The Romanov Legacy (25 page)

Oh God
,
it’s true.  It’s been true the whole
time. 
She swallowed thickly, the fear-borne bile in her throat
corroding its vulnerable tissue.  “Philby…you’re a traitor, too.”

He tilted his head, as if pondering the statement for the
first time.  “Traitor?  To whom?  Not myself, and I’m the only
one I care about.”

She shook her head, trying to work backwards and piece it
all together.  “But you watched them kill Yuri!  They shot at us as
we tried to escape.  Why would you turn to them after that?”

“Who says I turned to them
after
?”

“You were helping them the whole time?”

“I was helping myself.  There’s quite a difference,
lamb chop.”  He stood up and shook his head.  “I can understand why
Constantine never figured it out.  He’s frightfully dull.  But
you…aren’t you supposed to be psychic?”

“Psychotic, you asshole, not psychic.”

Viktor lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. 
“To-ma-to, to-mah-to.”

“You’re making Belial angry.  You shouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, that angel rot is all in your head, love.  Stop
putting your faith in all the wrong things:  Constantine, that ridiculous
creature, and a few dead people murdered for crimes against the Russian people. 
Do you know they called the tsar ‘Nicholas the Bloody’?”

“It’s better than ‘Viktor the Asshat.’”

Viktor smiled.  “When I find the tsar’s money, I’ll
write my own nickname.”

“You won’t find it.”

“Why not, love?”

“Because I won’t help you.”

“Yes, you will.  I’ll kill your sister if you don’t.”

“You’re lying!”  She tossed the glass of scotch at
him.  He ducked and it crashed against the wall behind him.  “I’ll
kill you if you touch her!”

“Oh, we’ve done more than that,” Viktor grinned. 
“Yakov, show her.”

One of the bulky men on the bench reached into his pocket
and pulled out a phone.  There it was, on a high-definition screen: 
an image of her sister, bound and gagged, lying in the shadows.  Beth’s
face was turned away from the camera, but Natalie recognized the blond hair and
the gray Yale sweatshirt.

Belial jumped to his feet, slamming his back into her
skull. 
O God, to whom vengeance belongs, show thyself!

But Natalie barely felt the pain in her head.  All the
pain she felt was in her heart and her gut, as if God himself had put on a pair
of steel-toed boots and kicked her until she bled.  She met Viktor’s eyes,
hazy through tears of rage.  “Belial will kill you for this,” she said.
 “And I won’t stop him.”

“Can Belial give you the code you need to land this plane in
Russian airspace?”

“He doesn’t care if we land.  He just wants you to
die.”

“He should care.  Your sister’s in the cargo
hold.  If we crash, she dies first.”

“What?”  Natalie dropped to her knees, pounding the
floor with her fists.  “Beth!  Can you hear me?  Beth!”
 She dug at the carpet like a dog searching for a buried bone.  Her
fingernails bent backward and broke as she raked them across the surface. 

Viktor snapped his fingers and one of the men on the bench
plucked her from the floor by the waist.  “Stop it,” Viktor hissed,
stepping through her flailing legs and slapping her across the face.  

Natalie wailed, picturing Beth’s bound body.  “Not
her!  I’m the one who should die!”

“No one has to die, you stupid girl.”  Viktor grabbed
her chin and wrenched her head upright.  “What the hell is the matter with
you?”

She let the wave of anger pass through her, panting with the
energy it took not to act on it.  She sagged against the muscular arm
holding her up.  Her eyes drifted to the floor, littered by pieces of
broken glass.  She imagined picking one of them up and slicing through
Viktor’s wrists and femoral arteries. 

Belial flexed his hands. 
I’ll do it for you, if you
let me.

The idea made her smile and a strangled laugh croaked its
way out of her dry throat.  “You’re laughing,” Viktor said, taking a step
backward.  “Why?”

“I’m going to make sure you remember me.”

“Darling, how could I forget?”

“I’m going to carve my name into your bones.”

“Not quite the souvenir I had in mind, cherub.  Let’s
have another drink, shall we?  We’ll all sing
God Save the Tsar
and
then you’ll tell me what the password is.”

“You don’t know the words to
God Save the Tsar
.”

