The Romanov Prophecy

THIRTY-FIVE

2:30 PM

The Russian Consulate was located on a Trendy street west of the financial district, not far from Chinatown and the opulence of Nob Hill. The consulate, a red-brown sandstone two-story with an end turret, sat on the corner of a busy intersection. Balconies lined with richly scrolled metal balustrades adorned the upper floor. The roof was trimmed in a cast-iron cresting.

Lord was deposited out front by a taxi. A cool fog ebbed inland from the nearby ocean and sent a shiver down his spine. He paid the driver, then followed a brick path to a granite stoop. Twin marble lions guarded the entrance. A bronze placard attached to the stone announced, CONSULATE OF THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION.

He entered a foyer of golden oak paneling, elaborate statuary, and mosaic flooring. A uniformed guard directed him upstairs to the second floor, where Filip Vitenko waited.

Vitenko shook his hand and offered him a seat in one of two brocaded armchairs. "I am so glad you decided to cooperate with us, Mr. Lord. My government will be pleased."

"I have to say, Mr. Vitenko, I'm uncomfortable with even being here. But I thought I'd do what I could."

"I mentioned your reluctance to my superiors in Moscow, but they assured me nothing would be done to pressure your assistance. They understand fully what you've experienced and are sorry for your misfortunes while in Russia."

Vitenko reached for a pack of cigarettes, surely the source of the bitter odor that permeated the room. His host offered one, but Lord declined.

"I, too, wish I didn't enjoy the habit so much." Vitenko balanced the filter end in a long silver holder and lit the tip. Thick smoke curled upward.

"Who is it I'll be speaking with?" Lord asked.

"A representative of the government in the Justice Ministry. He knew Artemy Bely. Arrest warrants are being prepared for Feliks Orleg and several others. This man is spearheading that action. More facts, though, could help seal the case against these criminals."

"Has the Tsarist Commission been warned?"

"The chairman is aware of what is happening, but no public announcement is to be made, as I am sure you can understand. This would do nothing but undermine the investigative process. Our political situation is most fragile, and the commission's deliberations are at a critical juncture."

He was starting to relax. The situation appeared nonthreatening, and he noticed nothing in Vitenko's words or actions that caused alarm.

The phone on the desk sprang to life with a shrill ring. Vitenko answered in Russian and directed that the call be placed through. He replaced the receiver and pushed another button on the console. A voice came through the speakerphone.

"Mr. Lord. I am Maxim Zubarev. I work within the Justice Ministry in Moscow. I trust your day has been fine."

He wondered how the caller knew he understood the language, but he assumed Vitenko had passed the information along. "So far, Mr. Zubarev. You're up late."

A chuckle crackled through the speaker. "It is the middle of the night here in Moscow. But this is most important. When you turned up in San Francisco, we breathed a sigh of relief. We were afraid the men who were after you may have succeeded."

"I understand they were actually after Artemy."

"Artemy was working for me, making discreet inquiries. I feel somewhat responsible. But he wanted to help. I failed to realize the reach of the men involved with this treason, and my heart aches over that failure."

He decided to try to learn what he could. "Has the commission been compromised?"

"We are not sure at this point. But we suspect that is so. It is our hope the corruption has not run too deep and may be caught in time. The original belief was that unanimity would prevent this type of abuse, but I am afraid that the requirement only heightened the extent of any bribery that may have developed."

"I work for Taylor Hayes. He is an American lawyer with extensive ties to foreign business investment in Russia-"

"I am familiar with Mr. Hayes."

"Could you contact him and let him know my whereabouts."

"Of course. But could you tell me why you are in San Francisco and why you accessed the safe-deposit box at the Commerce and Merchants Bank?"

He leaned back in the chair. "I'm not sure you would believe me if I told you."

"Why not let me be the judge of your sanity?"

"I am looking for Alexie and Anastasia Romanov."

There was a long pause from the other end. Vitenko gave him a surprised look.

"Could you explain, Mr. Lord?" the voice said through the speaker.

"It appears that two Romanov children escaped Yekaterinburg and were brought to this country by Felix Yussoupov. He was fulfilling a prophecy laid down by Rasputin in 1916. I found written confirmation of that in the Moscow archives."

"What evidence do you have to support this?"

Before he could answer, the wail of a siren seeped in from outside as an emergency vehicle passed on the street below. Not something he usually paid much attention to, except that the same siren could be heard through the speakerphone.

The implications came in an instant.

He shot to his feet and bolted from the room.

Vitenko called out his name.

He yanked open the door and was met by Droopy's smiling face. Standing behind him was Feliks Orleg. Droopy slammed a fist into his face. He staggered back toward Vitenko's desk. Blood gushed out his nostrils. The room blinked in and out.

Orleg rushed forward and pounded him.

He slumped to the parquet floor. Somebody said something, but he could no longer register the words.

He fought the feeling, but blackness enveloped him.