Chapter Ten - Inside the Church

A dispirited Phillip sat rigidly on a hardwood chair, his body aching from the weight of the baby clutched to his chest. He hadn't put Jenny down since their mom sent him charging from the car toward the church entrance. Unfortunately the plan failed miserably when his dash for safety was thwarted by the meanest bruiser he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Now brother and sister were hiding with their rescuer in the bell tower at the base of the church steeple. They had reached the remote location by following a convoluted pathway, rushing through a maze of hallways, and scaling a steep, winding staircase. At least, for the moment, they were safe.

Sighing deeply, Phillip once again stuck the pacifier in the baby's mouth. Jenny was hungry, so no amount of sucking could satisfy her need. Any minute now, she'd bellow louder than the bells in the belfry. Shuddering, the teen tightened the hold on his sister and pulled the blanket more firmly around her. "It's cold up here," he said to their male companion who stood alone, peering out the window.

Yuri Valov turned from his vigil. "I apologize for our inadequate accommodations. Maybe soon my associate will come and give us the all clear."

"Yeah, sure." In the near darkness, Phillip studied the silhouette of the polite gentleman. The only light came from the large Christmas star that hung outside the window. Below them, the sound of music drifted through the rafters. Given the awful circumstances, the songs filled him with a deep sadness. He should be sitting in a pew with his family, singing the familiar carols just liked he'd done every Christmas Eve for his entire life.

As he swallowed past the lump in his throat, Phillip chided himself for indulging in self-pity. After all, it was Jenny's first Christmas. She was missing out on the festivities and the doting attention of the whole family. At this very minute, she should be nestled securely in their mother's arms.

The stranger stirred again, slowly crossing the room to place a hand on the youthful shoulder. "I promise to return you and the baby to your family as soon as it's safe."

Phillip nodded. Maybe he could trust the quiet man. Mr. Valov had pulled them out of harm's way and found a decent hiding place. "So, I assume you know my stepfather."

"Mr. Stetson?"

"Right, Lee Stetson. Aren't you the guy who gave him a present at the hospital nursery?"

There was a long pause before Valov responded. "Yes, I did bring a gift for the baby. I wanted to congratulate your parents."

"How do you know my mom and stepfather?"

"I've worked with them on a project."

"Oh, do you make movies, too?"

"No, not really." Yuri cleared his throat, but offered no further explanation.

Phillip looked up in surprise. Something fishy was going on here. "If you're not a film maker, then what are you?" Without waiting for a reply, the teen blurted out his growing fear. "Are you a Nazi or a Commie or something?"

Valov locked his hands behind his back and paced a bit. "I'm from the Soviet Union, if that's what you mean? As you correctly guessed, Phillip, I am a communist, but I mean no harm to you or your family. I'm here to help the Stetsons, not to hurt them."

"Is Lee a communist, too?" Phillip felt stricken by the prospect. He couldn't bear to think of his stepfather as some kind of traitor to his own country.

Yuri returned to his post at the window. "No, Phillip, your stepfather is not a communist. Mr. Stetson is a true patriot of the United States. He'd willingly lay down his life for his country. Lee and your mother are the finest people I've met in America."

"But you're on different sides of, of . . . the Cold War."

"We are all members of the human race." Yuri chuckled softly. "Sometimes people may disagree in their ideology, but they can still appreciate the good qualities they see in each other. And sometimes there are common concerns that bring people of opposing political views together. Do you understand?"

Phillip shrugged. "I guess, but why wouldn't Lee talk about you after you came to the hospital?"

"Some things have to be kept secret."

"Secret?" Propping his right foot on his left knee, Phillip played with the ends of his untied shoelace as he considered the implications. "Do you mean government secrets? My parents do work for the government, and my mom says the government has secrets."

"Maybe you should ask your mother and stepfather to explain things a little better." Valov's voice was incredibly kind, so unlike the mean Russian stereotypes the boy expected to encounter.

Phillip sat a little straighter in his chair. "Yeah, I'll ask my parents. They're pretty good about answering my questions."

A knock on the door ended the conversation. Yuri signaled for silence and pulled his gun from under his coat.

"It's me," came a soft female voice.

Mr. Valov opened the door, and light from the bottom of the stairwell spilled into the room. A strikingly beautiful woman came across the threshold. As she pulled a scarf from her head, long brunette locks tumbled onto her shoulders.

"Sonja," Yuri said with relief, "I was worried about you."

"All is calm at the moment," she replied. Quietly closing the door behind her, she cast them into the murky shadows again. "There are no signs of the Stetsons nor my Vladivostok cousins."

Phillip pushed down his growing fear. "What's happening with my mom? What about my brother? Did someone grab him, too?"

The woman abruptly turned toward the boy as if noticing him for the first time. "This is the oldest King boy, yes? Does he not know what's going on?"

Yuri shook his head. "I told him nothing about the vendetta or his parents' involvement."

"Hey, I want to know what's happening to my family." Squirming in his seat, Phillip startled Jenny from her dozing. Immediately the pacifier fell from her mouth, and she let out a startled cry.

