He Can Move the Mountains Read online

  He Can Move The Mountains

  Mountains of Faith, Volume 2

  Catherine Barbey

  Published by Catherine Barbey, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 by Catherine Barbey

  www.catherinebarbey.com

  All rights reserved.

  Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Scripture taken from the Holy Bible,

  NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV®

  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.®

  Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Locales, persons, or events already in the public domain are used fictitiously.

  Cover Art by Rebecca Priestley

  Cover Design by Rob Richards

  For more from Catherine Barbey join her mailing list at

  https://www.catherinebarbey.com/readerslist

  Dedicated to my family,

  each of whom played a valuable role

  in helping bring this book into existence.

  Table of Contents

  List of Characters

  Glossary

  Prologue

  PART 1

  Chapter 1 - Bela

  Chapter 2 - Milana

  Chapter 3 - Azamat

  Chapter 4 - Bela

  Chapter 5 - Bela

  Chapter 6 - Azamat

  Chapter 7 - Milana

  PART 2

  Chapter 8 - Bela

  Chapter 9 - Azamat

  Chapter 10 - Milana

  Chapter 11 - Bela

  Chapter 12 - Azamat

  Chapter 13 - Milana

  Chapter 14 - Bela

  Chapter 15 - Azamat

  Chapter 16 - Milana

  Chapter 17 - Bela

  Chapter 18 - Azamat

  Chapter 19 - Milana

  Chapter 20 - Bela

  Chapter 21 – Azamat

  PART 3

  Chapter 22 – Milana

  Chapter 23 – Azamat

  Chapter 24 - Bela

  Chapter 25 - Azamat

  Chapter 26 - Bela

  Chapter 27 - Milana

  Chapter 28 - Azamat

  Chapter 29 - Bela

  Chapter 30 - Bela

  Chapter 31 - Azamat

  Chapter 32 - Bela

  Chapter 33 - Milana

  Chapter 34 - Bela

  Chapter 35 - Azamat

  Chapter 36 - Bela

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  List of Characters

  Bela and Michael, with Angelina - their adopted daughter.

  Aslan and Radima - Bela’s parents.

  Azamat - Bela’s older brother.

  Madina - Bela’s older sister.

  Milana - Azamat’s former girlfriend.

  Alikhan - Milana’s son.

  Murat - Milana’s husband.

  Musa - Madina’s ex-husband.

  Alyona - Madina and Musa’s daughter, and Bela and Azamat’s niece.

  Oleg - Madina’s boss at work.

  Lida - Radima’s cousin, married to Vladimir. They have a son, Daniel, and a daughter, Irina.

  Pavel - Aslan’s son with his former mistress, Maria.

  Zalina - Angelina’s mother and Bela’s best friend, who died in the Beslan tragedy along with her husband and son.

  Glossary

  Apteka - a chemist or pharmacy

  Babushka - an elderly lady or grandmother

  Circassians - an indigenous people group of the North Caucasus

  Dom Pionerov - a large, municipal building, formerly used by the national Pioneers organisation

  Kasha - porridge

  Kolbasa - salami

  Lapochka - a term of endearment, meaning something like ‘dear one’

  Marshroutka - a mini-bus operating like a bus but able to drop passengers where they request as long as it’s along the route

  Shawarma - a sandwich wrap of Middle Eastern origin, usually filled with meat, lettuce and mayonnaise

  Smetana - sour cream

  Tyotya - aunt or auntie

  Prologue

  July 2010

  Pavel

  Pavel emerged from the shadows and quickened his step, keeping the hood of his sweatshirt pulled down low over his face. He could feel his heart beating faster inside his chest, and he wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans before placing them back inside his sweatshirt pockets. His hands met something cold and hard, and a rush of adrenaline flooded through his body. This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for.

  He’d been here in the Caucasus, in the town of Shekala, for two months now, planning and observing and waiting. Once or twice, waking up cold from his night on the park bench, he’d thought about going back home to Moscow and had almost given in, but then he’d forced himself to remember his mother’s face. Her pale, thin, lined face. Her bloodshot eyes betraying a drug addiction she was barely keeping under control; her thin, creased mouth that had smoked too many cigarettes and drunk too many shots of vodka.

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember her happy, but she had been once. The old photos she kept in a drawer in their run-down apartment portrayed a beautiful, adventurous woman. Well-dressed and attractive. That had been when they lived in Shekala, but he couldn’t remember that. They had moved to Moscow when he was only four. It had been just the two of them for as long as he could remember, not including the shadows of strange men flitting in and out of their apartment, each one staying less time than the one before.

  He remembered clearly, though, the day when she’d first told him about his father. He’d been about eleven, very ill and in hospital, and his mother had been anxious and troubled as the hospital bills started piling up. But then one day she’d arrived at his bedside looking jubilant and full of hope.

  “It’s going to be alright, Pavlik, love!”

