The Romanov Legacy (29 page)

“He’s an angel,” Natalie continued.  “Bad things happen
when you make him angry.  He lives in my head, but sometimes he gets
out.”  She blinked and two more streams of tears fell down her
cheeks.  “Grigori was a good man.” 

“I was doing my job,” the big man protested.  He looked
to Viktor for help, but Viktor’s gaze was locked on Natalie, entranced. 
Constantine glanced around the room.  They were all watching her,
succumbing to the strange energy that surrounded her.  Like gravity, she
drew everything to her. 

“Have you ever seen an angel when he’s angry?”  A smile
played at Natalie’s lips, like that of a predator encouraging the false hope of
her prey.  “His face looks like lightning.”

“Stop talking to me!”

“And did I tell you that angels read our blood?  It
tells them everything about us.  Like whether we’re sorry for the crimes
we commit.”  Yakov took one step backward, toward the fireplace. 
Natalie followed him, holding one hand to her breast.  “Are you sorry for
what you’ve done?” she asked, peering up into his face.  “For murdering a
man who never hurt you?” 

“Y—yes,” Yakov mumbled, crossing himself. 

“Are you telling the truth?” she asked, leaning even closer
to him.

Yakov couldn’t back up any further without inserting himself
into the fireplace.  “I am.  I swear.”  

“Let me see.”  Her fingers slipped up from her heart to
her shoulder.  Then, quick as lightning, she pulled her hand away and
slammed it into the side of Yakov’s neck.  Over and over, she slammed her
wrist into his neck until thin streams of red began to flow between her
fingers.  “Read it, Belial!” she screamed.  “Read it and tell me how
sorry he is!”

Yakov’s eyes widened with horror as he saw the red on her
fingers.  He roared in pain and pushed her to the floor, reaching for his
gun. 

Beth and Marya screamed in unison. 

“Don’t move!” Viktor cried, pointing his gun at
Natalie.  Constantine saw Viktor’s finger waver on the trigger and leapt
at him, fingertips outstretched.  It was not enough. 

The gun went off, a bright muzzle flash shooting like a
star. 

July 2012

Moscow, Russia

“There,” Liliya said.  “You’re in.”

Vadim held the phone between his shoulder and his ear and
watched Liliya’s password-breaking program disappear from the screen.  In
its place, he saw a version of the FSB data warehouse that he’d never seen
before.  It was organized in color-coded layers, with two layers visible
above his own security clearance.  “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Where do you think?” she snapped.  “In
prison.”  

“Thank you, Liliya.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“I’ll get her back.  I promise you.”

He heard Liliya sniff and try to cover it up with a
cough.  “I’m standing at the door with a pistol.  I will shoot anyone
who comes through it without my daughter.  Do you understand me, old man?”

“I understand.  Liliya, I’m so sorry.” 

“You have five minutes before they find you and cut off all
access.  Don’t speak to me again unless you have my child.” 

The line went dead.  He tried to take a breath but it
felt as if his lungs were full of water. 
I am drowning
, he
thought.  If he lost Marya, it meant he lost Liliya, too.  They had
never been demonstrative with their feelings but their bond remained solid,
like the foundation of a house.  You could not see it for all the rugs and
furniture and carpeting, but without it, everything fell apart and sank into
the earth.  He could feel her anguish; it was closing in on him,
too. 

He turned his attention to the screen and clicked on the
security level above his.  A directory opened up, filled with folders he
had no time to search.  He swore out loud.  He could never look at
all of these files in five minutes.  It was hopeless.

He closed that directory and moved on to the highest level
of clearance—the level only Starinov and his chosen directors had access
to.  He’d memorized the file number assigned to Rumkowski’s collection of
documents.  He typed it in and clicked on the only result. 

The folder contained dozens more documents than he’d ever
seen, all labeled with numeric codes.  He clicked wildly, opening as many
as possible.  Once the reports began to open, however, he saw one name
that told him exactly what Starinov was after. 

“Holy Mary, mother of God,” he breathed.  Like the pen,
the tsar’s account was just the decoy. 
It was never about the money
,
he realized.  Starinov was after something much more valuable. 

July 2012

Moscow, Russia

The bullet sliced through the air inches above Constantine’s
fingers. 

“No!” he shouted.  Helplessness and horror burned his
heart like acid as he crashed to the floor at Viktor’s feet.  He rolled,
flopping over his injured shoulder just in time to see the bullet hit its
target.  But it wasn’t Natalie whose eyes flew open with shock and pain;
it was Yakov. 

Constantine watched, confused, as the Vympel man turned a
questioning gaze on Viktor’s smoking pistol, then toppled backward and
collapsed to the floor.  Ivan drew his gun and trained it on Viktor. 
“What the fuck did you do that for?”

Viktor swung his gun toward Ivan.  “I didn’t want that
to happen.  But Yakov was going to shoot the only person who can give us
the password.  Lower your weapon.”

Ivan glared at him.  “How do I know you won’t kill me
next?”

“Do you think I
want
to even the odds here?  I
need you alive.”

“Damn right you do.”  Ivan lowered his gun.  

Constantine scrambled over to Natalie, who lay crumpled on
the floor where Yakov had thrown her.  He picked her up and carried her to
the settee.  “It’s okay,” he said, pushing her hair out of her face and
rubbing her wrists gently.  “Everything’s going to be okay.” 

