the Romanov Prophecy (2004)

by Steve Berry

  Lord rented a single room, the request meeting with a strange stare from the elderly woman who operated the front desk. He recalled the reaction of the clerk in Starodug when he refused a room to what he thought was a foreigner. But then he realized this lady's attitude was different. A black man and white woman. Hard to believe color still mattered, but he certainly wasn't naIve enough to think that it didn't.

  "What was the concern downstairs?" Akilina asked, after they were in the room.

  The second-floor space was airy and light, with fresh flowers and a fluffy comforter on a sleigh bed. The bath contained a claw-foot tub and white eyelet window lace.

  "Some here still think the races shouldn't mix."

  He tossed their travel bags on the bed, the same two that Semyon Pashenko had provided what seemed an eternity ago. He'd stashed the gold bars in a locker at the Sacramento airport. That made three pieces of imperial bullion awaiting his return.

  "Laws can make people change," he said, "but more than that is needed to adjust attitudes. Don't take it wrong, though."

  She shrugged. "We have prejudice in Russia. Foreigners, anyone dark-skinned, Mongols. They are all treated badly."

  "They're also going to have to adjust to a tsar who was born and raised in America. I don't think anyone ever figured on that contingency." He sat on the edge of the bed.

  "The lawyer seemed genuine. He did not know what we were talking about."

  He agreed. "I looked at him carefully when he was studying the bell and when you said the words."

  "He said there were others?"

  He stood and walked to the phone and the directory that lay beneath. He opened to the Ts and found six Thorns and two Thornes. "Tomorrow, we'll see about these people. We'll visit each one if we have to. Maybe we can take Thorn up on his offer and enlist his help. Some local talent might make the difference." He looked over at Akilina. "In the meantime, let's get some dinner, then a little rest."

  They ate at a quiet restaurant two blocks from the Azalea Inn that came with the unique characteristic of being adjacent to a pumpkin patch. Lord introduced Akilina to fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and iced tea. At first he found her unfamiliarity amazing, but then he'd never eaten leavened buckwheat pancakes, beetroot soup, or Siberian meat dumplings until visiting Russia.

  The evening weather was perfect. There was not a cloud in the sky and the Milky Way streaked overhead.

  Genesis was definitely a day place--none of the businesses, beyond a few restaurants, lingered open after dark. After a brief walk they made it back to the inn and entered the downstairs foyer.

  Michael Thorn was perched on a settee next to the staircase.

  The lawyer was dressed casually in a tan sweater and blue slacks. He rose as Lord closed the front door and calmly said, "Do you still have that bell?"

  He reached into his pocket and handed it to Thorn. He watched as Thorn fitted a gold clapper inside and, with a slight waggle of his wrist, tried to ring it. Only a dull tap came where a ding would be expected.

  "Gold is too soft," Thorn said. "But I imagine you need something else to confirm who I am."

  He said nothing.

  Thorn faced him. "To where the Princess tree grows and Genesis, a Thorn awaits. Use the words that brought you here. Success comes if your names are spoken and the bell is formed." He paused. "You are the raven and the eagle. And I'm who you seek."

  Thorn's words came in a whisper, but were delivered in flawless Russian.

  FORTY-THREE

  Lord stared in disbelief.

  "Could we go to your room?" Thorn said.

  They walked upstairs in silence. Once inside with the door locked, Thorn said in Russian, "I never thought I would ever see that bell or hear those words. I kept the clapper safe for decades, knowing what I had to do if ever presented with the opportunity. My father warned me the day would come. He waited sixty years and never got his chance. Before he died he told me that it would happen in my lifetime. I didn't believe him."

  Lord was still stunned, but he motioned to the bell and asked, "Why is it called Hell's Bell?"

  Thorn stepped to the window and gazed out. "It's from Radishchev."

  Lord recognized the name. "He was also quoted on a gold sheet left in the San Francisco bank."