  “How, Mama? What do you mean? Am I getting better?”

  “You will, darling, you will. We can pay the doctors now, and they’ll make you better.”

  Pavel had looked at her, confused. They’d had very little money all his life, just scraping by, really. “Where has the money come from, Mama? Do you have a new job?”

  “No, no.” She’d leaned over and squeezed his hand, her eyes shining. “He’s going to help us. Your father. He’s finally going to look after you, Pavlik.”

  His father.

  Pavel crossed the street and entered the town park. The man ahead was walking briskly, his briefcase swinging at his side. He’d worked late tonight, the man from the fancy office buildings, and the dark seemed to make him nervous. And so it should.

  Pavel had caught glimpses of this man over the last two months. A rich, self-important, pompous individual who worked in some high-level position in the local government. Pavel scowled and swore quietly under his breath. This man lived in a nice house with a nice-looking family. Did he ever spare a thought for his other son and the woman he’d tossed aside? If he’d done the right thing and looked after them properly then he and his mother would never have had to live in squalor in a bare, dirty apartment in a rough part of Moscow. He wouldn’t have had to endure beatings from the local neighbourhood gang of boys, or rumm
age through the trash trying to find scraps of edible food. Anger filled Pavel’s body and gave his stride a new determination as he followed the man at a distance. His mother could have had a happy life. The men, the alcohol, the drugs: none of that would have been necessary if this lowlife had stepped up and done his duty. The two-faced coward!

  A small voice flitted into Pavel’s mind. “He did pay your hospital bills. You might have died. He wouldn’t have let you die.” Pavel brushed the voice aside. The money had stopped completely once he’d been pronounced well and allowed home, and his mother hadn’t seen a single rouble since.

  The man had reached the dark part of the park now. A couple of the street lamps were broken, thanks to Pavel’s good aim with a handful of stones a week or so ago. This was it. This was the moment he’d been rehearsing in his mind for weeks. He broke into a run and the man whipped around, his eyes large and white with panic. They were face to face at last. Father and son.

  “What do you want?” The man’s voice was loud but shaky. He looked around nervously, but there was no one there. No one to help.

  “You don’t recognise me, do you?” Pavel sneered. He pulled the hood off his head. Let him get a good look. Would he see the resemblance? Would he feel sorry for the son he’d abandoned? He hated this man with every fibre of his being. He stared him in the eye, but the man just looked confused.

  “No, who are you? What do you want?” he repeated, taking a couple of steps backwards.

  Pavel laughed a cold, shallow laugh. “Revenge. This is for my mother, Maria. This is for the life you took from her. A life for a life.”

  He reached into his pocket and drew out the gun. The Glock 17 felt light and familiar and he sure knew how to use it. At least his gruelling military service had been good for something. The man’s face turned an ashen shade of white, his eyes widened in terror and he turned as if to run, but Pavel grabbed his arm. The briefcase fell to the floor and burst open, scattering a ream of paper along the terracotta paving slabs that tiled the walkway.

  A shout rang out. Pavel flinched and looked up. Someone was running towards them. Someone had seen them. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t part of the plan. It was late and dark, who could have spotted them? He swore loudly and turned back to look at his father. He hadn’t come all this way or suffered so much to let this chance go.

  He pulled the trigger.

  It was a hasty shot, straight into the man’s stomach. He could have aimed better, but he’d had no time to think now. He turned and ran as fast as he could, back in the direction he’d come. He didn’t look back, but he heard his father groan and slump to the floor. The other man ran faster, but his footsteps stopped when he reached Pavel’s father and didn’t follow after Pavel himself. Had he got away with it? He ran as fast as he could, the gun still in his hand. His body was pumped with adrenaline and his heart was simultaneously full of jubilation and shock.

  He had done it.

  He had had revenge at last.

  1

  He moves mountains

  without their knowing it...

  Job 9:5

  Chapter 1

  One Week Earlier

  Bela

  Bela placed the bag of groceries on the floor just inside the doorway and bent down to remove her sandals. She chose her favourite pair of summer slippers and then looked over to see if Angelina needed any help with her shopping bag.

  “Don’t worry, I can manage, Tyotya Bela” said the ten-year-old, puffing a little as she came through the door.

  Bela took the bag from her. “I do hope they’re going to mend the lift soon. It’s not much fun dragging shopping bags up four flights of stairs in this heat.”

