The Romanov Legacy (28 page)

“It’s July, asshole.”

“Hardly matters when you’re about to become a billionaire,
does it?” 

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, cheer up.  Here, I’ve got something for
you.”  He moved over to the desk and picked up his suit jacket, flung over
the back.  One hand slipped into the pocket and pulled out a handful of
things that sparkled.  “I took the liberty of searching your purse when
Sergei and his men brought you onto the plane.  I was quite surprised to
find your little cache.”  He dropped the handful into her lap.  “Put
them on.  I know you want to.”

She combed through the pieces, making sure they were all
there: the buckle, hairpin, the earrings, the brooch. 
Jesus
, she
thought. 
I almost lost this.  All Grigori’s sacrifice would have
been for nothing. 
As much as she hated to indulge Viktor’s whim,
wearing the jewelry was the only way to make sure he didn’t take it away from
her.  She put everything on except the shoe buckle, which she tucked into
the edge of her bra for safe keeping. 

“You know, I can’t see that last one,” Viktor said.  He
gripped the fabric of her dress and ripped it until the buckle’s diamond gleam
peeked out.  “That’s better,” he purred.  “Carbon suits you, my
dear.”

July 2012

Moscow, Russia

From the outside, the Ussov building looked no different
than any other on Profsoyuznaya Street.  This area of southwest Moscow had
become a business park, home to some of Russia’s richest oil companies, banks,
and engineering firms.  The newer buildings had curving shapes, more
floors, and a strange lack of architectural resonance.  The Ussov building
was older and simpler.  Perhaps, at the time, the Ussovs had actually
meant to do business in it. 

Like many powerful Moscow families, the Ussovs learned that
power came not just from money but from connections.  They forsook grand
dreams of a luxury railway empire and threw in their lot with Cobalt, a private
security company that eventually allied with the FSB.  The Ussov sons
stopped coming to work and started taking roofs from their network of
suppliers.  Their private empire of railways and cars became invaluable to
the government during the first and second Chechen wars; Constantine remembered
seeing boxcars painted with their logo perched on tracks just outside of
Grozny.

After the wartime profits made him unspeakably rich, Ussov
leased the building to the FSB in secret.  It became an unofficial
fortress used as a halfway house for valuable foreign prisoners.  Ordinary
citizens drove past it on their way to eat at the Goodman Steak House or work
at the Paleontology Institute, never dreaming its innocuous surface held
secrets the government would kill to keep.

Constantine pulled the bureau-issued Volga onto the access
road paralleling Profsoyuznaya Street and studied the building.  Vympel
would never drag captives, conscious or unconscious, through the front
door.  The underground garage would be their best point of entry. 
 He shut off the car and left the doors unlocked, keys under the floor
mat. 

At the bureau, he’d cleaned and taped his shoulder and
changed into fresh uniform of black turtleneck sweater, cargo pants, and combat
boots.  Vadim pressed him to take the Walther, but Constantine
refused.  Vympel would strip him of weapons once they caught him and he
didn’t want to hand them more ammunition than they already had.  His only
weapon lay in the pocket of his t-shirt, beneath the sweater, folded into a
small rectangle.

Natalie
, he thought. 
Please be all right.
 
The letters in his pocket were her life and he would do anything to
complete the exchange safely.  He headed straight for the driveway that
led to the subterranean garage.  Two guards sat in the booth next to the
gate, dressed in non-governmental security officer uniforms with FSB
standard-issue M2s at the hip.  They made brief eye contact and sat up
straight as Constantine continued to walk toward them. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” a guard asked.

“Upstairs,” Constantine said.  “Your boss is waiting
for me.” 

The guard came out of the booth, pointing the M2, and
Constantine raised his arms.  “Against the wall,” the guard said, shoving
him onto the glass of the booth and kicking his feet apart.  As the man
patted him down, Constantine observed the guards’ monitor bay, noting the
number and placement of cameras.  One square on their screen was black—all
the others displayed empty rooms inside the building. 

The guard finished his inspection and turned Constantine
around by the shoulder.  He gave the man his name and waited for the call
upstairs and relay of instructions.  The process ended with the first
guard marching Constantine to an elevator.  When the doors opened, he saw
a large brown-haired Vympel man holding a TT pistol.  “Get in,” the man
said. 