“Jesus Christ!”  Viktor threw up his hands.  “I don’t
know how Constantine did it.  Just tell me what the password is and this
will all be over.”

“I don’t know it yet.”

“What do you mean, yet?”

“I’ve only read one of the letters.  Constantine didn’t
finish translating them for me.”

“I have the letters, you silly girl.”

“That’s what you think.”

Viktor’s face went blank.  “What are you talking
about?”

“There are two sets of letters.  One is real.  One
is fake.  You can guess which set you got away with.” 

Viktor’s upper lip began to twitch.  Natalie watched
with satisfaction as the twitching moved across his face, spreading to his
cheek and his brow.  “You have nothing,” she snapped. 

She felt Belial move his lips in a big, broad smile. 
Good
girl
, he said. 
Now promise me you’ll still let me tattoo his bones.

July 2012

En route to Moscow, Russia

The Beechcraft turboprop hugged the California coastline,
chugging slowly and steadily toward the Mexican border.  The pilot had
indicated there would be one stop before crossing the Pacific; Constantine
wanted to stay awake and alert until they were in international airspace. 
He didn’t trust Vadim, not yet.  He leaned his head against the window and
tried to let the drone of the propellers silence the doubts in his mind.

The lights below grew dim and sparse as they flew south over
Mexico.  Just outside Culiacán, the plane banked westward for its
descent.  The pilot brought them down on a deserted airstrip carved into
the fertile hills east of the city.  “We switch planes here,” the pilot
said.  “It’s too dangerous to go into Culiacán.” 

They abandoned the plane at the end of the runway.  The
pilot led him toward a weathered, sun-beaten shack with windows covered only by
tattered scraps of fabric.  With a flick of the wrist, the pilot tossed a
duffel bag through the window.  “Bribe?” Constantine asked.

“More like a rental fee,” the pilot said, using the tail of
his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow.  “We hand-deliver the bribes.”
 

“Where’s the other plane?”

The pilot grinned.  “You don’t work the Mexico desk, do
you?” 

He led him behind the shack, where they found a rusted U.S.
Army jeep from what looked like the Stalin era, complete with the key in the
ignition.  The pilot started it up and drove them slowly over the ridge,
dropping down into the next valley.  Inside a lonely beige hangar, they
found a second plane with a waiting co-pilot.  “You’re late,” the co-pilot
said.    

“I know,” the pilot grumbled.  “Primakov re-routed
everyone for this.  Fucking pain in the ass.” 

It made Constantine feel more secure to know his plane had
been upgraded—this one was a Challenger 605.  Vadim wouldn’t destroy a
Challenger and two pilots without a damn good reason.  In all likelihood,
he was safe until he reached Moscow.  He followed the pilot into the
plane.  “We’ll need one fuel stop,” the pilot said, closing the
hatch.  “Try and sleep through it if you can.”

Constantine sank into a seat and tried to calculate their
arrival time.  Depending on conditions, they would land in Moscow sometime
in the early morning of the next day—a half-day behind Vympel.  Starinov
would question Natalie as soon as Vympel brought her to him, but since she
hadn’t seen the translation of the second letter, there was nothing she could
tell him.

She’ll be all right
, he told himself. 
She
has to be.

His mind circled back to Vadim.  No one else could have
told Vympel where to find Natalie.  What hold did Starinov have over
him?  Without Vadim’s support, taking on Starinov and his thugs was a
suicide mission.  He needed access to the bureau’s armory and
computers.  If Vadim turned on him and revoked his access, he would have
to bribe one of the analysts to let him back in.  It was too much to think
about without a few hours of sleep.

He stretched out across a row of seats and closed his eyes.

*

They approached Moscow in daylight, the morning sun glinting
on the surface of the winding Moskva River.  From several thousand feet,
Constantine could see the thick Kremlin walls and wondered if Natalie were
already inside them.  He set his watch back to local time and touched his
injured shoulder lightly.  It was crusted with blood that had seeped from
the hole.  The dressing stuck to the wound and pulled painfully. 

When the plane’s wheels touched down on Vnukovo Airport’s
private runway, the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker.  “Mr.
Primakov has sent an escort for you.  It’s already arrived.” 

