The Romanov Legacy (36 page)

July 2012

London, England

Natalie saw Constantine set his jaw, clamping his mouth shut
until he could speak without anger.  His eyes, normally so warm when they
looked at her, had turned cold. 
Belial
, she asked,
how do I
explain what hardly makes sense to me?
 

Just tell them what you believe
, he answered. 
  

She looked from Beth to Constantine, hoping for a glimmer of
understanding, but all she saw was hurt.  A flush of fear spread from her
throat to her cheeks.

Beth shook her head.  “Nat, they’re going to kill
us.  Why would you let them do that?”

“I don’t want anyone to die.  I just don’t know how
else to fight it.”

“Fight what?”

“All the evil in the world.”

“I don’t understand,” Constantine said.  “What
evil?” 

“It’s all around us,” she said, glancing sideways at
Viktor.  “All people want to do is hurt each other and steal from each
other.  All they want is money.  If they keep getting it, if they
keep winning, they’ll forget everything else.  They’ll forget who we are,
who the Romanovs were.  Belial says things are different now, that you
can’t count on people being good anymore.  I’m scared to live in that
world.  I’m scared for Seth, who has to grow up in it.”  She shook
her head.  “But if we don’t do anything to change it, or at least to try,
then we’re a part of the evil, too.” 

She felt a sob well up in her throat.  She choked it
back and looked at Constantine, wanting to fall into his arms and hide from the
horror of the world.  “Can you understand?”

Constantine pulled her into his arms and pressed her face
into his chest.  She felt his lips touch her hair, then her
forehead.  He smelled of sweat and leather and it made her feel at
home.  “I understand,
lastochka
.  All you can do is what you
believe in.”

Viktor stomped his foot on the polished floor.  “Jesus
Christ, are you two buying this?  Since when does fighting the good fight
involve suicide?  We’re as good as dead unless that wing-flapping fairy
godmother of hers can zap us out of here.”

“We’re not going to die,” Constantine said.  “Not
without a fight.”

“Four unarmed people against twelve guards?”

“We did it in Alkhan-Kala.” 

“I say we leave him behind,” Beth said, pointing to
Viktor.  “He betrayed us, remember?”

“We need him if we’re going to get out of here alive. 
I’ll deal with him later.”

Beth sighed.  “What are the odds that Starinov was
going to kill us anyway, even if Nat had given him the right password?”

“Damn good ones,” said Viktor.  “He knew about the
Beslan school situation before it happened and didn’t do a thing to stop
it.  If 180 butchered children don’t keep him up at night, I’m guessing
the four of us wouldn’t pose a big moral dilemma.”

“So what now?”

They all turned to look at her and she turned her head
away.  “How the fuck do I know?”

“Nat, you’re running the show.  We need you.  Does
Belial have anything else to say?”

“No.  It’s just me now.” 

Belial shifted his wings but the pain was minimal compared
to what she’d already dealt with. 
That’s not entirely true, little
one. 

“It might as well be,” she snapped at him.  “Would it
have killed you to just say ‘Roosevelt’?”

You figured it out, didn’t you?  Just like you’ll
figure out whom to call for help.

“Who?”

The only person left.

Her mind raced through the images of bodies and blood she’d
seen in the past few days.  She thought of Yakov and Sergei and the
nameless guards spilling bone and brain matter onto the floor around her. 
Yuri and Grigori, both killed for the good deeds of their ancestor.  But
there
was
one more—the person who blamed her for all of it. 
“Vadim,” she said.  “We need to call Vadim.”   

“Are you sure?” Constantine asked.  “He’s the one who
gave us to Starinov.”

“I’ll try anything that might help us survive.”  Viktor
reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tossing it to
Constantine.  “But I don’t think I’m his favorite person right now.”

“
He’s
not
my
favorite person right now,”
Constantine said as he caught the phone.  He dialed and put the call on
speaker.  It rang three times before Vadim accepted the call.

“Viktor,” Vadim said.  In the background, Natalie
thought she heard traffic noises.  “Is Starinov with you?”

“It’s Constantine.  We’re trapped in the consulate in
London.  Starinov is on his way to the bank and when he gets back, he’s
not going to be happy.  We need your help.”

