Steve Berry - The Romanov Prophecy

He brought the egg closer and examined the three small photos extending from the top. "Alexie and Anastasia survived. They were here, in this country. Both are long dead, but maybe their descendants aren't. We're so close to finding them, but all we have is some gold and an egg worth a fortune." He shook his head. "Yussoupov went to a lot of trouble. Even involving Faberge, or at least his last workmaster, to craft this."

"What do we do now?" Akilina asked.

He sat back in the chair and considered her question. He wanted to offer some hope, an answer, but finally he spoke truthfully.

"I have no idea."

MOSCOW TUESDAY, OCTOBER 19 7:00 AM

Hayes walked quickly toward the phone ringing beside his bed. He'd just finished showering and shaving, preparing for another day at the commission proceedings, a pivotal day when a decision would be made on the three candidates to be considered in the final voting. There was certainly no doubt Baklanov would be included, his final selection now assured since the Secret Chancellory had confirmed the previous night that all seventeen commission members were purchased. Even the pesky bastard who'd grilled Baklanov during his last appearance had named his price.

He answered the phone on the fourth ring and instantly recognized Khrushchev's voice.

"A call came in about half an hour ago from the Russian consulate in San Francisco, California. Your Mr. Lord is there with Miss Petrovna."

Hayes was shocked. "What's he doing there?"

"He appeared at a local bank with a safe-deposit key. Apparently that was what he retrieved from Kolya Maks's grave. The Commerce and Merchant's Bank is one of several institutions worldwide the Soviets monitored through the years. The KGB was obsessed with finding tsarist wealth. They were convinced gold bullion was sitting in bank vaults, hidden away before the revolution. Actually, there was some truth to that, because millions were found in accounts after 1917."

"You're telling me that your people still monitor banks for money that's almost a hundred years old? No wonder your government is broke. You need to give it up and move on."

"Do we? Look what's happening. Perhaps we are not as foolish as you think. Some of what you say, though, is correct. After the communist fall, endeavors such as this were deemed unaffordable. But I had the foresight to recultivate past contacts when our secret association was formed. Our consulate in San Francisco has maintained a discreet relationship with two banks there for decades. They were both depositories used before the revolution by tsarist agents. Luckily, one of our sources reported access to a safe-deposit box we suspected of a tsarist connection."

"What happened?"

"Lord and Miss Petrovna appeared with a cover story of representing some deceased person's estate. The clerk thought nothing of it until they produced a key for one of the oldest boxes the bank still maintains. It is one of the boxes we have watched. Lord left the bank with three velvet bags, contents unknown."

"We know where they are now?"

"Mr. Lord signed in for access to the safe-deposit boxes and left a local hotel address. We have confirmed he and Miss Petrovna are there. He apparently feels safe back in America."

His mind raced. He checked his watch. A little after seven AM on a Tuesday in Moscow meant it was still eight PM. Monday in California.

Twelve hours before Lord started another day.

"I have an idea," he told Khrushchev.

"I thought you might."

Lord and Akilina exited the elevator in the lobby of the Marriott, the contents from the safe-deposit box stored in their room's floor safe. The San Francisco Public Library opened at nine AM and he wanted to be there first thing to do more research and try and determine what they were missing, or at least develop an avenue down which they could head for answers.

This search, which at first seemed only a way to get out of Moscow, had turned interesting. Originally, he'd planned on seeing what was in Starodug, then catching the first plane back to Georgia. But after what happened to the Makses, and what he'd found both in Starodug and the bank, he realized that there was much more here than first contemplated. He was now determined to see it through. Where that might lead he had no idea. But the quest was being made even more interesting by what was happening between him and Akilina.

He'd booked only one room in the Marriott. They'd slept separately, but their talks last night revealed an intimacy he'd not felt in a long while. They'd watched a movie, a romantic comedy, and he'd translated the dialogue. With his commentary she'd enjoyed the film, and he'd enjoyed sharing it with her.

There'd only been one major romance in his life, a fellow law student at the University of Virginia whom he'd ultimately learned was far more interested in furthering her career than developing a relationship. She'd abruptly left him right after graduation, taking an offer with a Washington, DC, firm, where he assumed she was still inching her way up the hierarchy to full partnership. He'd moved to Georgia and been hired at Pridgen amp; Woodworth, dating some, but nothing serious and no one as interesting as Akilina Petrovna. He'd never been a believer in fate-the concept always seemed more suitable to the faithful who'd worshipped his father-but what was happening could not be denied, both the search they'd accepted and the attraction they shared.

"Mr. Lord."

The use of his name, called out across the expansive hotel atrium, caught him by surprise. No one in San Francisco should know who he was.

He and Akilina stopped walking and turned.

A sprightly gnome of a man with black hair and matching mustache approached. He was dressed in a double-breasted suit with wide lapels cut in a European style. He walked with an even gait aided by a cane and did not hurry his step as he came close.

"I am Filip Vitenko, from the Russian consulate," the man said in English.

Lord's back stiffened. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Could we sit down somewhere? I have some things to discuss with you."

He had no intention of venturing far with this man, so he motioned to an ensemble of chairs nearby.

As they sat, Vitenko said, "I am aware of the incident in Red Square last Friday-"

"Could you speak Russian so Miss Petrovna can understand? Her English is not nearly as good as yours."

"Of course," Vitenko said in Russian, throwing a smile at Akilina.

"As I said, I am aware of what happened in Red Square last Friday. A policeman was killed. A bulletin has been issued by the Moscow police for your detention. It states that you are wanted for questioning."

Now he was concerned.

"I am also aware of your contact with an Inspector Feliks Orleg. I realize, Mr. Lord, that you have no complicity in the Red Square affair. Rather, it is Inspector Orleg who is under suspicion. I have been directed to make contact and secure your cooperation."

He was not convinced. "You still haven't said how you located us."

"Our consulate has, for a number of years, maintained a watch on two financial institutions in this city. Both existed in tsarist times and were used as depositories by imperial agents. Nicholas II was said to have secreted away gold before the revolution. When you appeared yesterday, at both institutions, and wanted access to a safe-deposit box we have long suspected as having an imperial connection, we were notified."

"That would be against the law," he said. "This isn't Russia. There is bank confidentiality in this country."

The envoy seemed unperturbed. "I am aware of your laws. Perhaps they likewise cover the use of false court papers to gain access to a safe-deposit box owned by someone else?"

He got the message. "What do you want?"