Love and Triumph: The Coltrane Saga, Book 8 (7 page)

She walked over to shake her finger beneath Elenore’s nose as she glared at her menacingly. “You are going to tell me where Rudolf has gone, and you are also going to tell me everything you know about the little bitch he has gone to see, or so help me, I’ll call Vincent and have you locked in the same room where your crazy grandmother died till you feel like talking. I’m not bluffing, Elenore. I mean what I say.”

Elenore realized her mother was, indeed, serious. If her mother ordered the big, hulking gardener to drag her off to the basement, there would be no way she could stop him, and she would be kept there till Rudolf returned. He was due back any day, according to his original plans, but there was always a chance he might be delayed.

“I’m waiting!” Amalia snapped.

Elenore knew confinement would mean not being able to sneak out to be with Cord—an unbearable thought. No matter that she had sworn not to tell, since Rudolf wanted to be the one to break the news about Marilee. She was not about to be held prisoner just to keep a promise.

With a ragged sigh of defeat, she declared, “She’s not a bitch, Mother.”

“Aha!” Amalia cried in gleeful triumph. “So I was right. Rudolf sneaked away because he was too ashamed to be breaking his promise that he would never get involved with a woman. He knows as well as I do there’s no room in his life for anything except his music, not for a long, long time. Now, tell me everything.”

Elenore flashed a venomous glare, and Amalia responded by slapping her.

“Talk, damn you, or you’ll live to regret it!”

Elenore’s cheek stung, but she was too proud to cry. Biting back the tears of humiliation and pain, she hoarsely whispered, “What is it you want to know? I’m not privy to what goes on inside Rudolf’s head, or his heart. I only know he went to Spain to see her and to attend her cousin’s wedding. It was supposed to be quite lavish, and—”

“Who is she?” Amalia sharply cut her off to demand. “Who is this little fortune hunter that her family stages such ‘lavish’ affairs?” she asked with a sneer.

Elenore dared to snicker, “I’d hardly call, her a fortune hunter. If anything, it could be the other way around.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Elenore’s smile was gloating. “I mean, Mother, dear, that Rudolf’s ‘special friend’ is actually
quite
special.” She paused, enjoying the moment. “She’s a Coltrane. Her grandfather was
Travis
Coltrane.”

Amalia was properly impressed. She knew about Travis Coltrane and the respect accorded him in government circles, just as she knew his son, Colt Coltrane, was equally revered. The family was said to be extremely wealthy and considered the crème de la crème of society in both Europe and the United States.

“It doesn’t matter!” Amalia suddenly screeched out loud, startling Elenore with the unexpected outburst. “I will not have it! Rudolf is going to be one of the greatest piano virtuosos that ever lived. He has the gift, and he’s not going to throw it away! Whether he wants to or not, I’m going to do what I should have done when we first moved here—send him to the Conservatory of Music in Geneva!”

Tiptoeing till she reached the door, Elenore made her escape as her mother began to rant and rave. Behind her, she could hear her mother screaming for her to return, but she kept on going, not about to be a substitute for Rudolf, and she was going to hide till either he came back or her mother calmed down.

Rudolf was already back in Zurich, had arrived that very morning but had other things on his mind besides facing his mother’s wrath. He went straight to the Wolfa coffeehouse on Schulleslgasse, in the oldest part of the city. It was situated at the end of the cobblestone street, with a boarded-up building on one side and a private residence on the other, so there was little traffic, making it an ideal place for private gatherings.

He was glad the coffeehouse tradition had carried over from Vienna. It was like a private club, a large and well-furnished establishment where customers always felt at home. There were billiard tables, chess sets, cards, as well as writing materials. One of the most popular amenities was the choice of newspapers from all over the world, ringing the walls on cane holders.

Rudolf’s friends at the Wolfa had one day jokingly referred to themselves as the “Zurich Zealots”. Then, as their casual conversations became serious, and goals and philosophies united, they adopted the name, as well as the Bolshevik slogan: “Peace, Land, All Power to the Soviet.”