“I need yours first,” Vadim said.  “I have the prime
minister of England and two American ambassadors on hold.  I’ve convinced
them the tsar’s account might exist, but now they think it’s just a Russian
matter.  They’re going to let him have it unless we can prove that
Starinov has committed a crime on British soil.”

“Starinov won’t get it open,” Constantine said. 
“Natalie gave him the wrong password.  But when he finds out, he’ll be mad
as hell and we won’t last long without some help.”

“The promise of a crime is not enough, my boy.  The
British don’t want to provoke an incident.  Unless Starinov has killed a
British citizen or one of your Americans, their prime minister won’t lift a
finger.”

“Of course not,” Natalie grumbled.  “They wouldn’t help
Nicholas and Alexandra, so why would they help us?”
 

And then she sucked in her breath, whistling through her
front teeth. 
That’s it
, she thought.  The story came together
like a DNA helix, twisting and twining in her head until she had no idea how
much she’d made up and how much was actually true.

She leaned over the phone and spoke.  “Mr. Primakov, if
I convince them to stop Starinov, will you send someone to help get us out of
here?”

Vadim hesitated.  “Constantine, what is the rusalka
talking about?  How can
she
get them to stop Starinov?”

“Just answer the question, Vadim.”

“Of course I will send an extraction team for you.”

“Then do exactly what she says.”

She cast a glance at each of them in turn.  “No one say
a word about the wrong password.  This only works if the British believe Starinov
has the right one.”

“Nat,” Beth hissed.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m solving the problem, Beth.  Payback’s a bitch and
they’ve been earning interest for ninety years.”

The speakerphone connection clicked and Vadim cleared his
throat.  “Gentlemen, we are now speaking with Prime Minister Starinov’s
captives, two of my agents and the two American women.”

“I am Prime Minister Davies,” said a carefully modulated
British voice.  “Are you all unharmed?”

“That depends on your definition of harm,” Beth answered. 

She put a hand on Beth’s arm to stop her and took a deep
breath.  “Mr. Prime Minister, my name is Natalie Brandon.  I’m a
research assistant for my sister Elizabeth Brandon, a professor of history at
Rosemont University.  Vadim says that you don’t want to detain Starinov
when he tries to access the Romanov account, but you’re making a huge mistake.”

Davies replied with no little hint of derision.  “Do
you care to explain yourself, Miss Brandon?” 

“There is more than money in that account.”

“So I gather.  Although quite valuable, Tsarist gold is
no longer a British concern.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”  She tried as hard
as she could to sound like Beth, lecturing a freshman Western Civ class: no
doubt, no hesitation, all confidence.  “That account was opened under the
name of Soloviev, with the intent of providing money for the tsar and his
family if they were able to escape.  When it was opened in late 1917, your
king George V had already privately rescinded his offer of asylum to the Romanovs. 
He was afraid of Alexandra, who had a worse public approval rating than the
builder of the Titanic.  The Romanovs, however, were counting on that
offer.  They had nowhere else to go.”

“Get to the point,” Davies snapped.  “This is all a
matter of public record.”

“The point, Mr. Davies, is that your Queen Mary bought a
shitload of Russian jewelry for bargain basement prices, knowing the Russian
émigrés needed money and had no power to bargain for what the jewelry was
really worth.  Are you with me so far?”

“I haven’t a choice, I suppose.  Go on.”

“What if I told you Mary sent a secret letter to Alexandra
in 1917, offering asylum with herself and George if she and Nicholas could
bring the crown jewels with them?  What if I told you that letter included
a list of pieces Mary wanted, including the Romanov nuptial tiara and diamond
necklace?  Your queen put a price tag on the Romanovs’ safety and it all
boiled down to their ability to extract hundreds of pounds of diamonds from the
Provisional Government.”  

Beth gasped.  “Natalie, what the hell are you—”

Natalie made a slashing motion across her throat and kept
going.  “And what if I told you that Alexandra kept that letter? 
What if, along with property deeds and a few stock certificates, Alexandra sent
that letter into safe keeping through Soloviev, just in case?  I know
Buckingham Palace is quite sensitive when it comes to George V and the
Romanovs.  What would it pay to keep hard proof of Mary’s greed out of the
press?”