  "Yussoupov was a fan. A great lover of Russian poetry. One of Radishchev's verses read: God's angels shall proclaim heaven's triumph with three peals of Hell's Bell. Once for the Father, once for the Son, a final for the Holy Virgin. Quite apt, I'd say."

  Lord was regaining his composure and, after a moment of silence, asked, "Have you been following what's happening in Russia? Why haven't you come forward?"

  Thorn turned back. "My father and I many times argued the point. He was an ardent imperialist, truly of the old school. He knew Felix Yussoupov personally. Talked with him many times. I always believed the time for monarchy had long passed. No room in modern society for such antiquated concepts. But he was convinced Romanov blood would be resurrected. Now that is happening. Still, I was always told not to reveal myself unless the raven and eagle appeared and the words were uttered. Anything less was a trap laid down by our enemies."

  "The Russian people want your return," Akilina said.

  "Stefan Baklanov will be disappointed," Thorn said.

  Lord thought he sensed a twinge of humor in the observation. He told Thorn about his interest in the Tsarist Commission and all that had happened over the past week.

  "That was precisely why Yussoupov kept us hidden. Lenin wanted every remnant of Romanov blood extinguished. He wanted no possibility of a restoration. Only later, when he realized Stalin was going to be worse than any tsar ever could have been, did he realize the mistake he made in killing the imperial family."

  "Mr. Thorn," Lord began.

  "Michael, please."

  "Perhaps Your Imperial Majesty is more in order?"

  Thorn frowned. "That's a title I will definitely have trouble adjusting to."

  "Your life is in real danger. I assume you have a family?"

  "A wife and two sons who are both in college. I have yet to discuss this with any of them. That was one condition Yussoupov insisted upon. Total anonymity."

  "They need to be told, along with the two sisters you mentioned earlier."

  "I plan to tell them. But I'm not sure how my wife's going to react at being elevated to tsarina. My oldest son is going to have some adjusting to do. He's the tsarevich now, his brother a grand duke."

  Lord had so many questions, but there was one thing he really wanted to know. "Can you tell us how Alexie and Anastasia made it to North Carolina?"

  For the next few minutes, Thorn spoke, telling a tale that made Lord's spine tingle.

  It started on the evening of December 16, 1916, when Felix Yussoupov fed cyanide-laced cakes and wine to Gregorii Rasputin. After the poison failed to kill his victim, Yussoupov shot the starets once in the back. When that bullet did not finish the task, others chased the fleeing holy man into a snow-covered courtyard and shot him repeatedly. Then they tossed the body into the frozen Neva River, pleased with their night's work.

  After the murder, Yussoupov openly basked in his glory. He saw a political future that might even include a change in the ruling house of Russia from Romanov to Yussoupov. Talk of revolution was spreading throughout the nation. It seemed only a matter of time before the fall of Nicholas II. Yussoupov was already the wealthiest man in Russia. His holdings were vast and wielded considerable political influence. But a man named Lenin was riding a wave of resentment toward ultimate power, and no nobles, regardless of their name, would survive.

  The effect of Rasputin's murder on the imperial family was profound. Nicholas and Alexandra retreated more into themselves, and Alexandra began to exercise even greater influence over her husband. The tsar presided over a huge clan who were simply indifferent to their public reputation. They spoke French better than Russian. They stayed abroad more than at home. They were jealous
of name and rank, but casual about public obligations. Divorce and bad marriages sent a wrong message to the masses.

  All the Romanov relatives hated Rasputin. None lamented his death and some were so bold as to tell the tsar how they felt. The murder drove a wedge into the imperial house. Some of the grand dukes and duchesses even began to openly talk of change. Ultimately, the Bolsheviks exploited that imperial rift by deposing the provisional government that succeeded Nicholas II and forcibly seizing power, murdering as many Romanovs along the way as possible.

  Yussoupov, though, continued to publicly state that killing Rasputin was right. Banished by the tsar to one of his estates in central Russia as punishment for the murder, he was conveniently out of reach during the February and October Revolutions of 1917. He'd at first been somewhat supportive of change, even offering his assistance, but once the Soviets seized all his family assets and threatened to arrest him, he realized the mistake he'd made. Rasputin's death had come far too late to alter the course of events. By his misguided attempt to save the realm, Yussoupov actually dealt the Russian monarchy a fatal blow.