Rudolf did not like it when Elenore became involved, and he’d accused her of merely looking for a man. That had infuriated her, and she’d said she had as much right to pursue ideals as he did.

When Rudolf walked in that morning, he was glad to see that the Zealots declared leader, Hanisch Lutzstein, was already there.

Rudolf was trembling with excitement over his news but had to restrain himself because Lutzstein was not alone. He sat at the favored table in a rear corner, surrounded by a dozen or so comrades, and they were engaged in deep conversation.

Rudolf went to join them, his presence acknowledged, for no one just “walked up” without being noticed—and identified. They could take no chances on spies in their midst.

They were talking, as usual, about the July uprising in Petrograd that Lenin and the Bolsheviks had been unprepared for. Half a million people had marched carrying banners of protest to the war and the PG—the Provisional Government—and the PG had crushed it. They had also circulated among the regiments documents that were supposed to prove Lenin was a German agent and the uprising had actually been planned to betray Russia from the rear while Germany advanced at the front. Bolshevik strongholds had been stormed, and while Trotsky, to Rudolf’s personal dismay, had surrendered to the police, Lenin had escaped over the border into Finland.

The Zealots had just heard that Lenin had sent word from Finland that he was not at all concerned over the failure of the uprising. He called it more “demonstration” than “revolution”.

But Rudolf quickly learned that his friends were concerned with other news from Russia. It was reported that Prime Minister Kerensky, who was also Minister of War, had decided since the July uprising that it was dangerous to leave the Czar and his family where they were being held at Petrograd. Everyone was wondering where they would be taken.

“If we had gold, we could buy the information,” Lutzstein gruffly proclaimed, banging his fist on the table. “We have manpower, brain power, and by Lenin, we’ve got the will and the courage. We just don’t have the gold to buy information that disillusioned soldiers are willing to sell. All we can do is sit here all day and all night and drink and protest. I think the time has come to stop complaining and do something to help our Bolshevik comrades.”

A round of cheers went up.

At the next table, Cord Brandt sat quietly, sipping now and then from a stein of beer.

Rudolf saw him, started to join him but hesitated because he looked so preoccupied, his thoughts far, far away. Yet Rudolf could sense the man was very much aware of everything going on around him.

When Cord had first appeared at the coffeehouse last winter, he was regarded with suspicion. He would divulge nothing about who he was or where he came from, and he kept to himself. So they ignored him and minded what was said when he was about.

Then came the night he saved Hanisch Lutzstein’s life by deliberately taking a bullet intended for him. It happened during the Zealots’ celebration of the news of the Czar’s abdication. A stranger came in, did not share their joy, and subsequently got into a heated debate with Hanisch. When he became abusive, then threatening, Hanisch had him thrown out. It was Cord Brandt, however, who happened to see the stranger sneaking in the back door, gun in hand, and leaped to his feet in defense just in time to keep Hanisch from being shot in the back. Fortunately, Cord had only been grazed, but from then on, his loyalty was never questioned, and Hanisch proclaimed him a friend for life. The would-be killer got away and was dismissed as a wandering drunk, and the attempted assassination was considered merely the result of the previous altercation.

Cord Brandt became a hero and a respected comrade, and Rudolf was somewhat impressed when Elenore caught his eye. And he really was not concerned over their mother being outraged that they could both be involved with people who were half Russian. She was going to learn sooner or later that he was now the head of the family. Besides, if her drinking got worse, Amalia was going to find herself tucked away in a sanitarium. He was getting tired of her tantrums.

Rudolf decided to intrude, walked over, sat down, then signaled the barmaid to bring a fresh pitcher of beer before cheerily greeting him. “Well, it’s good to be back. How’ve you’ve been, comrade?”

Cord nodded absently.

Rudolf was bursting to tell someone his news, so he paid no attention to Cord’s lack of enthusiasm over his company. He waited till the barmaid brought the beer, then excitedly whispered, “Did you hear what Hanisch was just saying about gold being needed to buy information? Well…” He grinned smugly.
“I
have it!”

