.

Still, if possible, he wanted any firsthand knowledge.

Gray drew out a handheld tablet and brought up the photos of the two men that he had taken with his digital spyglass back at the monastery. The pictures were grainy, especially facial details, but the images were clear enough.

Yelagin studied them for a breath, then closed his eyes and gave a small shake of his head, not in refusal, but in sad resignation.

Sister Anna leaned over to examine them, too. Her reaction was far more incredulous. "It can't be..." She glanced to Yelagin and pointed to the image of the hulking figure in a cassock and hat. "From his size and facial scar, that must be Yerik Raz, nyet ?"

The bishop nodded.

Anna turned to them. "He serves commonly as a retainer for—"

"Archpriest Sychkin," Yelagin finished.

Gray kept his features flat, but this confirmed what he had overheard from Valya, who had named the priest back at the church.

Monk had his own query. "You recognize these two men? How? Does everyone in your church know each other?"

"While the patriarchate is growing rapidly, we are still relatively small in number," Yelagin confirmed. "But Archpriest Sychkin is well known by all. He oversees all our Tikhvin churches."

Gray stared over at the monitors that still ran with footage of the burning monastery. "Including the Theotokos of Tikhvin Church?"

The bishop glanced to the same row of screens. "Yes. In fact, Sychkin was the one who had orchestrated the church's restoration at the Simonov Monastery."

Gray slowly nodded. No wonder the bastard had picked that site to serve as Valya's local base of operations.

Yelagin sighed. "The Tikhvin Icon has always been Sychkin's passion."

"Why?" Monk asked.

"If you remember, back at the morgue, I had described the icon's holy status, but what I didn't relate—as it didn't seem important at the time—is another reason it's venerated in Russia." He stared around the table. "Many believe its arrival in Russia, appearing before the fishermen of Tikhvin, was a celestial sign that Russia was destined to be the Third Rome."

Gray frowned. "A Third Rome?"

Yelagin ticked them off on his fingers. "First, of course, there was the original Rome in Italy, and home to Vatican City. Then when Rome fell, Constantinople became the Second Rome."

"And where the icon resided for centuries after it was moved from Jerusalem," Monk noted.

"Correct. And when the icon vanished during the fall of Constantinople and reappeared in Tikhvin, it was taken as a holy sign that Russia was destined to be the Third Rome, the new seat of religious power in the world. It's a philosophy that drives the Russkii Mir —or Russian World—theology. It's one of the main reasons that a vocal number of the Russian Orthodox Church, including our patriarch, sanctions Russia's military conquest of other countries."

"Because it's God's will," Monk said dourly. "Formalized by the reappearance of the Tikhvin Icon on Russian soil."

Yelagin sighed. "Not all of us adhere to his political theology."

"But as a whole, the orthodox church has benefited from it," Anna said. "Our country's largest budget expenditure—after the military—is devoted to expanding our patriarchate."

Gray understood this investment. Such funding had clearly helped garner religious support for Russia's militant expansionism.

"Even the Trinity Lavra has benefited," Yelagin continued. "Millions are being poured into the religious site, with the aim of transforming it into a new Vatican City, symbolically preparing the Trinity Lavra to be the holy seat for the Third Rome."

"And let me guess," Gray said. "Sychkin is at the center of it."

Yelagin nodded. "He has curried favor with our Holy Synod for years, gaining the ear of our patriarch. So, know this, he is a powerful man."

"One you don't want to make an enemy of," Anna warned, but there was no shrinking in her manner, only a deep-seated fury that stoked brighter in her cheeks with each breath.

Gray understood.

She now knew that the bastard was behind her brother's murder .

Yelagin continued, "More importantly, Sychkin is also the predsedatel' —the chairman—of the Arkangel Society." He motioned to Father Bailey. "Which further confirms your suspicions about the significance of what was highlighted in the passages of Herodotus's text."

"About Hyperborea?" Gray said. "Why is that connection significant?"

"The Arkhangel Obshchestvo is founded on the ideologies of a revered Russian philosopher, Aleksandr Dugin. He has written books and treatises pertaining to the historical existence of a lost northern continent, claiming Russians are the descendants of these god-like Hyperboreans."

"Why does that matter?"

"Dugin believes—as do many—that the theological destiny of Russia is to resurrect our glorious past as the descendants of the Hyperborean people. To return to the divine status of those lost ancestors."

"Also," Anna said, "his take is very militant. He believes the only way to achieve that end is via an apocalyptic war between the East and the West. After which, all of Eurasia would return to the fold of Mother Russia."

Gray grimaced. "Which dovetails into this whole Russkii Mir theology tied to the Tikhvin Icon. So, I can see why this lost continent philosophy would appeal to Sychkin."

Yelagin sighed. "But do not be dismissive. Dugin's books that expound upon this ideology— Foundations of Geopolitics and Fourth Political Theory —are studied and taught at our country's military and political science academies. The current regime in Moscow uses his philosophies to support its ambitions to expand our borders—into Crimea, into Ukraine."

Gray struggled to accept this. "All because Dugin believes your people came from this mythical continent?"

"Myths can move mountains," Anna whispered.

"As can faith when it comes to the Tikhvin Icon," Yelagin added. "And whether the continent is myth or not, the Arkangel Society—an eclectic gathering of scientists, philosophers, religious figures—seeks to find proof to support Dugin's assertions."

As Gray stared across the spread of pages, a cold dread crept into him. He knew how heated the Arctic had become of late, and not just in terms of warming temperatures and thawing ice. Russia was reopening dozens of old Soviet bases along its northern coast and building new ones. Additionally, they were constructing hundreds of ice-hardened warships and training brigades of soldiers for fighting in the frigid, ice-choked seas.

Other nations were only beginning to take note of this aggressive posturing, ratcheting up tensions. The entire Arctic was a cold powder keg waiting for a match. One misstep and the next global war could erupt.

Gray remembered Yelagin's words from a moment ago.

Whether the continent is myth or not...

Even if Hyperborea wasn't real, just the search for the place in an area that volatile could be the flaming match that triggers Dugin's apocalyptic war.

And if that continent were ever discovered...

The result could be much worse. It would destabilize the region's fragile geopolitical landscape, wiping out established borders between Arctic nations, blurring others. And considering the area's vast untapped wealth, war over those resources would be inevitable.

And Russia has already set up the groundwork to win that icy battle.

From Yelagin's pallid features, he also recognized the danger to the world. His next words grew defeated. "I suspect Sychkin first employed Valya Mikhailov to simply secure the book, hoping it might be a clue to the Golden Library. There have long been rumors that Ivan the Terrible hid the collection because it contained mystical black arts that could help Russia rise as a supreme Earthly power. That alone would have drawn the archpriest's interest."

Monk pointed to Bailey's pages. "After securing the book, he must've read those same passages that you just did."

Yelagin stroked his fingers through his gray beard. "I think he believes—and maybe rightly so—that the Golden Library holds the key to unlocking this mystery, to revealing the location of Hyperborea. That's why he has grown so brazen." The bishop looked across the table, to the woman who had remained silent through all of this. "Brazen enough to order the kidnapping of a Russian botanist."

All eyes turned her way.

Dr. Stutt looked aghast, as confused as all of them. "But why me? What do I have to do with all of this? With a lost continent?"

Gray answered as he stared at the spread of photos, "I think I may know."