  “Tell me about it!” Angelina rolled her eyes slightly as she lifted her leg up to remove her shoes. This eye rolling thing was becoming a habit, Bela noted. Her little girl was growing up. Of course, Angelina wasn’t really her little girl. She and Michael had adopted her five years ago after Angelina’s parents and older brother had been killed in the terrorist attack at the school in Beslan. Bela shuddered. Even now, nearly six years after the tragedy, she was still traumatised by the horrible memories, seeing all the suffering on the television and not knowing until several days later that her best friend, Zalina, Angelina’s mother, had died in the attack. Fortunately, Angelina herself hadn’t remembered much from that day. Even her own ‘First Bell’ at school, three years ago, hadn’t triggered any memories and had passed without any concern on her part, despite the wrestling going on inside Bela to hold back her own tears and pretend to be nothing but happy and joyful instead for Angelina’s sake. She still worried about whether the trauma was deeply buried and would surface as Angelina grew older and came across more information on the internet. It was something that she and Michael prayed regularly about.

  There I go again, God, worrying as usual, and letting past hurts spoil our present moments. You gave Angelina to us to look after, and I trust you to heal her wounds when the time is right. Just, please give her a happy childhood.

  “Can I watch TV now?” Angelina asked eagerly.

  “Not until you’ve helped me unpack the groceries, lapochka.” Bela smiled but her eyes were firm. Angelina might be growing up in an apartment in town, but she still needed to learn how to help out around the place. Bela’s own childhood, growing up in the village of Awush, just a couple of miles away, had been full of chores, especially in the summer. There had been the vegetables to plant, weed and harvest, and the fruit trees and bushes to tend to. Not to mention having to look after the cow and the chickens.

  “I think I’ll get another crate of tomatoes from the market tomorrow. We need to do some more bottling,” Bela mumbled to herself.

  “Really? We did a whole load last week,” Angelina protested as she put the tins away in the cupboard.

  “My Nana...”

  “Here we go again with the Nana story!” Angelina interrupted, laughing.

  Bela laughed too. “Sorry, do I go on about her a lot?”

  “Yes! But that’s okay. She was special, I understand that. Like mine.” The smile disappeared from Angelina’s face, and she continued to unpack the shopping bags more thoughtfully.

  Bela touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Yes, your grandmother was a very special lady too.”

  Angelina had lived with her grandmother since she was born, and Rosa, her grandmother, had protected her all through the Beslan affair, begging Bela to adopt the little girl before she was no longer able to look after her anymore. Bela felt a pang of regret again that Rosa hadn’t lived long enough to know that Bela had abided by Zalina’s last wishes and taken Angelina to be her own. She’d hesitated too long. She’d still been grieving the tragic loss of her best friend, and confused over her relationship with Michael, so that by the time she’d made the right decision Angelina had been living in the local orphanage for four months already.

  “What were you going to say about your Nana...?”

  Bela’s thoughts turned to her own grandmother. “My Nana would bottle at least fifty jars of tomatoes and fifty jars of cucumbers every summer to see us all through the winter. I want to pass down the tradition to you too, Angelina.”

  “Along with her secret recipe.”

  Bela laughed. “Yes, her not-so-secret-now recipe.”

  “There.” Angelina closed the cupboard door. “Now can I watch TV?”

  “Yes, sure.” Bela watched Angelina race out of the kitchen, and soon the sounds of Angelina’s favourite show came drifting through the apartment.

  Bela unpacked the last of the groceries and put the shopping bags away. They didn’t have many luxury items in the cupboards, but they had plenty to live on quite comfortably. Michael’s grant from the university in England was small by British standards but stretched a long way here in the Caucasus. And there was her salary from Cody’s tourism business too, where she worked as his personal assistant and office manager. She looked around at her small but cosy kitchen. T
hank you, God, you’re so good to us! She’d learned a long time ago that gratitude was the antidote to fear and anxiety. She allowed her mind to drift instead to the memories of her wedding day, and a large smile broke out over her face. She’d hesitated too about marrying her handsome British linguist, but along with adopting Angelina that had been one of the best decisions she’d ever made. The third, or probably the best decision of all, had been believing that Jesus was indeed the Way, the Truth and the Life, even down here in the Caucasus, and accepting Him into her heart.

  Michael should be home soon. Perhaps she should check her phone, where was it? Bela walked into the hallway and fumbled around in her handbag for a few seconds before her fingers latched around the familiar, rectangular object she was seeking. Yes, there was a text from Michael. He planned to be home around six. That gave her plenty of time to fix some dinner for the three of them. Her eyes fell on the framed wedding photo on the shelf of the hallway cupboard unit. She picked it up, dusting the top a little and running her fingers over the glass. There they were, two of the happiest people in the world. Michael in his traditional English suit with tails and a top hat, and Bela in her traditional Circassian dress, with long flowing sleeves, a belt and embroidered bodice, and the tall hat with the soft, fine veil cascading down her shoulders and back. Two cultures colliding and yet somehow joining as one. Angelina was smiling up at both of them, her eyes sparkling with the same joy as theirs. She’d been a beautiful bridesmaid, this bonus daughter of hers. Michael had stepped effortlessly into the role of a father, and it was almost as if they’d always been together, their little family of three.

  Bela put the picture back on the shelf, a stab of sadness piercing her heart.