The Romanov Legacy (23 page)

He bent over her until their noses touched.  “Natalie,
you won.  You’re here, with me.  Belial’s not in control.  You
won.”

“I won,” she repeated softly.  “But it doesn’t feel
that way.”  One hand reached up to wipe the tear tracks from her
cheeks.  “We need that password, Constantine.”

“I know.  But there’s time.  I’m just glad you’re
all right.”

“I’m not all right,” she said, struggling to sit up in his
arms.  “He’s going to try again.  We have to beat him to it.”

July 2012

Daly City, California

“It is done,” Yakov said, sliding into the ambulance’s
passenger seat and slamming the door behind him.  The stethoscope still
hung around his neck. 

In the driver’s seat, Sergei nodded.  He shifted into
gear and maneuvered down the steep driveway.  “Did anyone see you?”

“
Nyet
.  The old man was asleep.”

“Good.”  Sergei glanced over his shoulder, to the blond
woman on the stretcher.  Ivan sat beside her, flicking his cigarette
lighter on and off.  As long as they got away before anyone raised the
alarm, the hardest part of their task was over.  All that remained was to
communicate the password directly to Starinov.

Sergei followed the signs for the southbound
interstate.  Once they were safely headed for the airport, he reached
under the seat and pulled out the rusted metal box they’d retrieved from
Dashkov’s hotel room.  He pulled out the Romanov letters and handed one to
Yakov and one to Ivan.  “Read these.  We will tell Starinov the
password before we get on the plane.”

The men unfolded the letters and began to read.  Sergei
concentrated on the late afternoon traffic, keeping an eye out for a patrol
car.  Anyone looking closely would see the dripping paint, the lack of
medicinal supplies inside, and the impossibility of their being actual rescue
personnel.  He made sure to signal before each lane change and stayed two
miles per hour below the speed limit.  He’d driven no more than three
miles when Ivan cleared his throat.  “Sergei?”

“Yes?”

“We have a problem.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“He’s right,” Yakov said, letting the letter flutter to his
lap.  “This doesn’t make sense.  It’s a bunch of garbage.”

“Mine too,” Ivan replied.  “It doesn’t say anything
about a password.  Or money.”

Sergei swore.  A thin, nervous sweat broke out beneath
his arms and on his palms. 

“What do we do?” Yakov asked.

Ivan flicked his lighter and held it close to the woman’s
hair.  “Let the woman help us.  If she doesn’t, we’ll kill her.”

“No,” Sergei barked.  “The Prime Minister ordered us to
bring her alive.”

“She doesn’t know that.”  Ivan flashed an impish smile
and pinched the woman’s nose shut.  Within three seconds, her eyes flashed
wildly and she struggled against the restraints of the stretcher.  “Good
afternoon,
lastochka
,” he said softly.

“Who the fuck are you?  What do you want?”  Her
blond hair had fallen into her eyes and she tossed her head to shake it
away.  “Are you the one who shot up my sister’s apartment?”

“You put up quite a fight.  I’m proud of you.”

“Where’s Natalie?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.  Right now, you will
help us get the tsar’s password.”

The woman blinked twice then rested her head back on the
stretcher.  “This isn’t happening.  I’m dreaming.  This must be
how Nat feels all the time.”

Ivan held up his letter.  “This looks familiar, doesn’t
it?  Voloshin showed them to you and now he’s dead.  Give us the
password or you’ll die, too.”

The blond woman snarled at him.  “What the fuck are you
talking about?  I told Nat and I’ll tell you—the password doesn’t exist.”

“You should hope it exists.  Your life depends on
it.”  Ivan dangled the letter in front of her face.

Her eyes followed it like a child following a hypnotist’s
swinging coin.  “Untie me,” she said, rattling the restraints on her
arms. 

Ivan looked up to the front of the van.  “Do it,”
Sergei said.  “And shoot her if she moves.”

Some of the color drained from the woman’s cheeks as Ivan
pulled the gun from his waistband and laid it on the floor of the van.  He
unbuckled the wrist restraints, but left her legs shackled.  “Read,” he
said, picking up the gun and pointing it at her.  “Tell us the password.”