"Keep her quiet," Sonja cautioned.

Phillip reached to the floor to blindly search for Jenny's "Binky". As his fingers closed around the rubbery object, he wondered how to clean it off. There'd be no washing it now. Making the best of the situation, he popped the pacifier into his mouth before offering it to his sister. He couldn't help but grin. His mom had warned him, time and again, about his gross method of sanitation.

Yuri and Sonja turned away from him and began to whisper.

Getting up his nerve, Phillip interrupted them once more. "Hey, I'm still here, and I have questions." As they spun around, he fired off his concerns. "I'd like to know why a Jeep Cherokee followed my mom's car to the church. Why would a bunch of communists want us? We're just normal people, minding our own business."

"Americans baby their children," Sonja said. Approaching the boy, she ruffled his hair, treating him like a small child. "You, little man, should have figured things out by now."

"Stop taunting him," Yuri said, keeping his voice calm. "The Stetsons only want to protect their children from information that could make them vulnerable."

"What information?" Phillip asked, his youthful voice changing pitch as it rose in volume. "I have a right to know what's going on."

"Yes, you do," Sonja said. "You have the right to know that your parents are spies. There, are you satisfied?"

"Spies?" The word came out in a loud gasp. Jiggling the baby in his arms, Phillip tried to wrap his mind around the crazy announcement. "You mean like Federal Agents?"

Yuri sighed with resignation. "Sonja speaks the truth. Your parents are intelligence operatives for the United States government, and they are very good at what they do."

"My mom and Lee? I don't believe you." Phillip shook his head at the outlandish revelation. When she wasn't working for a documentary film company, his mother baked cookies, planted flowers, and helped with the PTA. The most dangerous thing she'd ever done was coach little league, and she didn't do that very well.

Lee Stetson, on the other hand, was athletic, drove a fancy sports car, and never bothered to marry until he was in his late thirties. Maybe he was an agent. That would sure explain the man's secretiveness when he came home each night. God, what kind of guy did his mom choose for a husband? Did she even know Lee was a spy?

Phillip finally shared his conclusion. "I can sort of picture Lee as a Fed, but my mother isn't the spy type. She hates guns."

"It's true," Yuri said. "I can assure you, Phillip, your mother has her own unique style that doesn't depend on shooting people. She out-thinks her opponents"

Sonja moved toward the door and turned the knob, letting a crack of light penetrate the darkness. "I'd better watch for the others," she said, giving Yuri a slight wave. "The Makarovs are still convinced I'm on their side." Then pausing briefly, she looked at Phillip. "Take it from me, young man; your mother knows how to use a gun if push comes to shove."

"My mom? No way," he called as he watched her leave.

Yuri reached over and touched his shoulder. "Think it over, Phillip. Your mother is a very intelligent, brave, and dedicated woman. Your country needs her expertise."

The teen hesitated, reminding himself of his mother's capabilities. "Well, she is very smart, and she has good instincts. Nothing gets past my mom, especially if my brother and I break a window or lie about our homework. It's like she's psychic or telepathic or something."

"Very good talents, indeed," Yuri said with a laugh.

Slowly facts gelled in Phillip's mind. He remembered his mother's creative maneuvers with the car on their way to church. "Suppose what you say is true. Why would you try to help us? From where I sit, it sure feels like we're about to be kidnapped or maybe something worse."

"Phillip," Yuri said kindly, "the Cold War is slowly ending. Calmer heads need to prevail on both sides. I want to prevent Soviet enemies of your parents from carrying our revenge against them."

Suddenly the door banged open, and a large figure filled the entryway. "You betray the Soviet cause," the deep voice spat in disgust. Then the light clicked on, revealing a seething mass of male hostility. Standing with gun drawn, the brute motioned towad Yuri Valov. "Give me your weapon, or I'll shoot the innocents first."

"Back off, Boris," Yuri warned, his weapon still trained on the intruder. "The Soviet mindset is changing. Gorbachev is more open to the West. Your vendetta will not go unpunished."

"Quite the contrary," Boris replied, his voice laced with venom. Wrinkling his bulbous nose, he snorted with contempt. "When the Stetsons die, the Makarov cousins will be hailed as heroes by loyal communists."

Phillip held his breath. For endless seconds, each man remained locked in a standoff. Then to the teen's alarm, Valov relented and lowered his weapon.

Boris yanked the revolver from Yuri and silenced him with a blow to the head. As he collapsed on the floor, another gunman shoved two more captives into the room.

"Grandma! Jamie!" Phillip cried, thankful and dismayed at the same time. My God, it was the same creep who snooped around their house, but now he poked a gun in his grandmother's ribs.

Dotty's determined gaze defied the stern look of her captor. "Thank God, my grandchildren are okay." Quickly she stepped forward and brushed a hand across the brow of her oldest. "How are you doing with Jenny?"

"Hold it," Boris said with clear warning. "Don't anyone move. This is not a time to celebrate." With a jerk of his head, he motioned to his companion. "Nicholai, handcuff the Soviet traitor in case he regains consciousness." Then with a sneer, Boris turned his gun on Dotty.

