Steve Berry - The Romanov Prophecy

Yes, it would, he thought.

"Are you hungry?" Akilina asked.

He was. "I think we ought to stay out of sight. I'll go downstairs and buy some food from the kiosk in the lobby. Her bread and cheese looked good. We can have a quiet dinner here."

She smiled. "That would be good."

Downstairs, Lord approached the old woman operating a small kiosk and selected a loaf of black bread, some cheese, a couple of sausages, and two beers. He paid with a five-dollar bill, which she eagerly accepted. He was heading back toward the staircase when he heard cars approach outside. Blue and red lights swirled in the darkness and strobed the lobby through street-side windows. He glanced out and saw three police cars wheel to a stop, car doors pop open.

He knew where they were headed.

He bounded up the stairs and into the room. "Get your stuff. Police are downstairs."

Akilina moved fast. She yanked up her shoulder bag and slipped on her coat.

He grabbed his bag and coat. "It won't take them long to learn this room number."

"Where are we going?"

He knew there was only one way to go-up to the fourth floor. "Come on." He headed out the door, which he gently closed.

They climbed the dimly lit oak steps as feet pounded up from below. They turned on the landing and tiptoed to the top floor. Footsteps thumped down the third-floor hall. Lord studied the seven rooms by the light of an exposed incandescent bulb. Three rooms faced the street, three were at the rear of the building, one was at the end of the hall. The doors to all of them were open, signifying that they were unoccupied.

The rapping of fists on wood echoed from below.

He signaled for quiet and pointed to the last room, the one that faced the rear of the building.

Akilina headed for it.

Along the way, Lord gently closed the doors on either side of the hall. Then he followed her inside and quietly locked the door.

More pounding came from below.

The room was dark and he dared not switch on the bedside lamp. He moved to the window and stared out. Thirty or so feet down was an alley filled with parked cars. He yanked up the glass and stuck his head out into the cold. No policemen were in sight. Perhaps they thought a surprise visit enough to ensure success. To the right of the window a gutter pipe snaked a path from the roof to the cobbles below.

He straightened. "We're trapped."

Akilina brushed past and crouched out the window. He heard heavy steps on the staircase coming their way. The policemen surely had learned that the third-floor room was empty. The closed doors should slow them down, but not for long.

Akilina unshouldered her bag and tossed it out the window. "Give me yours."

He did, but asked, "What are you doing?"

She tossed the bag out. "Watch what I do and follow."

She swung herself out the window and clung to the sill. He stared as she grabbed hold of the drainpipe and angled her weight, legs planted on the brick facade, hands wrapped around the moist iron. Deftly, she maneuvered down, using her legs for leverage, alternately grabbing and releasing as gravity worked her to the ground. In a few seconds, she hopped off the wall to the street.

He heard doors opening out in the hall. He didn't really think he could do what Akilina had just done, but there was little choice. In a few more seconds the room would be full of police.

He swung out the window and grabbed hold of the pipe. The metal chilled his hands and the dampness caused his grip to slip, but he clenched tight. He planted his feet against the brick and started down.

He heard pounding on the room door.

He dropped himself faster and passed the second-floor windows. Wood splintered from above as the locked door was apparently forced. He continued down but lost his grip as one of the wall braces appeared. He started to fall just as a head popped out the open window above. He braced himself for impact as he scraped the rough brick on the way down and his body pounded to the concrete.

He rolled once and slammed into the tire of one of the parked cars.

Glancing up, he saw a gun appear in the policeman's hand. He ignored the pain in his thigh and sprang to his feet, grabbing Akilina and shoving her to the other side of the car.

Two shots cracked in the night.

One bullet ricocheted off the hood. The other shattered the windshield.

"Come on, and stay down," he said.

They clung to their bags and crawled forward down the alley, using the parked cars for protection. A trail of bullets followed them, but the fourth-floor window did not afford the best firing angle. Glass shattered and metal screamed as bullets raked past. The end of the alley was just ahead and he wondered if more policemen would be waiting.

They left the alley.

Lord whirled his head in both directions. Shops on both sides were dark. No street lamps. He quickly shouldered his bag, grabbed Akilina's hand, and raced with her to the other side of the street.

A car slid around the corner to their right. Headlights blinded him. The vehicle raced straight toward them.

They froze in the middle of the street.

Brakes screeched as tires grabbed damp pavement.

The car skidded to a stop.

He noticed the vehicle was not official. No lights or markings. The face through the windshield, though, was recognizable.

Iosif Maks.

The Russian stuck his head out the driver's-side window and said, "Get in."

They climbed inside and Maks slammed the accelerator to the floor.

"Good timing," Lord said, glancing through the rear window.

The big Russian kept his eyes on the road but said, "Kolya Maks is dead. But his son will see you tomorrow."

MOSCOW SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17 7:00 AM

Hayes SAT down to breakfast in the Volkhov's main dining room. The hotel offered an exquisite morning buffet. He especially loved the sweet blinys the chef prepared with powdered sugar and a fresh fruit topping. The day's Izvestia was delivered by the waiter and he settled back to read the morning news.

A front-page article recapped the Tsarist Commission's activities of the past week. After the opening session Wednesday, nominations had started on Thursday. Stefan Baklanov's had been the first name placed forward, his candidacy proffered, as arranged, by the popular mayor of Moscow. The Secret Chancellory thought using someone the people respected would give further credibility to Baklanov, and the ploy had apparently worked as the Izvestia reporter editorialized about the support growing for Baklanov's selection.

Two rival clans of surviving Romanovs quickly nominated their senior members, asserting a closer blood and marital tie to Nicholas II. Three more names had been offered, but the reporter gave none a serious chance, the three all distant Romanovs. A boxed story off to the right noted that there actually might be a lot of Russians with Romanov blood. Laboratories in St. Petersburg, Novosibirsk, and Moscow were offering, for fifty rubles, to test a person's blood and compare genetic markers to those of the imperial family. Apparently, a lot of people had paid the fee and taken the test.

The initial debate among commission members on the nominees had been intense, but Hayes knew it was just for show since, at last report, fourteen of seventeen members were bought. Debate had been his idea. Better to let the members appear in disagreement and be slowly swayed than for a quick decision to be made.

The story ended with a note that the nomination process would conclude the next day, an initial vote on narrowing the field to three candidates was scheduled for Tuesday, and then two more days of debate would be held before a final vote on Thursday.

By the coming Friday it should all be over.

Stefan Baklanov would become Stefan I, Tsar of All Russia. Hayes's clients would be happy, the Secret Chancellory would be satisfied, and he'd be several million dollars richer.