Yakov tossed the other letter into the back of the
van.  Ivan scooped it up and presented it to her.  She snatched it
out of his hand.  When she reached the end, she flipped back to the first
letter and read it again.  She turned each one over, looking for
more.  “Where’s the rest?”

“What do you mean, the rest?”

“I mean the rest,” she said.  “There’s no password
here.  There’s nothing about a bank, a branch, a type of account, the name
the account is under…not a damn thing.  There has to be more.”

Sergei felt the sweat drip down his back, pooling above his
belt.  He signaled right and moved out of the passing lane.  The
airport signs were all pointing to the right, toward an overpass veering up and
over the freeway.  “We must have that password.  You are not
looking.”

“There’s nothing else to look at,” the woman said, voice
rising on the last two words.  “It doesn’t exist.  That’s what I’ve
said all along.”

Ivan growled.  “Voloshin said he worked with you. 
He said you verified the authenticity of these letters.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I’ve never
seen these pieces of paper before.”

“You’re lying!”

“Even if I were, those letters are still missing vital
information!  Unless you have something else you’re not showing me, I
can’t help you.  Please, just let me go.” 

“I can’t do that,” Sergei said.  He followed the signs
for cargo, directing him away from the main passenger terminals.  When
they’d left behind most of the traffic, he pulled over in a loading zone and
put on the vehicle’s emergency flashers.  “Go,” he said to Yakov, pointing
at his stethoscope.  “Stand over her with that.” 

Yakov clambered into the back of the van and bent over the
woman.  Sergei pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed the primary
speed dial.  It rang three times.

“Do you have it?” Starinov asked.

“We have the letters and the woman.  But there’s a
problem.”

“Solve it.”

“The letters appear to be missing vital information. 
They don’t specify a bank or an account number.”

The line fell silent.  Sergei heard his own breathing
amplified by the fiberoptics.  Even his lungs sounded scared.  “What
about Voloshin?” the Prime Minister asked.  “Interrogate him.  Make
him tell you.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Your Excellency.  We
killed him already.” 

“
Zavali yebalo
,” the Prime Minister swore. 
“Should I send the Red Cross or the Youth League to replace you?  Either
one could do a better job.”  Then he paused.  “Vadim,” he said in a
smooth, silky voice.  “Oh, Vadim, you cold-hearted son of a bitch.”

“Your Excellency?”

“It’s Dashkov.  You said he took the wrong sister, but
Vadim allowed it.  It must be because she knows something we don’t.” 
 

“Sir, what are your orders?  Do we go back into the
city to find them?”

“Not yet,” Starinov answered.  “Hold your position and
wait for my signal.  I believe I know how to locate them.  Give me an
hour to so to make the arrangements.”

July 2012

Moscow, Russia

Two letters, one woman, one password.  He ruled nearly
one-sixth of the world’s land mass but these three things continued to elude him. 
Starinov looked at the first portrait hung on his wall.  What would Ivan
the Terrible have done to a subordinate who professed to be stymied by these
things?  He would have tied the disobedient one to a pole and slow-roasted
him over hot coals. 

Things had been simpler before the advent of mass media,
microjournalism, and satellite imagery.  Modern rulers were forced to hide
behind religious terrorists and organized crime.  These shadow
organizations got the glory for doing Russia’s dirty work, and he took the
blame for not curtailing their nefarious activities.  But it was
impossible to reveal how connected they all were—the members of the Duma and
the press wouldn’t stand for it. 

He pulled the blue curtains open an inch, watching the rays
of the morning sun warm the slanted rooftops of the buildings inside the
Kremlin.  The world was waking up and he had more business to attend
to.  The first part, the hardest part, had already been done. 
  

He picked up the phone, pressed the button that scrambled
the caller ID, and dialed.  His prey answered on the second ring.  “
Da
?”

“Good morning, Vadim Petrovich.  I wasn’t sure you’d be
in the office yet.”

“It is a busy day, Your Excellency.”

“It is indeed,” Starinov said.  “I know what you’ve
done, Vadim.”

“Oh?”  The strain in the other man’s voice wore it
filament-thin.  “What is that?”