Unruffled, she ignored the threat and traded places with Phillip. Tenderly, she took the baby in her arms. "Grandma's here, darling."

Phillip kept a wary eye on his captor. "Jenny's hungry, Grandma. She won't take the pacifier anymore."

"That's okay, dear. Thankfully I grabbed a bottle before your father hustled me away from the house this evening. He didn't even give me time to place it in the diaper bag." Dotty reached into her purse and pulled out the needed nourishment.

Crying frantically, Jenny's bow little mouth searched for the next meal.

"Shut her up, or I will," Boris warned as he loomed over the little family.

The seasoned grandmother calmly slid the bottle into the infant's mouth. Then with an angry scowl, she met the menacing glare of the Soviet gunman. "You do have babies in Russia, I would assume? Then you should know that infants need food and comfort." She raised a critical brow at her adversary until he dropped his gaze and lowered his gun.

The teens exchanged astonished looks. "Way to go, Grandma," Phillip whispered as he nudged his brother's arm.

"Just wait," Jamie added. "Lee will find Mom and then they'll both find us."

With a sneer for the boys, Boris turned his attention back to his comrade. Briefly the two exchanged words before Nicholai hurried from the room. Then, once again planting himself in front of the family, the Russian brute trained his weapon on his captives.

Unfazed by the intimidation, Dotty kept right on feeding Jenny. "I imagine even you know it's Christmas Eve. In most of the world, people are singing carols and exchanging gifts. Probably you thugs have wives and children wishing you were home, too. It's a shame your countrymen abolished Christmas, right along with confiscating churches.

"Humph," Boris grunted. "You speak of useless rituals. Karl Marx said 'religion is the opiate of the people'."

"Useless rituals, my foot," Dotty replied with a huff. "Mark my words, mister . . . whoever you are. Your communist government will fail, and then you'll see what the Russian people really think of your poppycock."

"Enough," Boris shouted as he jammed a gag in her mouth and tied it tightly behind her head.

Dotty eyed him with contempt, but she didn't lose her focus. Nothing was going to stop her from soothing her precious granddaughter.

Wisely choosing not to handcuff a woman in grandparent mode, Boris settled for tying her body to the chair, leaving her arms free to hold the baby. Then turning his attention to the boys, he handcuffed each one and forced them to sit on the floor. Apparently satisfied, he holstered his gun and took up sentry by the window.

Jamie turned toward his brother. "Phillip, what's going on? I saw you held at gunpoint. When I told Lee what happened, he went looking for you - with a gun, no less."

"I hate to be the one who breaks the news to you, junior," the eldest warned, "but apparently our stepfather is a spy."

"In your dreams, Phillip. Lee carries a gun, but that doesn't elevate him to spy status."

"Trust me. We've been duped by our parents. Apparently Lee and Mom are both federal agents. Their office must be some kind of spy headquarters."

"Are you serious?" Jamie stiffened at the news. Then turning toward his grandmother, he sought her verdict. "Is any of this true, Grandma?"

Dotty's eyes locked with his, and she nodded in resignation.

Jamie was silent for a long moment, but finally met his brother's gaze. "Well, that explains a lot of things. You should've seen Lee race across the church lawn and throw himself at the crook."

"He wasn't just some crook," Phillip said. "All of the gunmen are from the Soviet Union and they're using us to get to Lee and Mom. I think they want to take them out."

"Out?" Confusion filled Jamie's eyes. "Out where?"

"As in shoot," Phillip croaked "As in shoot to kill."

"Oh." A flash of horror crossed the kid's face.

Seeing his brother recoil in fear, Phillip moved closer and laid a comforting hand on Jamie's knee. Oddly, it felt good to take on the role of protector to the younger sibling he'd always tormented.

From across the room, Boris watched the exchange. "Cheer up, boys; your parents will be here soon. However, they won't be charging in to save you. When we capture your mother and stepfather, we'll bring the whole family together for a fond farewell." The man moved closer, sliding the barrel of his gun under Phillip's chin. "You have heard of the Russian Tsar, Nicholas II, have you not?"

"I guess," the teen said, bravely looking at the face of his oppressor.

Jamie's eyes grew round as he stared at the tyrant. "The Bolsheviks executed the Russian Tsar. . . and his family," he stammered.

"Excellent, young man. You are a student of history." Boris waved his weapon in acknowledgement.

Phillip swallowed hard, his mouth feeling as dry as cotton. "Weren't they killed by a firing squad?"

Boris's weathered features lit up immediately. "Ah, another brilliant student. Yes, the revolutionaries shot Nicholas II and his wife, Alexandra, along with their daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and son, Alexei. They also killed their doctor and their servants. Such a tragedy, is it not?"

The boys glanced at each other, a flicker of fear flashing between them.

"For your family, we plan something with a bit more fanfare," Boris continued. "Do you enjoy fireworks and explosions?" A wide smile spread across his sinister face. "Think of the demise of the Stetson-King family as a salute to Russian history. For my brave uncle who died in prison, your ending will prove to be poetic justice."

TBC