by Jenni Wiltz
Starinov lowered his gun. “If you are lying to me, you will be the last to die. I will skin your sister and your lover alive and burn their bodies with gasoline while you watch.”
“I did everything you asked,” she said. “I don’t have anything else to say to you.”
The prime minister’s red lips peeled back in a ghostly smile. “Surely it’s better that way.” He reached for his phone and barked rapid commands in Russian. When he hung up, he pointed at the far wall. “This embassy is guarded by twelve men. If you try to leave this room, they will shoot on sight.” He ordered his guard to strip the bodies of their weapons, then headed for the door. Viktor hurried to follow.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Starinov snapped.
“With you. Part of that money’s going to be mine, after all.”
“A man who turns his coat once will never know when to stop.” He snapped his fingers and the last bodyguard patted Viktor down, taking his pistol. “I have no use for traitors like you.” Then he left the room, closing the door behind him. They heard the shuffle of feet as a new set of guards took their places on the other side of the door.
Viktor stood frozen, his back to her, staring at the closed doors. She felt no sympathy for him. Marya died because of him, she thought. He deserves everything he gets.
Suddenly, Beth’s angry voice exploded into the air. “What the fuck are you doing, Nat? I know you prefer to live in your head rather than the real world, but I have a son and I want to see him grow up! Why did you give him the name of my dog?”
“What?” Viktor asked, spinning on his heel. “What the fuck did you do, you fucking stupid girl?” He charged her, holding out his hands as if he were ready to wrap them around her throat and choke her.
Constantine jumped in front of her, pushing Viktor back. “Of course she gave him the right password. Let him have the money, right? What do we care?” He turned to face her. “That’s what you did, right?”
This was the only part she was afraid of. Her body ached with the pain of disappointing the only people who believed in her. But Constantine said he believed in her because she followed her heart. How could she give that up, now, at the most important moment of her life? She took a small step backward and braced herself. “No.”
“Nat,” Beth whispered. “Tell me that’s not true.”
Constantine stepped toward her and took her face in his hands. She held herself still, willing herself not to flinch. “Natalia,” he repeated. “You did give him the right password, didn’t you?”
“No,” she repeated. “I didn’t.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
July 2012
London, England
Maxim Starinov slid into the backseat of the waiting limousine and barked at the driver to get moving. The man slammed the passenger door and hurried up to the driver’s seat. He started the car, switched on the headlights, and turned onto Palace Avenue. “Where do you wish to go, Your Excellency?”
“The Bank of England,” Starinov replied. “Threadneedle Street.”
“Right away, Your Excellency.”
Two Russian flags mounted on the front corners of the hood flapped in the wind. Starinov watched them, feeling a surge of pride in his chest. Russia will rise again, he thought. I will make her great. The Tsar’s fortune will rebuild my army, strengthen my borders, and crush anyone who stands in my way. I will be another Ivan, another Peter. They will write that I am Nicholas’s true heir, the only one who could give Russia back to herself.
Nothing could stop him now.
Chapter Sixty-Three
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.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
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.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
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 wha
t 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!”
“But there is no dirty laundry! I made it all up!”
“Davies and Starinov don’t know that,” Beth said, eyes clouding over. “What if Davies gets to Starinov and Starinov offers him some sort of deal? Mary’s letter for our lives? We’ll be dead before anyone even finds out there is no letter.”
He felt Natalie’s gaze on him, her pale eyes wide with renewed fear. “Can we get out of here?”
