Devil's Eye (2 page)

Each scene on a tapestry was an accurate reproduction of some illustration from an old book or manuscript about witchcraft and demonology. Each was a faithful rendition of medieval engravings and included works of some well
‐
known masters.

No one spoke as the guards made a semi
‐
circle around the three foreigners and waited. The Russian intruders’ eyes darted furtively from scene to scene on the tapestries and then to each other for reassurance.

Momentarily, the shaft of light from the chamber beyond was disturbed by shadowy movement and there emerged from it two men in black hooded robes. One was young and gaunt with an angular face and goatee. The other was old with piercing, cat
‐
like eyes and a long, narrow beard that trailed from his scowling face.

The Old One stared long and intently at the three secret policemen, studying each as if trying to read his mind. Then he spoke in a low and commanding tone:

“
Tell me, comrades. Are you superstitious?”

Colonel Kuznetsov looked strangely at General Lysenko who had asked the same question in the helicopter. Now, it did not sound so innocent.

Major Rudenko stared warily at the old man whose face glared at him from the folds of the dark hood covering his head.

The Old One kept studying each of them intently—gazing as if in a trance—looking for a reaction.

“
We have been sent here at the orders of Deputy Minister Vladimir Dekanazov of the Committee for State Security,” General Lysenko declared bravely, trying to convince himself of his authority among these strange men who obviously displayed no fear of the dreaded NKVD. “We are to receive instructions from…”

“
I am to give you instructions!” the Old One intoned. “Only in terms that are most vague. This is for the best, is it not? It is for your own safety and good,” he declared with sarcasm. “Your Comrade Dekanazov, the one who sent you, wouldn’t want to scare the
Devil
out of you, would he?” The Old One was so pleased with his remark that he broke into a loud and cacophonous laugh.

Just as suddenly he fell silent and stared at each of them again.

“
Listen to me carefully! Very carefully! A most significant event has occurred. It has occurred in the United States of America. This event will change the course of history!”

He glared at the arrivals with slanted eyes ablaze, raised his hands triumphantly and shouted: “No! It will change the course of Destiny!”

“
We had long hoped for this occurrence,” the Old One now said calmly. “As had some very wise men in your own government. It is heartening to know my dear godless friends that you have colleagues in power who have not forgotten the lessons left them by one of our greatest students and devotees—a man whose singular influence had so decisive a role in the course of your own Revolution. Grigori Rasputin!”

The three secret policemen looked dumbfounded.

“
Oh, yes. Yes, indeed,” the Old One assured with relish. “Rasputin! The Mad Monk! Or so the uninitiated claim. Where might you suppose he gained his earthly powers? Eating your Russian bread offered by faithful peasants? Drinking your vodka with the czar? No, gentlemen. Rasputin has in his own time traversed these very grounds! He came away from here with a vision of a new world! The fruits of his labor still flourish in your country this very day!”

General Lysenko felt a bead of sweat course from the back of his neck down his spine. This information, he sensed, was not casually revealed unless it was meant to go no further. Anatoli Lysenko for the first time since they left Aswan became genuinely fearful for his own safety.

“
The ‘Mad Monk’—Rasputin—had a number of disciples,” the Old One continued. “In fact some of your own kind, the czar’s secret police— your predecessors—those who finally killed him—with the greatest difficulty as you know—became his strongest converts. They saw his super human powers! Your own Commissar Dekanazov is one of them. That is why he knows of this place. That is why he sent you.”

The young goateed figure in the black hood stood motionless next to the Old One and stared fixedly at the three Russians while the master continued.

“
Unimagined travail will be visited upon your greatest enemy— America! Her supremacy will wither in the face of her own self
‐
doubt! Her nation will lose its perceived innocence and be the subject of derision! She will have great martyrs among her; after which will follow great confusion and uncertainty. Her leaders will hesitate. They will shrink and they will speak abominations. Those who appear strong will lead astray. They will be accused of weakness of the flesh. War will be called Peace and Peace will be called War. America will see the pronouncements of her highest ideals fall prey and be suspect of a disbelieving world. Evil will flourish in her shadow!”

The Old One fell silent, waiting to see if the full impact of his words were understood. His eyes flared and he continued.

“
Your enemy will be called a war
‐
monger and destroyer! Her good deeds will be perceived as wicked! Your own leaders in Moscow will, of course, be instrumental in propagating this among the peoples of the world.”

He lowered his voice and said slowly and emphatically: “Then will come a most epochal event. Your own empire will fracture and your State will disappear!” The Old One let the words sink in. “But you need not despair, for this will divert your enemy for a time; a prelude to your own victory. When all this comes to pass—then will come the historical hour!”

Pointing his finger in majestic arrogance at the three, he lowered his voice again and said with assurance: “When all this comes to pass, then will occur the historical hour! Then will come the moment when you seize events and fulfill the most ambitious dream of which you ever dreamed—a red banner flying the length and breadth of this earth!”

The three Soviets stood frozen in beguilement and fear.

“
Your enemy’s achievements in science and the art of destruction will become the very means by which she will succumb to your power.”

The Old One let his visitors savor his words.

“
But hear me!” he declared. “You will have this only for a time. For the ultimate glory will be ours.” He said this with longing and with unshakeable certainty. “Your own victory will be a prelude. It will serve to hasten the day when the entire world pays rightful homage to our Prince—the Prince of the Netherworld!”

His cat eyes widened and his voice rose to a crescendo as he announced: “All this will come to pass because the people of America have at last—they have at long last been gifted with the visage of the Devil’s Eye!”

The three Russians stood transfixed. To speak now was to risk mortal danger because the Old One’s rolling eyes radiated: madness.

“
You are to do but one thing,” the Old One commanded. “You will infiltrate my young supplicant into the United States of America. You are practiced at these things. Even as we speak I know from your Commissar Dekanazov that you have well
‐
positioned agents in the American system. You will use your established espionage networks and resources to get him there.” The Old One looked at the secret policemen menacingly. “You are to assure that he remains undetected. You are to see 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 the ladder. He scrambled up with lowered head against the sandy fury. General Lysenko was ahead of him, already disappearing through the hatch with the urgent tugging of the co
‐
pilot. Next came the goateed man who wordlessly climbed aboard, entered the cargo area, and sat down on the bench opposite the two Russians.

The co
‐
pilot was leaning out of the cockpit with one hand grasping the bulkhead, trying to see Major Rudenko emerge from the raging dust at the foot of the ladder.

“
Close the hatch!” General Lysenko shouted.

The co
‐
pilot turned with a puzzled look to the General, then eyed the new arrival with the goatee and hooded cassock.

“
Close the hatch!” Lysenko commanded. “Get the devil out of here!”

General Lysenko sensed that as long as the goateed man was in the air with them, no sudden calamity could befall them. When they landed in Aswan, he assured himself, he would wash his hands of this strange sorcerer and let the Illegals Section do whatever they wanted with him.

The secret police general was visibly agitated.