Clive Cussler - Fire Ice

Austin ignored the compliment. "Then you saw that the submarine crew was in trouble?"

"We observed the men being rounded up and marched to the field. To answer your unspoken question, yes, we would have intervened. My men were readying for the attack. Then you and your friend arrived and our intervention hardly seemed necessary. From the damage you inflicted, I thought a platoon of U.S. Marines had landed. It's doubtful how much the Cossacks could have told us. They are nothing more than bandit scum whose sole function was to guard this complex." Petrov walked over to the altar and touched the photograph above it. "The last of the tsars," he said.

"That's quite a headpiece," Austin said, pointing to the jeweled crown in the picture.

"Whoever wears the crown of Ivan the Terrible will rule Russia," Petrov said. Seeing Austin's perplexed expression, he smiled. "An old Russian proverb. Don't look for hidden auguries in the words; they mean what they say. Whoever is strong enough to keep all that weight on his head, and brutish and terrible enough to possess the crown, will find those same qualities of use in ruling this land."

"Where's the crown now?"

"It disappeared with a great deal of the tsar's other treasure that went missing after the revolution. When the White government came into Yekaterinburg, where the tsar was probably murdered, they found a list of items belonging to the imperial family. Some items were recovered, but it is generally conceded that the list represented only a portion of the items the family had with them in exile. The most valuable items, the crown included, have never been found."

"Was there a list of the missing treasure?"

"The Soviets made such a list, but it has never turned up. It's assumed that the KGB had the list before the overthrow of communism. I've made inquiries that lead me to believe the list is still in existence, but its whereabouts is a mystery."

"How did you know about the crown without the list?"

"I've seen this and other photos of it. It's made in two parts, representing the east and west empires. The double-headed eagle was the crest of the Romanovs. The orb the eagle surmounts is a symbol of earthly power."

"It must be worth a fortune."

"The crown's value can't be measured in dollars or rubles. This crown and the other treasure came from the sweat and toil of the Russian serfs, who saw the tsar as god-like. The tsar was the richest man in the world. He had revenue from the crown lands, a million square miles, including gold and silver mines, and owned incredible riches. Our sovereigns had an almost barbaric taste for the glitter of gold and gems. Tsar is Russian for 'Caesar.' Emirs and shahs laid gifts of incredible value at his feet."

"The family in the photo doesn't look as if it's enjoying all that wealth."

"They knew the crown was more of a curse than a blessing. It was reserved for the frail head of the young boy, Alexander, although it's doubtful he would have lived long enough to take his father's place. He had hemophilia, un- controllable bleeding, you know? A real problem among European royalty – all those intermarriages. Anyway, other relatives would have stepped in to claim the throne."

"Any idea who built this shrine?"

"I thought it might be Razov at first. I could see him sitting here, imagining that he will someday become the ruler of Russia. But the decadent trappings of the apartment in the main complex puzzle me. Razov is almost ascetic in his convictions. The monk, on the other hand, is said to be debauched. It's odd how much he resembles Rasputin in his depraved lifestyle. My guess is that Boris spent more time here than Razov. Razov would like to bring back the past. In his madness, Boris lives it."

"That's quite a role reversal."

"Perhaps, but one thing is certain: They both must be stopped," Petrov said, his eyes boring into Austin's. "And you must help me."

Austin was still skeptical. "I'll think about it, Ivan. Right now I need some fresh air."

Petrov gripped Austin by the arm. "Maybe your own countryman can persuade you. You remember the words of the great American patriot-philosopher Thomas Paine. He said he was not defending a few acres of ground, but a cause."

Austin knew the dossier Petrov had on him would have mentioned the volumes of philosophy that lined his bookshelves.

"What is your cause, Ivan?"

"Perhaps it's the same as yours."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't see you waving the flag for motherhood, apple pie and the American way."

"I did my share of waving the hammer and sickle as a Young Pioneer marching in the May Day parades. There are deeper issues here. Don't let our past get in the way. Judge me by the present, so that both our countries will have a future."

Austin saw a slight softening in Petrov's rock-hard eyes. Maybe the man was human after all. "Guess we're stuck with each other, whether we like it or not."

"Then you'll work with me?"

"I can't speak for NUMA, but I'll do what I can," Austin said, extending his hand. "C'mon, partner, I've got something else that will interest you." He led the way down through the labyrinth to the submarine pen. Petrov recognized the sub immediately.

"It's an India class," he said. "It was designed to carry submersibles for use by special-operations forces."

"Any idea how it got here?"

"There's a booming market in the world for Soviet armaments."

"This isn't exactly a box of AK-47s."

"My country has always done things on a grand scale. For the right price, you could probably buy a battleship. As you know, the Soviet Union launched dozens of huge subs during the Cold War. Many have been mothballed or other- wise decommissioned. But given the sad state of our armed forces, anything is possible. This could be an important lead. I can't imagine anyone making a purchase this big without somebody knowing about it. I'll run a discreet check. Tell me about these men from your NR-1 submarine. What did they have to say?"

"I talked to one of them. The sub was hijacked by someone posing as a scientist, transported on the back of that submarine and made to work salvaging cargo from an old freighter. The fact that they're still holding the captain and pilot indicates that they have more work planned for the NR-l." Austin rapped the stone floor with his heel. "Maybe you can look into the ownership of this place."

"I already have. The property is still owned by the Russian government. About two years ago, it was leased to a private corporation. They said they wanted to establish a fish-processing plant here."

"From what I've seen, the leaseholder was more interested in what was under the ground than on top of it. Any leads on the corporation?"

"Yes. We got a break there. It was a straw for Ataman."

Austin nodded. "Why does that not surprise me? I should get back above. Joe will wonder what happened to us."

They followed the network of corridors and stairs that took them back to the surface. It was a relief to break out into the sunshine and fresh air. To Austin's surprise, the soccer field was clear of carnage.

Petrov sensed the question on Austin's lips. "Before we went below, I ordered my men to drag the dead into the woods and bury them."

"That was considerate of you."

"There was nothing considerate about it. I wanted nothing left that could be seen from the air." They walked across the field toward the downed helicopter. "I've taken care of the dead," he said, glancing toward the helicopter. "I will leave it up to you to deal with the living."

IT WAS A wonder that the chopper had been able to land as softly as it had. The Cossacks had shot high, and the upper cockpit and engine housing were riddled with bullet holes. Kaela sat on the ground nearby with her legs crossed, writing in a shorthand notebook. Austin put on his most winning smile. Kaela felt his shadow and looked up.