Constantine looked out the window and saw a black BMW
5-series parked near the nose of the plane.  What if Vadim betrayed him
again and a Vympel death squad got out of the car?  He cocked the Walther
and held it ready. 

When the co-pilot exited the cockpit and moved to open the
hatch, Constantine pointed his gun at the man.  “What did Vadim tell you
to do once we’re on the ground?”

The man gulped.  “Leave the city.  We’re supposed
to disappear for a few days.”    

“If anyone other than Vadim gets out of that car, I will
kill them and then you.  Is there anything you want to tell me before you
open that hatch?”

“N—no, sir.”

“Good.  You go first.”  The man opened the hatch
and descended quickly, followed by the pilot.  Constantine stopped on the
bottom stair, gun in hand.  After a moment’s wait, the BMW’s rear
passenger door opened.  A figure stepped out and waved the two pilots
away.

Constantine held his ground and waited. 

The figure walked toward the plane.  Constantine
recognized the stooped walk and lowered his gun.  He wasn’t going anywhere
until he had an answer.  “Why did you do it, Vadim?”

Pouches of dark skin puddled beneath the older man’s red,
watery eyes.  “Maxim took my granddaughter.  Liliya won’t speak to me
or see me until I get her back.”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.  “But now Starinov has
your granddaughter, Viktor, and Natalie.  Why did you let it happen?”

Vadim pressed his hands to his face.  “Everything I’ve
ever done to create a better Russia was for her.  I can’t jeopardize her
life, not for the bureau and not for myself.”

“But you know you can’t trust him.”

Vadim took a deep breath and raised his head.  He
blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from his cheeks.  “He has a gun
pointed at her head.  I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do.  You can take away his gun.”

The older man looked around the airstrip helplessly, as if
expecting someone else to come and help him.  “Everything I dreamed this
country could be has gone.” 

The older man wobbled on his feet and Constantine put a hand
on his arm to steady him.  “It isn’t gone.  We can get it back, but
we have to show Starinov he’s not the only one who knows how to lie.”

“And put Marya in more danger?  I can’t do that, my
boy.”

“You will if you want her back.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m going after them, Vadim.  They’ve got Natalie.”

“The girl,” Vadim said, grey eyes glimmering with a hint of
life.  “Is she truly mad?”

“Of course not,” he snapped.  “She hears something that
she thinks is an angel.  But it’s just her heart, and she listens to
it.”  He looked pointedly at the older man.  “I don’t know anyone
else with the courage to do that.”

Vadim hung his shaggy head, accepting the blow.  “What
should I do?”

“Tell Starinov anything he wants to hear, but promise me
you’re on my side.”  He held out his hand.  “Can I trust you?” 

Vadim clasped Constantine’s hand, his grip cold but
firm.  “Starinov will tell you I have turned on you.  Do not believe
him.”

Constantine nodded.  He slid into the backseat of the
BMW.  He already felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, ready and
waiting for an outlet.  “We have to stop at the bureau.  I need
weapons and supplies.”

Vadim sat beside him and signaled the driver, who sped
toward the Kievskoie Highway.  “Starinov has Marya at the Ussov
building.  I tracked the convoy with satellite imagery.”

“How many cars?”

“Two, both G55s.”

“Plus the men who kidnapped Natalie. That’s eight to twelve
men, total.”

Vadim shook his head.  “This is madness.  They’ll
kill you on sight.”

“Not once they know I have these.”  Constantine patted
his chest pocket.  “When Starinov asks Natalie for the password, the first
thing she’ll tell him is that his letters are fake.  Once he knows she
needs these to figure out the password, he’ll be the one looking for me.”

“And you plan on walking right into his trap?”

Constantine shrugged, wincing when the dried blood pulled at
his skin.  “It’s the easiest way in.  Besides, Viktor will be there
to help.” 

“What about the password?  We can’t let Starinov have
it after what he’s done.”

He shook his head.  “Once I get Natalie and Marya out,
I’m not stopping for anyone.  Call the Bank of England.  Tell them we
have the password and we’ll be coming to them.”

“They will never believe me.”

“Make them.  Once I’m out, Starinov will chase me all
the way to the bank.  I need a plane and flight clearance.  Can you
do it?”

“General Alexeev can,” Vadim said.  “Marya’s
godfather.”