The Romanov Prophecy

TWENTY-FIVE

MOSCOW SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17 7:00 AM

Hayes SAT down to breakfast in the Volkhov's main dining room. The hotel offered an exquisite morning buffet. He especially loved the sweet blinys the chef prepared with powdered sugar and a fresh fruit topping. The day's Izvestia was delivered by the waiter and he settled back to read the morning news.

A front-page article recapped the Tsarist Commission's activities of the past week. After the opening session Wednesday, nominations had started on Thursday. Stefan Baklanov's had been the first name placed forward, his candidacy proffered, as arranged, by the popular mayor of Moscow. The Secret Chancellory thought using someone the people respected would give further credibility to Baklanov, and the ploy had apparently worked as the Izvestia reporter editorialized about the support growing for Baklanov's selection.

Two rival clans of surviving Romanovs quickly nominated their senior members, asserting a closer blood and marital tie to Nicholas II. Three more names had been offered, but the reporter gave none a serious chance, the three all distant Romanovs. A boxed story off to the right noted that there actually might be a lot of Russians with Romanov blood. Laboratories in St. Petersburg, Novosibirsk, and Moscow were offering, for fifty rubles, to test a person's blood and compare genetic markers to those of the imperial family. Apparently, a lot of people had paid the fee and taken the test.

The initial debate among commission members on the nominees had been intense, but Hayes knew it was just for show since, at last report, fourteen of seventeen members were bought. Debate had been his idea. Better to let the members appear in disagreement and be slowly swayed than for a quick decision to be made.

The story ended with a note that the nomination process would conclude the next day, an initial vote on narrowing the field to three candidates was scheduled for Tuesday, and then two more days of debate would be held before a final vote on Thursday.

By the coming Friday it should all be over.

Stefan Baklanov would become Stefan I, Tsar of All Russia. Hayes's clients would be happy, the Secret Chancellory would be satisfied, and he'd be several million dollars richer.

He finished the article, marveling at the Russian penchant for public shows. They even had coined a name for such spectacles: pokazukha. The best example he could recall was when Gerald Ford visited in the 1970s, his route from the airport made more picturesque by the fir trees that had been cut from a nearby forest and stuck upright in the snow.

The waiter brought his steaming blinys and coffee. He thumbed through the rest of the paper, glancing at stories here and there. One in particular caught his eye. ANASTASIA ALIVE AND LIVING WITH HER BROTHER THE TSAR. Shock slid down his spine until he read further and noted the article was a review of a play that had recently opened in Moscow:

Inspired by a cheesy conspiracy book found in a secondhand store, English playwright Lorna Gant became intrigued by stories surrounding the alleged incomplete execution of the royal family. "I was fascinated with the Anastasia/Anna Anderson thing," Gant said, referring to the most famous Anastasia wannabe.

The play suggests that Anastasia and her brother Alexie managed to escape death at Yekaterinburg in 1918. Their bodies have never been found and speculation has abounded for decades over what really happened. All fertile grist for the playwright's imagination.

"It has an Elvis-is-alive-and-living-in-Alaska-with-Marilyn ring to it," Gant says. "There's a dark humor and irony to the message."

He read on and saw that the play seemed more a farce of the idea than a serious rendition on possible Romanov survivors, the reviewer comparing it to "Chekhov meets Carol Burnett." In the end the reviewer recommended no one bother with the performance.

A chair sliding from the table interrupted his reading.

He glanced up from the paper as Feliks Orleg sat down.

"Your breakfast looks good," the inspector said.

"I'd order you some, but this is a bit too public a place for you." He made no attempt to hide his contempt.

Orleg slid the plate close and reached for the fork. Hayes decided to leave the bastard alone. Orleg draped syrup over the thin pancakes and eagerly devoured them.

He folded and tabled the newspaper. "Some coffee?" he asked, his sarcasm clear.

"Juice would be fine," the Russian muttered through a full mouth.

He hesitated, then signaled the waiter and told him to bring a tumbler of orange juice. Orleg finished the blinys and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. "I've heard this hotel prepares a fine breakfast, but I can hardly afford an appetizer."

"Luckily you might soon come into some wealth."

A smile creased the inspector's chapped lips. "I'm not doing this for the pleasure of the company, I assure you."

"And the purpose of this lovely Sunday-morning visit?"

"The police bulletin on Lord worked. He has been located."

His interest was piqued.

"In Starodug. About five hours south."

He instantly recalled the town from the materials Lord had found in the archives. Lenin mentioned it along with a name: Kolya Maks. What had the Soviet leader said? The village of Starodug has likewise been noted by two other similarly persuaded White Guardsmen. There is something occurring, of that I am now certain.

Now, so was he. Too many coincidences.

Lord had obviously gotten himself into something.

Sometime during Friday night, Lord's room had been mysteriously emptied. Members of the Secret Chancellory were clearly upset, and if they were worried, he was worried. They'd told him to handle the situation, and he intended to do just that.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Lord and a woman were found at a hotel."

He waited for more. Orleg was apparently enjoying the moment.

"What the local militsya lack in knowledge, they make up for in stupidity. They raided the hotel, but neglected to cover the rear. Lord and the woman escaped through a window. They tried to shoot him, but he managed to get away."

"Did they learn why he was there?"

"He was asking questions in a local eatery about a Kolya Maks."

Confirmation. "What orders did you give the locals?"

"I told them to do nothing until they hear from me."

"We need to leave immediately."

"I thought as much. That's why I'm here. And I've even had my breakfast now."

The waiter brought the orange juice.

Hayes stood from the table. "Drink up. I have to make a call before we go."