that no harm comes to his person while he undertakes his great work.”
“ Another ‘Rasputin’,” thought Nikolai Kuznetsov apprehensively.
“ Do you understand what I am saying?” the Old One asked with a hypnotic stare.
“ We understand,” General Lysenko replied immediately, fearful of causing the slightest aggravation in the wizardly figure before them.
“ All the rest will be done by us,” the Old One declared. “Your Commissar Dekanazov in Moscow has agreed to our little arrangement,” he said with mocking emphasis on “little.”
With a wave of his hand the Old One abruptly dismissed the entourage and started back to the connecting chamber from which he came. The three Soviets glanced furtively at each other and watched the young goateed figure slowly approach them. The hooded escort turned and started walking back to the stairway leading to the upper reaches of the abbey. The three secret policemen eagerly followed.
Just then three of the hooded men grabbed Major Yuri Rudenko from behind, pinning his hands and dragging him back toward the chamber where the Old One had disappeared.
“ What is this? What are you doing? No! No!” Rudenko blurted with a quivering voice that suddenly released his pent up fear.
“ Lysenko! Lysenko!” he pleaded. Major Rudenko dug his heels into the cavern floor, trying vainly to keep the hooded men from dragging him away. He squirmed futilely in the grip of his captors.
“ Keep walking!” the goateed man commanded General Lysenko and Colonel Kuznetsov. “Do not look back!”
The two Russians fearfully obeyed.
They reached the stone stairs and scrambled upward, held back only by the unhurried pace of two of the guards ahead of them. Major Rudenko disappeared with his abductors into the chamber beyond. Moments later Lysenko and Kuznetsov heard an inhuman wail, high ‐ pitched and reverberating with terror. It filled the cavern and chilled Lysenko and Kuznetsov to the bone. A low, incessant, hollow chant started by a number of voices was barely audible against the major’s unworldly scream of fear and protest against impending death.
Suddenly Yuri Rudenko’s voice broke into a muffled gargle. Then silence.
The chant became louder now, more incessant. More voices were joining in and the chamber beyond hummed with a repetitious ceremonial cadence: “ Elohim, Elohim, Eloah Va ‐ Daath. Elohim, El Adonai, el Trabaoth, Shaddai. Tetragrammaton, Iod. El Elohim, Shaddai. Elohim, Elohim…”
General Lysenko’s thirty years of revolutionary struggles and even more deadly internecine intrigue which had molded him into a calloused, cold ‐ blooded man could not quell the depth of terror coursing through his body, causing it to shake visibly. He missed a step as he clambered up the cramped stairwell, desperate to reach the outside.
Behind him the goateed man climbed solemnly with a wicked smile on his face.
Colonel Kuznetsov kept pace with Lysenko. The young major’s scream was still resounding in him, sending shivers up and down his body. Kuznetsov tried to blot it from his mind and steel himself with a raging determination to get out of this cursed abbey alive. Colonel Kuznetsov, true to Soviet dictates, had never been a believer, but he could not shake the overpowering realization that if there was no God, there ought to be one now.
He climbed as fast as the retinue in front of him allowed, planting his feet hard on each stone, resolutely pushing away some unknown, but very real threat.
Some harrowing minutes later they emerged in the courtyard. Someone had already ordered the pilot to start the engines of the helicopter and the swirling blades were again shrouding the craft in blinding dust.
When Colonel Kuznetsov reached the hatch of the tadpole ‐ belly of the helicopter, one of the hooded guardsmen thrust his pistol back into his shoulder holster and pointed him physically to
“ Another ‘Rasputin’,” thought Nikolai Kuznetsov apprehensively.
“ Do you understand what I am saying?” the Old One asked with a hypnotic stare.
“ We understand,” General Lysenko replied immediately, fearful of causing the slightest aggravation in the wizardly figure before them.
“ All the rest will be done by us,” the Old One declared. “Your Commissar Dekanazov in Moscow has agreed to our little arrangement,” he said with mocking emphasis on “little.”
With a wave of his hand the Old One abruptly dismissed the entourage and started back to the connecting chamber from which he came. The three Soviets glanced furtively at each other and watched the young goateed figure slowly approach them. The hooded escort turned and started walking back to the stairway leading to the upper reaches of the abbey. The three secret policemen eagerly followed.
Just then three of the hooded men grabbed Major Yuri Rudenko from behind, pinning his hands and dragging him back toward the chamber where the Old One had disappeared.
“ What is this? What are you doing? No! No!” Rudenko blurted with a quivering voice that suddenly released his pent up fear.
“ Lysenko! Lysenko!” he pleaded. Major Rudenko dug his heels into the cavern floor, trying vainly to keep the hooded men from dragging him away. He squirmed futilely in the grip of his captors.
“ Keep walking!” the goateed man commanded General Lysenko and Colonel Kuznetsov. “Do not look back!”
The two Russians fearfully obeyed.
They reached the stone stairs and scrambled upward, held back only by the unhurried pace of two of the guards ahead of them. Major Rudenko disappeared with his abductors into the chamber beyond. Moments later Lysenko and Kuznetsov heard an inhuman wail, high ‐ pitched and reverberating with terror. It filled the cavern and chilled Lysenko and Kuznetsov to the bone. A low, incessant, hollow chant started by a number of voices was barely audible against the major’s unworldly scream of fear and protest against impending death.
Suddenly Yuri Rudenko’s voice broke into a muffled gargle. Then silence.
The chant became louder now, more incessant. More voices were joining in and the chamber beyond hummed with a repetitious ceremonial cadence: “ Elohim, Elohim, Eloah Va ‐ Daath. Elohim, El Adonai, el Trabaoth, Shaddai. Tetragrammaton, Iod. El Elohim, Shaddai. Elohim, Elohim…”
General Lysenko’s thirty years of revolutionary struggles and even more deadly internecine intrigue which had molded him into a calloused, cold ‐ blooded man could not quell the depth of terror coursing through his body, causing it to shake visibly. He missed a step as he clambered up the cramped stairwell, desperate to reach the outside.
Behind him the goateed man climbed solemnly with a wicked smile on his face.
Colonel Kuznetsov kept pace with Lysenko. The young major’s scream was still resounding in him, sending shivers up and down his body. Kuznetsov tried to blot it from his mind and steel himself with a raging determination to get out of this cursed abbey alive. Colonel Kuznetsov, true to Soviet dictates, had never been a believer, but he could not shake the overpowering realization that if there was no God, there ought to be one now.
He climbed as fast as the retinue in front of him allowed, planting his feet hard on each stone, resolutely pushing away some unknown, but very real threat.
Some harrowing minutes later they emerged in the courtyard. Someone had already ordered the pilot to start the engines of the helicopter and the swirling blades were again shrouding the craft in blinding dust.
When Colonel Kuznetsov reached the hatch of the tadpole ‐ belly of the helicopter, one of the hooded guardsmen thrust his pistol back into his shoulder holster and pointed him physically to
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