Steve Berry - The Romanov Prophecy

"No. I may be taking a chance, but I'm not going to be foolish. I want you to take all this stuff and check into another hotel. Leave through the parking garage. Don't use the front or the lobby. This place could be watched. You never know, you might be followed, so take a roundabout path to the new hotel. Use the subway, a bus, maybe a taxi, too. Take a couple of hours to move around. I'll go to the consulate at two thirty. You call at three thirty. Use a pay phone somewhere. If I don't answer or they say I'm unavailable or I've already gone, go to ground. Stay low."

"I don't like this."

Lord stood and walked to the wall table where the velvet bag lay. He slid the egg inside. "I don't either, Akilina. But we have no choice. If there are direct Romanov heirs still alive, the Russian government needs to know that. We can't govern our lives with what Rasputin said decades ago."

"But we have no idea where to look."

"Publicity might bring any descendants of Alexie and Anastasia out into the open. DNA testing can easily weed the real thing from frauds."

"We were told to do this alone."

"We're the eagle and the raven, right? So we can set the rules."

"I don't think we can. I believe that we must find the tsar's heirs as the starets predicted."

Lord leaned against the table. "The Russian people need the truth. Why is openness and honesty so foreign a concept to you folks? I think we should let your government and the U.S. State Department handle this. I'm going to tell the guy from Moscow everything."

She was uneasy about the course Lord was about to take. She preferred anonymity, the protection that a city of hundreds of thousands could provide. But maybe he was right. Perhaps the proper authorities should be alerted and something done before the Tsarist Commission selected Stefan Baklanov, or anyone else, as the next Tsar of All Russia.

"My job was to find anything that might affect Baklanov's claim. I think this definitely qualifies. The man I work for needs to know what we know. There's a lot at stake here, Akilina."

"Perhaps your career?"

Lord went silent for a moment. "Perhaps."

She wanted to ask more, but decided not to. It was obvious he'd made up his mind and he did not look the sort to change it. She would just have to trust that he knew what he was doing.

"How will you find me after you leave the consulate?" she asked.

He lifted one of a brochures stacked with several others. It was a colorful pamphlet with pictures of a zebra and tiger on the front.

"The zoo stays open till seven PM. I'll meet you there. At the Lion House. Your English is good enough to get you there. If I'm not there by six, go to the police and tell them everything. Ask for a U.S. State Department representative to be called. The man I work for is Taylor Hayes. He's in Moscow with the commission. Have the American representatives get in touch with him. Explain it all. When you call at three thirty, unless I personally come on the phone and speak with you, don't believe a word you are being told. Assume the worst and do as I say. All right?"

She didn't like what she was hearing and told him so.

"I understand," Lord said. "Vitenko seemed okay. And we are in San Francisco, not Moscow. But we have to be realistic. If this is something more than we've been led to believe, I doubt we'll see each other again."

2:30 PM

The Russian Consulate was located on a Trendy street west of the financial district, not far from Chinatown and the opulence of Nob Hill. The consulate, a red-brown sandstone two-story with an end turret, sat on the corner of a busy intersection. Balconies lined with richly scrolled metal balustrades adorned the upper floor. The roof was trimmed in a cast-iron cresting.

Lord was deposited out front by a taxi. A cool fog ebbed inland from the nearby ocean and sent a shiver down his spine. He paid the driver, then followed a brick path to a granite stoop. Twin marble lions guarded the entrance. A bronze placard attached to the stone announced, CONSULATE OF THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION.

He entered a foyer of golden oak paneling, elaborate statuary, and mosaic flooring. A uniformed guard directed him upstairs to the second floor, where Filip Vitenko waited.

Vitenko shook his hand and offered him a seat in one of two brocaded armchairs. "I am so glad you decided to cooperate with us, Mr. Lord. My government will be pleased."

"I have to say, Mr. Vitenko, I'm uncomfortable with even being here. But I thought I'd do what I could."

"I mentioned your reluctance to my superiors in Moscow, but they assured me nothing would be done to pressure your assistance. They understand fully what you've experienced and are sorry for your misfortunes while in Russia."

Vitenko reached for a pack of cigarettes, surely the source of the bitter odor that permeated the room. His host offered one, but Lord declined.

"I, too, wish I didn't enjoy the habit so much." Vitenko balanced the filter end in a long silver holder and lit the tip. Thick smoke curled upward.

"Who is it I'll be speaking with?" Lord asked.

"A representative of the government in the Justice Ministry. He knew Artemy Bely. Arrest warrants are being prepared for Feliks Orleg and several others. This man is spearheading that action. More facts, though, could help seal the case against these criminals."

"Has the Tsarist Commission been warned?"

"The chairman is aware of what is happening, but no public announcement is to be made, as I am sure you can understand. This would do nothing but undermine the investigative process. Our political situation is most fragile, and the commission's deliberations are at a critical juncture."

He was starting to relax. The situation appeared nonthreatening, and he noticed nothing in Vitenko's words or actions that caused alarm.

The phone on the desk sprang to life with a shrill ring. Vitenko answered in Russian and directed that the call be placed through. He replaced the receiver and pushed another button on the console. A voice came through the speakerphone.

"Mr. Lord. I am Maxim Zubarev. I work within the Justice Ministry in Moscow. I trust your day has been fine."

He wondered how the caller knew he understood the language, but he assumed Vitenko had passed the information along. "So far, Mr. Zubarev. You're up late."

A chuckle crackled through the speaker. "It is the middle of the night here in Moscow. But this is most important. When you turned up in San Francisco, we breathed a sigh of relief. We were afraid the men who were after you may have succeeded."

"I understand they were actually after Artemy."

"Artemy was working for me, making discreet inquiries. I feel somewhat responsible. But he wanted to help. I failed to realize the reach of the men involved with this treason, and my heart aches over that failure."

He decided to try to learn what he could. "Has the commission been compromised?"

"We are not sure at this point. But we suspect that is so. It is our hope the corruption has not run too deep and may be caught in time. The original belief was that unanimity would prevent this type of abuse, but I am afraid that the requirement only heightened the extent of any bribery that may have developed."

"I work for Taylor Hayes. He is an American lawyer with extensive ties to foreign business investment in Russia-"

"I am familiar with Mr. Hayes."

"Could you contact him and let him know my whereabouts."

"Of course. But could you tell me why you are in San Francisco and why you accessed the safe-deposit box at the Commerce and Merchants Bank?"

He leaned back in the chair. "I'm not sure you would believe me if I told you."

"Why not let me be the judge of your sanity?"

"I am looking for Alexie and Anastasia Romanov."