Cord poured himself a beer, then asked with a slight sneer, “Which? The gold or the information?”

Rudolf stiffened. He did not like his sarcasm but then saw that Hanisch was disengaging himself from the others. He frantically waved to get his attention, then motioned him over.

Hanisch pulled up a chair to sit between them before asking Rudolf, “So, when did you get back from Spain?”

Rudolf told him, then repeated what he’d said to Cord, how he had what was needed.

“What are you talking about?” Hanisch said.

Rudolf glanced from one to the other, enjoying his moment of rapt attention, even though Cord did not seem interested. Taking a deep breath, he announced proudly, “A
Romanov
is going to be a guest in my home!”

For an instant, Hanisch did not react; then he shook his head, bewildered. “Surely you don’t mean the girl you were told to court? Her father is important, but he’s not a Romanov.”

Cord said nothing, just sipped his beer and looked bored.

“No, no, not Marilee.” Rudolf clutched Hanisch’s arm, drawing him closer to reveal what still made him dizzy to contemplate.

When he’d finished, Rudolf leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and beamed. “Don’t you see? We’ve got a real prize. Can you imagine the ransom we can collect? The Coltranes would pay a fortune to get her out of the hands of the revolutionaries screaming for Romanov blood.”

Hanisch scratched his chin thoughtfully, dark eyes beginning to glow with shared enthusiasm. “Yes, I think you’ve got something,” he said finally, mind whirling. “The Zealots can take care of kidnapping her, and you won’t be suspect. It won’t keep you from your pursuit of Mikhailonov’s daughter.”

Neither noticed the way Cord suddenly frowned, how the nerves in his jaw tensed.

“This calls for a real celebration,” Hanisch proclaimed. Then he slapped Cord on the back. “Ah, was it not a good day when our leaders ordered Rudolf to court Drakar Mikhailonov’s daughter? Never did they dream what it would ultimately mean—gold!”

Cord forced himself to appear enthused. Rudolf’s news was an unexpected, and
important,
development.

Dammit, when it was first learned that Rudolf had been ordered by the subversives operating out of Zurich to court Drakar Mikhailonov’s daughter, Cord had not really worried about him actually succeeding. After all, from what he’d been told about how she looked, she could have her pick of men. Still, his orders had been to keep an eye on things, and it had concerned him when he learned from Elenore that Marilee might be coming to Switzerland; he knew that could indicate the relationship was getting serious. And now, to hear of a suddenly planned kidnapping, well, he would have to get to his own headquarters soon and make a report.

He stood up to leave.

“Don’t go,” Hanisch protested. “Stay and drink to our good news!”

“I think I’ll just leave the celebrating to you two till it’s determined whether you can pull it off.”

Hanisch threw back his head and laughed. “Well, maybe we’ll just see that
you
get the assignment, Brandt, since you’re so worried we can’t succeed!”

“Fine. I’d like that very much.” He hoped his enthusiasm did not show, because, oh, how he
did
want that assignment!

“He’s going to see my sister,” Rudolf cracked, merry with drink. “But once he sees my fiancée, how beautiful she is, he’ll have an eye for her, I’ll bet.”

Cord continued on his way, thinking to himself,
I already do, you fool, but for a very different reason!

Chapter Nine

“This is madness!”

Rudolf watched his sister as she sat, furiously ranting, on an old, battered, mold-covered trunk in the corner of the basement chamber where their grandmother had died. She was holding a tin cup, fingers clutching it tightly. Every so often she would raise it absently, nervously, to her lips, to sip the whiskey he had given her…only to shudder, and grimace. She was not used to drinking hard liquor, but he had insisted she take it, because she had become so upset when he had told her about the plan to abduct Jade Coltrane and hold her for ransom. He hoped the whiskey would get her mellow so he could reason with her, make her see what a good plan it was—an
important
plan. “No, Elenore,” he said gently, standing over her, ready to pour more whiskey into her cup. “It’s not madness. It’s sheer genius, and I’m sure even Lenin himself has heard by now of my wonderful idea.”