  It was shortly after the October 1917 revolution and Lenin's rise to power that Yussoupov decided what needed to be done. Being one of the few nobles left with monetary resources, he managed to assemble a group of ex-imperial guardsmen. Their task would be to secure the freedom of the imprisoned royal family and restore the monarchy. He hoped that his change of heart, although late, would be recognized by Nicholas, and the murder of Rasputin forgiven. Yussoupov saw in this quest a way to cleanse his guilt--not for ridding the world of Rasputin, but for the subsequent imprisonment of the tsar.

  When the imperial family was removed from Tsarskoe Selo and transported to Siberia in early 1918, Yussoupov knew it was time to act. Three attempts were made at a rescue, but none developed beyond the initial planning. The Bolsheviks maintained a close watch on their imperial captives. George V, king of England and cousin to Nicholas II, was approached about offering the Romanovs safe haven. He initially agreed, but eventually bowed to pressure and refused permission to immigrate.

  It was then Yussoupov realized what fate had decided.

  He recalled Rasputin's prediction that if a noble was his murderer, Nicholas II and his family would not survive two years. He was the highest ranking of all the non-Romanov nobles, and his wife was an imperial niece. It seemed the starets had been right.

  But he was determined to undermine fate.

  He dispatched Kolya Maks and others to Yekaterinburg with orders to perfect a rescue at all costs. He was thrilled when Maks was able to work his way close to the men guarding the imperial family. But it was nothing short of a miracle that Maks was present at the actual execution and managed to save both Alexie and Anastasia, secreting them off the transport truck and ultimately returning to find both alive in the forest. Amazingly, Alexie had been untouched by bullet or bayonet. A blow to Anastasia's head, delivered by Maks himself during the executions, cracked her skull, but the girl was otherwise little harmed, her corset of diamonds and jewels shielding her from the guns. She did sustain bullet wounds to one of her legs, but they were treated and she ultimately recovered, the only lasting effect a limp that stayed with her the rest of her life.

  Maks took both children to a cabin west of Yekaterinburg. Three of the other men sent by Yussoupov were there waiting. Yussoupov's orders were clear. Take the family east. But there was no family. Just two teenagers, scared to death.

  In the days after the murder, Alexie did not utter a word. The boy sat in a corner of the cabin. He would eat and drink some, but otherwise had withdrawn into himself. He would later say that the sight of his parents being gunned down, his precious mother choking on her own blood, bayonets being jabbed into the bodies of his sisters, stole his mind, and the only thought that kept him going was something Rasputin had once told him.

  You are the future of Russia and must survive.

  He'd instantly recognized Maks from the man's time at the Imperial Court. The burly Russian had acted as carrier for the tsarevich, one of several whose job it was to haul the heir in their arms when his hemophilia would not allow his legs to work. He recalled Maks's gentleness and obeyed without question when told to lie still.

  It took nearly two months for the survivors to be trekked east to Vladivostok. The seeds of revolution preceded their arrival, but few there had any idea what the Romanov children actually looked like. Luckily, the tsarevich experienced a period without any attacks of hemophilia, though he did suffer a minor bout once there.

  Yussoupov already had men waiting on Russia's Pacific coast. Originally, he planned to keep the royal family in Vladivostok until the time was right, but the rapidly deteriorating civil war was waning toward the Reds. Soon the communists would be in complete charge. He knew what had to be done.

  Russians were emigrating by the boatload to America's West Coast, San Francisco the main port of entry. Alexie and Anastasia, along with a Russian man and his wife recruited for the task, boarded one of the departing ships in December 1918.