“Don’t be coy,” he said, gazing into Great Peter’s hypnotic
brown eyes.  “I know everything.” 

“Then why bother asking?”

“Because I wanted to test you, Vadim, and you failed. 
Your little game is over.  I have the letters.  I even have one of
your agents.”

The older man’s voice revealed his pique.  “Then why
bother speaking to me?  Have me killed and be done with it.”

“Oh, I will.  But before you die, I am going to ask you
for a favor.”

“Go to hell, Maxim.”

“You first,” he snapped.  “After you deliver Dashkov
and the woman to me.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“I suspected you would feel that way.  Valery, however,
thought you would be much more agreeable.”

“What does Valery have to do with it?  This isn’t a
matter for the Criminal Intelligence Department.”

“But it is, you see.  How else could I learn that your
granddaughter’s favorite color is purple?  That she loves it so much she
would follow a man waving a purple scarf right into a waiting van instead of
continuing on to school?”

He heard Vadim suck in his breath sharply.  “You
bastard!  What have you done?”

“I have done what I do best and you know it.”

“Maxim, she’s just a child.  She has nothing to do with
this.”

“I never thought she did.”  He paused.  “She is
unharmed, I assure you.  Tell me where Dashkov and the woman are and my
men will collect them.  When I have word that they are in my custody, I
will release your granddaughter.”

“Jesus, Maxim, I need time.”

“How long does it take to make a call?  Two
minutes?  Maybe three?”

“I’ve been calling Dashkov for hours already.  He won’t
answer.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“An hour.  Give me an hour.”

“You have ten minutes.”

“I need more than that to run a trace!  Give me an hour,
Maxim.”

“You have ten minutes.  Then I will tell the officer
holding a gun to your granddaughter’s head to pull the trigger.  Unless,
of course, he has other things he’d like to do first.”

“If you do that, I will hunt you for the rest of my days,
Maxim.”

“Chivalrous indeed, but don’t you think this time could
better be spent in search of—”

The line went dead.  He smiled.  In the
twenty-four years he’d worked in government circles, he’d never known Vadim
Primakov to lose his composure.  “It’s your move, old friend.”

July 2012

San Francisco, California

Constantine tapped his pocket, where he’d shoved the letters
and his translation.  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?  I don’t
want to see you go under again.  You scared the hell out of me, Natalie.”
 His hand smoothed a flyaway hair beside her face and she leaned into his
caress.  Tucked within the protective circle of his arms, she felt warmer
and safer than anywhere else she could possibly be.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”  Their
faces were so close that his lips hovered over hers.  She imagined losing
herself inside him, becoming a part of his body so that Belial and Vympel
wouldn’t know where to find her.  “But I came back.  I always come
back.” 

“What if you don’t?  I don’t want to lose you.”

“I won, didn’t I?” 

His eyes glowed with hunger.  “Yes, you did.” 
Then his lips descended hungrily on hers.  Heat surged up from her belly
and she pressed her body against his.  His hands pulled through her hair,
sweeping across her skull.  Everywhere he touched her she felt a tingling
that pulsed with the same rhythm as the heat in her belly.  It was her
blood, rushing through her, pounding in her ears and in her core.  Deep
inside her, something began to twist and ache with pleasure.  She arched
against him and moaned just as he broke away from her.  “We can’t,” he
said. 

“But I want you.”

“God, I want you, too,” he said, tucking her hair behind her
ear and leaving his hand in place.  “But you need to recover.  And you
deserve so much better than a broom closet.  I promise you, we will make
time for this later.”

“But we can’t sleep together if we’re dead, right?” 
Despite everything, she felt her lips curl into a smile. 
Even if I die
tonight, it will be with him.
  The thought gave her energy.  If
they got through this, maybe she’d get to go on a real date, like a normal
person.  “Let’s do this,” she said.  “Let me see the translation
again.” 

He pulled it from his pocket.  She read it again, but
it didn’t make any sense the second time, either.  “What am I
missing?”  Then she stopped.  “Are you sure this is all?”

“What do you mean?”

“Go back to the originals.”