Steve Berry - The Romanov Prophecy

A scan with the flashlight revealed that all the graves were overgrown with underbrush. A few cairns were scattered throughout, and most of the heaps of memorial stones sprouted bushy weeds and thorny vines. He shone the light on the markers. Some of the dates reached back two hundred years.

"Maks said the grave was farthest from the road in," he said, leading Akilina deeper into the cemetery.

The burial ground was spongy from rain that hadn't let up until midafternoon. Which should help with digging, he thought.

They found the grave.

He read the words chiseled beneath KOLYA MAKS.

HE THAT ENDURETH TO THE END SHALL BE SAVED.

Akilina slid the rifle off her shoulder. "Seems this may be the right path."

He handed her one of the shovels. "Let's find out."

The ground peeled up soft and clumpy and carried a sharp scent of peat. Vassily had said the oak coffin should be shallow. Russians tended to bury their dead that way, and he hoped the old man was right.

Akilina worked near the stone marker while he burrowed at the other end. He decided to dig straight down to see how far they needed to go. About three feet in he struck something hard. He cleared away the wet dirt, revealing wood, rotting and splintered.

"That coffin is probably not going to come out," he said.

"Which doesn't speak well of the body."

They continued digging, clearing away layers of mud and, after twenty minutes, a dark rectangle was opened.

He shone the flashlight down.

Through gashes in the wood he saw the body. He used the shovel, pried off the remaining splinters, and exposed Kolya Maks.

The Russian wore the uniform of a palace guard. Occasional bursts of color flashed in the weak beam. Muted reds, dark blue, and what was once surely white, now charcoal from the black earth. Brass buttons and a gold belt buckle had survived, but little remained of the trousers and jacket beyond shreds, leather straps, and a belt.

Time had not been kind to the body, either. The flesh was gone from the face and hands. No features were left except the eye and nose sockets, an exposed jaw, and teeth clenched tight in death. Just as the son had said, the father cradled a metal box on what was left of his chest, rib bones protruding at odd angles, limp remnants of arms still crossed.

Lord had expected a smell, but none drifted up other than the musty odor of wet dirt and lichens. He used the shovel to peel back what was left of the arms. The little bit of coat sleeve crumbled away. A couple of sod worms scampered across the box lid. Akilina lifted the box out and set it gently on the ground. The exterior was dirty, but still intact. Bronze perhaps, he thought, to survive the moisture. He noticed a padlock on the front.

"It's heavy," she said.

He knelt down and tried the weight. She was right. He shook it back and forth. Something with mass slid inside. He laid the box back on the ground and grabbed the shovel.

"Stand back."

He pounded the point of the blade into the lock. It took three jabs to crack the hasp free. He was about to reach down and open the lid when a swirl of light streaked across the tree line. His head whirled around and he saw four dots in the distance-the headlights of two cars approaching fast down the lane where they'd parked. The car lights extinguished at about the point where they'd parked.

"Kill the light," he said. "And come on."

He left the shovels and grabbed the box. Akilina cradled the rifle.

He plunged into the trees and maneuvered through the underbrush to a point beyond the open grave, but far enough into the woods for cover. His clothes quickly dampened from wet foliage, and he was careful not to jostle the box, not sure of how fragile the contents might be. He slowly moved in the direction of their car, weaving a path around the cemetery back to where they'd parked. The wind freshened, now beating a loud rhythm with the branches.

Two flashlights clicked on in the distance.

Crouching down, he moved toward the burial clearing, stopping short, still in the trees. Four dark forms emerged from the end of the trail and entered the cemetery. Three stood tall and strode firm. One was hunched forward and moved slower. In the beams of one of the flashlights he spotted the face of Droopy. The other beam revealed the pudgy features of Inspector Felix Orleg. As they came closer he could tell from the silhouette that the other man was Cro-Magnon, and the final form was Vassily Maks.

"Mr. Lord," Orleg called out in Russian. "We know you are here. Make this easy, would you please?"

"Who is he?" Akilina whispered in his ear.

"A problem," he mouthed.

"That man with the light was on the train," she whispered.

"Both of them were." He looked back at the rifle she held. "At least we're armed."

He watched through the undergrowth, around the dark streaks of trees, as the four forms moved toward the open grave, two flashlight beams leading the way.

"This where your father is buried?" he heard Orleg ask.

Vassily Maks moved toward the stone marker revealed by one of the lights. The wind momentarily masked the voices and he could not hear if the old man said anything. But he did hear when Orleg yelled in Russian, "Lord, either come out or I'll kill this old man. Your choice."

He wanted to reach back, take the rifle from Akilina, and rush forward, but all three of the other men were surely armed and certainly knew how to handle themselves. He, on the other hand, was scared to death and was betting his life on the prophecy of a charlatan murdered a hundred years ago. But before he could make any decision, Vassily Maks made it for him.

"Do not worry about me, Raven. I am prepared."

Maks started to run from his father's grave, back toward the cars. The other three forms stood still, but Lord could see Droopy's arm raise, the outline of a gun in his hand.

"If you can hear, Raven," Maks screamed. "Russian Hill."

One shot cracked in the night and the old man dropped to the ground.

The breath left Lord and he felt Akilina stiffen. They watched while Cro-Magnon calmly walked over and dragged the body back toward the grave, tossing it into the hole.

"We have to go," he whispered to her.

She didn't argue.

They crept from tree to tree, made their way through the woods back toward the car, and stepped to where the three vehicles were parked.

Running footsteps were approaching from the direction of the cemetery.

Only one set.

He and Akilina crouched low in the foliage just beyond the muddy roadbed.

Droopy appeared with a flashlight in hand. Keys jingled in the dark, and the trunk to one of the two cars opened. Lord rushed from the woods. Droopy seemed to hear the steps and rose up from the trunk. Lord crashed the metal box onto the man's skull.

Droopy collapsed to the ground.

Lord looked down, satisfied that the man was out, then glanced into the trunk. A tiny light illuminated a dead stare from Iosif Maks.

What had Rasputin said? Twelve must die before the resurrection can be complete. Mother of God. Two more just had.

Akilina rushed forward and saw the body.

"Oh no," she muttered. "Both of them?"

"We don't have time for this. Get in our car." He gave her the keys. "But be quiet with the door. Don't crank the engine until I tell you." He handed her the box and took the rifle.

The cemetery was a good fifty yards up the road, the route soft and muddy. Not the easiest terrain to negotiate, especially in the dark. Cro-Magnon and Orleg were probably searching the woods, Droopy sent back to retrieve the other body, an open grave the perfect place to dump it. Lord had even left two shovels for them. It wouldn't be long, though, before they began to miss their associate.

He chambered a round, aimed at the right rear tire of one of the cars, and fired. He quickly chambered another and blew out the front tire of the other car. He then raced to his car and leaped in.