  Yussoupov himself fled Russia in April 1919 with his wife and four-year-old daughter. For the next forty-eight years he traveled Europe and America. He wrote a book and periodically protected his reputation with slander and libel lawsuits when he felt films and manuscripts did not accurately portray him. Publicly he remained a proud and defiant rebel, his murder of Rasputin the right course under the circumstances. He took no blame for any of the subsequent actions and accepted no responsibility for what happened to Russia. Privately was another matter. He seethed at Lenin and later Stalin. He had wanted Rasputin dead and Nicholas freed from the German yoke of Alexandra, but he had also wanted imperial Russia to survive. Instead, just as Rasputin had predicted, the Neva River ran red with the blood of nobles. Romanovs died indiscriminately.

  Russia ended.

  The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was born.

  "What happened after Alexie and Anastasia traveled to the United States?" Lord asked.

  Thorn was sitting on the sofa in front of the windows. Akilina was perched on the bed. She'd listened in open amazement as Thorn filled in the gaps of what they already knew. Lord, too, was amazed.

  "There were two others already here. Yussoupov had sent them ahead to find a safe place. One of them had been to the eastern part of the United States and traveled through Appalachia. He knew of the princess trees and thought the connection meaningful. So the two children were brought to Asheville first, then farther north, to Genesis. They settled with the Russian couple who came on the boat with them. The name Thorn was chosen because of its local popularity. They became Paul and Anna Thorn, the only two children of Karel and Ilka Thorn, a Slavic couple from Lithuania. At the time, millions were immigrating into this country. Nobody paid these four any attention. There's a large Slavic community in Boone. And back then, no one in this country knew anything about the Russian imperial family."

  "Were they happy here?" Akilina asked.

  "Oh, yes. Yussoupov was a big investor in American stocks and the dividends were used to finance relocation. But every effort was made to conceal wealth. The Thorns lived simply, their contact with Yussoupov solely through intermediaries. It was only decades later that Yussoupov himself talked with my father."

  "How long did the two of them live?"

  "Anastasia died in 1922. Pneumonia. Sadly, it happened only weeks before she was to marry. Yussoupov finally found a suitable man, one who met royal criteria, except that his noble lineage was a strain. Alexie had married the year before. He was eighteen, and there was concern his illness would eventually become too much for him to bear. There was little that could be done for hemophiliacs in those days. A marriage was arranged with one of the daughters of the men working with Yussoupov. The young girl, my grandmother, was only sixteen, but she met the statutory requirements for a tsarina. Her emigration was arranged and the two were wed by an Orthodox priest in a cabin not far from here. I still own the place."
/>
  "How long did he survive?" Lord asked.

  "Only another three years. But it was enough for him to sire my father. The child was healthy. Hemophilia passes from female to male, not the other way around. Later, Yussoupov would say fate had even intervened there as well. If Anastasia had been the one to survive and ultimately mother a son, the curse may have continued. But it ended with her death, and my grandmother birthed a son."

  A strange pang of sadness swept through Lord. One reminiscent of when he'd learned that his own father was dead. A curious mixture of regret and relief, combined with longing. He flushed the feeling away and asked, "Where are they buried?"

  "A beautiful place decked with princess trees. I can show you tomorrow."

  "Why did you lie to us earlier?" Akilina asked.

  Thorn was quiet for a moment. "I'm scared to death. I go to Rotary Club on Tuesdays and fish on Saturdays. People trust me with their adoptions, house purchases, divorces, and I help them. But now I'm being asked to run a nation."

  Lord felt for the man sitting across the room. He did not envy his task. "But you may be the catalyst that solidifies that nation. The people remember the tsar now with affection."

  "But I worry about that. My great-grandfather was a difficult man. I've studied him in detail, and historians have not been kind to him. They've been particularly harsh on my great-grandmother. I worry about the lessons to be learned from their failure. Is Russia really ready for autocratic rule again?"

  "I'm not sure they ever lost it," Akilina said.

  Thorn's look was far away. "I think you're right."

  Lord listened to the solemn tone the lawyer used. Thorn seemed to consider each word, each syllable, careful with his choices.

  "I was thinking of the men who are after you," Thorn said. "My wife. I need to make sure she's going to be all right. She didn't ask for any of this."