Constantine obeyed and the elevator rose to the twelfth
floor.  When the doors opened, the man jammed the muzzle into his back and
pushed him forward.  As he proceeded down the marble hallway, he felt a
strange electricity on the air, as if the building had been struck by
lightning. 
She’s here
, he thought. 
She’s still alive.

At the Vympel man’s urging, he pushed open a second set of
double doors and walked into an executive suite.  A black-suited figure
stood with its back to him, staring out the sun-drenched window.  He
ignored it, searching for the only figure he cared to see.  He found her,
huddled on a backless couch with her feet drawn up to her chest, spangled with
diamonds in her hair and on her ears.  “Natalie!  Are you all right?”

The figure at the window snapped its fingers and the Vympel
man behind him pistol-whipped the base of his neck.  “I didn’t give you
permission to speak.”

When he heard the voice, a wave of leaden fear engulfed him,
as cold and deep as Lake Baikal.  “No,” he said.  “Tell me you
didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Viktor said, turning around.  “Didn’t
find a way to make something of myself in this godforsaken country?”

“We were friends, Viktor!”

“Were we?” 

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I think the one making a mistake is the one with a gun
pointed at his head, don’t you?  Just give me the letters and we can get
this all over with.”

“Don’t,” Natalie warned, standing up.  “He’ll kill you
if you do.” 

Viktor backhanded her and she fell down onto the
couch. 

“You son of a bitch!”  Constantine leapt at Viktor with
a roar. 

The Vympel guard behind him sprang to action, too, clubbing
him with the pistol.  He stumbled with the blow and spun on the balls of
his feet to face the attacker.  He kicked the guard’s hand to knock away
the gun and rammed him head-first in the gut.  They fell to the floor
together and scrambled for position.

The guard wrapped one thick hand around Constantine’s neck
while his other hand reached into his pocket.  In an instant, he’d flicked
a carbon fiber knife into action and pressed it forward.  Constantine
caught the man’s knife hand with both of his and held the knife away.  The
man switched tactics, jerking their linked hands to the right.  The tip of
the blade made a long, shallow groove across the right side of Constantine’s
chest. 

“Enough,” Constantine growled.  He slammed a fist into
the man’s nose.  The man lost his concentration long enough for Constantine
to roll away and stand up.  He could feel the blood leaking from the slash
in his chest, but the anger he felt masked any pain.  “You,” he said,
pointing at Viktor.  “Hit her again and I swear you will not live.”

“Neither will you,” Viktor said.  “Yakov, take him.”

“No!” Natalie cried.  “If you hurt him, Viktor, I swear
I’ll give you the wrong password.”

“The hell you will.”  Viktor pointed at Yakov, who was
still holding a hand to his bleeding nose.  “You!  Call Ivan and tell
him his presence is requested.”

Yakov wiped his reddened blade against his pants and reached
for his phone.  Constantine kept his eyes on Natalie, searching for signs
of strain.  There were no marks on her that he could see.  An empty
glass of vodka sat on the table nearest her and he wondered if she’d had
another attack or if Viktor was medicating her preventatively. 

Behind him, the office doors were pushed open by a blond
woman with her hands tied behind her back and a scarf looped around her
mouth.  A little girl followed her, similarly bound. 
Marya
,
he thought.  A tall blond man with dark red lips and crooked teeth brought
up the rear, a TT pistol pointed at the little girl’s head.

“Beth!” Natalie cried, launching herself toward her
sister. 

“Not yet.”  Viktor clamped his fingers around her wrist
and jerked her back.  “Not until I have what I want.”

Ivan marched the captives to the conference table and pulled
out a single chair.  Beth sat down and Marya scrambled into her lap as
best she could with bound hands, leaning into Beth’s chest and keening
softly.  As soon as Ivan pulled down her gag, Beth spat at him.  “Get
the fuck away from me, or so help me God, I’ll gut you with my toenails.”
  