“You’ve absolutely no proof!” Davies sputtered.

Natalie smiled.  “Until we got our hands on the Grand
Duchesses’ letters, there was absolutely no proof this account existed,
either.  But it does.  Are you willing to take the chance?  Are
you willing to give Starinov rock-solid proof that your queen’s beloved
grandmother was a cold-hearted bitch who cared more about discount diamonds
than her own cousins?”

Davies swore.  “Jesus Christ, no.”

“Then do something about it.  Stop Starinov from
accessing that account.”

Constantine grabbed the phone from her.  “He’s on his
way to the Bank of England right now.  He probably borrowed the
ambassador’s state car, so all you have to do is look for diplomatic plates and
flags.” 

Beth took her turn next.  “There are two dead bodies in
the room with us, if that gives you any more of a reason to give a shit.”

“We’ll pick him up,” Davies said quietly.  “And send a
team to collect you and the bodies.”

“If you lose him, we’re dead,” Constantine said.  “He’s
not going to go quietly.”

“We’ll handle it,” Davies said.  “Just sit tight.”

July 2012

London, England

The intercom in the limousine crackled with static when he
pushed the blue button.  “Can’t you go any faster?” Starinov
snapped.  “We should have been there by now.” 

“There’s a problem, Your Excellency,” Gennady replied. 
“There’s someone following us.  I tried to lose them, but they’re still
there.”

“Them?  How many?”

“I count three.  Cars with tinted windows.”

“Ignore them.  We have diplomatic plates.  They’ll
have to call for approval to stop us, and they won’t get it.  Just go.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Starinov fell back against the seat as Gennady stepped on
the gas.  He wondered who the observers might be.  MI6?  Local
police?  Were they waiting to stop him until he’d come and gone from the
bank?  He’d already made arrangements for his plane to be refueled and
waiting for him on the Farnborough airstrip.  But the airport was at least
30 miles out of the city center.  If he had retrace his steps to the
embassy, kill the hostages, and then get to the airstrip, it gave the British
extra time to devise a way to detain him, if they chose.  It wasn’t
smart.  No matter how entertaining it would have been to dangle his
success in front of them before killing them, it was time to delegate.

He reached for his phone.  “Igor Yegorovich,” he said,
addressing the colonel guarding the embassy.

“Yes, Your Excellency?  What are your orders?”

“I will not be returning to you this evening after
all.  Kill them now.”     

July 2012

London, England

Constantine tossed the phone back to Viktor.  “I need a
drink,” he said, heading over to the marble bar.  He reached for a
decanter and poured three fingers of whiskey. 

“You and me both,” Viktor replied.

He still couldn’t believe Natalie had bullied the British
prime minister into doing exactly what she wanted.  The web of words she’d
spun to catch the wily diplomat made his head spin.  Where had she come up
with all that?  It frightened him as much as it exhilarated him.  If
Davies really could keep Starinov away from them, there was a chance they could
get out alive.  It never would have happened without Natalie.  “You
owe her,” he said to Viktor.           

Viktor shrugged.  “We’re not out of this yet, lamb.”

“He’s right,” Beth said.  “Nat, there’s no way
Buckingham Palace is going to believe your story.”

“Wait just a bloody minute. 
Story
?  Are
you saying all that crap about Queen Mary wasn’t true?”

Natalie bit her lip.  “She did buy some Russian jewels
at cut-rate prices, both from the Soviet government and the tsar’s
sisters.  I never liked her.  She looks mean.”

“So you slandered her?  In front of a man who speaks to
the queen on a daily basis?”

“It worked, didn’t it?  Mary was a greedy old cow and
no one would believe a story like that if there weren’t a grain of truth in
it.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?  What if Davies decides
to let Starinov kill us?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Think about it, you stupid girl!  If he’s willing to
risk an international incident by arresting Starinov, what’s to stop him from
getting rid of a whole room full of people who heard the queen’s dirty laundry
being aired?  You’ve only made things worse because now we don’t know
whether we’re waiting to be rescued or killed!”