Constantine’s stomach muscles clenched with a renewed wave
of fear.  When had they kidnapped Natalie’s sister?  Now there were
three
captives he had to get out safely.  With Viktor’s help, it would have been
difficult; now it felt impossible.  He scanned Beth and Marya’s bodies,
looking for any incapacitating wounds, but he found none.  Beth’s face
bore four deep scratches and her blond hair was streaked with grease and grime,
but she appeared physically intact.

Viktor cleared his throat and made a courtly bow in Beth’s
direction.  “I apologize for detaining you against your will, my dear, but
I assure you it is absolutely necessary.  Your sister holds the key to our
nation’s biggest treasure, unclaimed for nearly a hundred years.  She’s
going to help me get it and save your life in the process.”

Marya began to whimper and rub her head against Beth’s
chest, loosening her gag until it fell down around her neck.  “Where’s my
grandpa?” she cried.  “I want to go home!”

“Be a good little girl,” Viktor said, “and let the grown-ups
talk now.”

“But I want to go home!”

“She’s just a child,” Beth said.  “If my sister and I
are the ones you want, fine.  Leave her out of it.”

“Please let me go!” the girl shrieked.  “I want my
mama!”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Viktor snapped, “someone make her
shut up.”   

The blond Vympel man, Ivan, stepped forward and smacked
Marya across the face.  Beth strained against her bonds, but with her
hands tied, all she could do was hold up her leg to keep Marya from falling off
the chair.  Marya wailed and then fell silent, curling into Beth’s chest
and moaning.  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” she said.  Then she
looked up at Ivan.  “After I gut you, I’ll cut off your balls and feed
them to you one at a time.”

“Beth,” Natalie said weakly.  “You’re not helping.”

“Somebody has to,” her sister snapped.  “Nat, what the
hell is all this about?  Did you really find the tsar’s password?”

“Not quite.  We found letters from Olga and Marie to
their lovers on the outside.  They coded the password, and a boy carried
them out of the Ipatiev House.  His family’s had the letters ever since.”

“Jesus, Nat, how did you get them?”

“It’s a long story.  Check your messages.”

“Messages,” Ivan said, turning to smile at Natalie.  “
Da
,
I forgot to thank you for helping us find the old man so easily.”

Natalie’s face drained of all its color.  “You heard my
message?”  Constantine saw her control falter.  Her eyelids fluttered
and she swayed on her feet.  “What did you do to him?”

“What do you think?” Ivan said, smiling.  “We killed
him, of course.”

She turned to Viktor.  “Did you order this?”

“Don’t look at me.”

Constantine kept his eyes on Natalie.  Something
strange was happening.  It looked like she was shaking, sobbing without a
sound.  Her forehead creased, as if she were in great pain. 
Belial
,
he thought. 
He’s talking to her. 
“Which one?” she asked.

“Yakov did the honors,” Ivan said.  “Go ahead.
 Ask him.”

Natalie turned to the other Vympel man.  He was large,
like a wrestler, with a bristly brown beard stained with blood from his broken
nose.  “You did this thing?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“How was it done?”

“With a pillow.”  The big man shuffled his feet, as if
he were uncomfortable.  “H—he didn’t feel it.  He wasn’t awake.”

“I don’t believe you.”  Natalie blinked and two tears
fell from her eyes.  She closed them and tilted her head to the
ceiling.  The light from the office’s huge window washed over her like a
sunrise and Constantine felt his muscles tense up.  What if Natalie lost
control and Belial took over, the way he had in the motel room?  Would Viktor
shoot her?  He caught Beth’s eye and noticed the same look of dread on her
face. 

Finally, Natalie tiled her head back down and opened her
eyes.  They were almost white with unshed tears.  “Belial says you’re
lying to me.”

“I’m not,” Yakov said, glancing at Ivan for support. 
“Tell her!”

Beth tucked her chin over Marya’s head, holding the girl
against her chest.  “Don’t look, sweetheart.”  Constantine flexed his
fingers and balanced on the balls of his feet. 
Be ready
, he thought. 
Here it comes.

Natalie took one step towards Yakov, who was standing in
front of the fireplace.  “It’s not me you have to convince.  It’s
Belial.  Do you know who he is?”

Yakov shook his head.  Constantine looked to Viktor to
gauge his reaction, but his former friend was watching the proceedings with a
bemused smile.