He poured more vodka from the decanter into her glass as
held it to her lips, pouring just enough for her to swallow.  A faint pink
flush returned to her cheek and Constantine pressed his lips to her
forehead.  “Grigori,” Natalie whispered.  “I led them right to him.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, pressing her head into his
neck.  “He knew that.” 

Viktor caught his gaze over her head.  “What the hell
did she do to him, anyway?”  

Constantine looked down and saw Natalie’s right hand. 
It was spattered with red and clutched tightly around something.  He pried
it open gently and found a diamond brooch with a long, sharp pin coated in
blood.  He took it from her and held it up.    

Viktor whistled.  “I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“Are you kidding?” Beth said.  “Nat’s put herself in
the hospital three times, and that’s just when she was angry with
herself.  Do you really think this is the worst she can do when she’s mad
at someone else?”

In Beth’s lap, Marya fidgeted and turned her head, casting a
glance across the room.  She caught sight of the bloody body on the floor
and gasped, then began to wail uncontrollably.  “I want to go home!” she
cried.  “I want to go home!”

“Hush, sweetheart,” Beth soothed.  She pressed her
cheek to the girl’s head, offering what little comfort she could with her hands
tied behind her back.  It didn’t help—Marya’s piercing cries echoed
painfully in their ears.

Viktor winced and pressed his forefinger to his
temple.  “God, that noise,” he said.  “Either you shut her up or I
will.”

Beth struggled against her bonds.  “Untie me and I
might have more luck.”

“Not a chance.  Right now, your job is to make that
girl shut up, and by all accounts you’re failing miserably.  Ivan, why
don’t you try?” 

The blond man knelt over Beth and gripped Marya’s
chin.  Jerking it towards him, he growled in her face.  “If you don’t
stop crying, I will kill your whole family.  I’ll skin them alive while
you watch and I’ll tell them they’re dying because you couldn’t keep your mouth
shut.” 

Marya’s face turn turned white, the irises of her eyes
entirely visible against her wide eyes.  The girl gasped and hiccupped,
but held back her cries.

Ivan caressed her cheek with the muzzle of his gun. 
“You’ll be quiet now, won’t you, little girl?  Nod if you will.” 
Marya nodded and Constantine felt his gut churn.  That poor child would
remember this day for the rest of her life and there was nothing he could do to
help her.

“Well,” Viktor said.  “Let’s get back to
business.  Have a quick look at our golden goose, will you, Con? 
Make sure she isn’t hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Natalie said.  “I can speak, you know.”

“I know, darling, but it’s so much easier when you don’t.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Constantine asked her,
pointing at her dress.  It was torn and spattered with bloodstains. 
One tear, at the shoulder, was obviously from where she’d ripped the brooch
free to stab Yakov.  But the other…the other had split her dress down the
front, exposing her bra and something sparkling wedged between it and her
skin.  “How did that happen?” he asked, pointing at it.  He looked at
her face but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. 

Christ,
he thought.
 It was Viktor.

He pictured Natalie on her back, struggling beneath Viktor’s
iron-strong grip as he tore at her clothes.  He imagined her screams, like
Lana’s, ignored by all who heard them.  His body reacted before his mind
could warn him to back down.  He sprang to his feet, hands curled into
fists that ached to pound Viktor’s bones to pulp.

“I recognize that look,” Viktor said, raising his gun. 
“Don’t do anything stupid, Con.”

The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of their former
closeness.  Enemies were supposed to look different, speak a different
language, and wear different clothes.  They weren’t supposed to be behind
you in the trenches, aiming a gun at your head the whole time.  “Good God,
Viktor, I trusted you with my life.  Vadim did, too.”

“Vadim is a relic.  Refrigerated and dry like week-old
borscht.”

“Then why bother betraying him?”

“Because he never saw what I was worth!  No one did.”

“Jesus, Buddy, take a hint,” Beth said.

“Enough!  I want those letters, Con, and I want them
now.”

“You’ll get them.  But you don’t need Marya or
Natalie’s sister.  Let them go.”

“No.”

He held up his hands.  “Fine.  You win, Viktor.”

“Oh, is this the conciliatory phase of the negotiation
now?  You forget, Con, I went through every FSB training class you did,
and you were never any good at negotiating.  You’re a bad liar, and
negotiating involves lying to people.”

“Negotiating is about compromise.”

“Not if you want to win!” Viktor yelled.  “And I always
want to win.”  He slammed his fist against the mahogany desk.  The
noise startled Marya, who fidgeted in Beth’s lap and let loose a whimper. 

Viktor’s heated gaze settled on the girl.  “Not
again!  Ivan, for the love of Christ, I don’t care how you do it, just
make sure I don’t hear one more word out of her!”

“As you wish.”  Ivan pulled his gun, pointed it at the
girl’s forehead, and pulled the trigger.  The bullet shot through Marya’s
head and knocked her body to the floor.  Beth screamed as blood and brain
matter splattered on her neck and face.  She jumped to her feet, knocking
the chair backward.  Ivan pressed the smoking barrel of his TT to her
forehead.  “You’re next.”

“Beth!” Natalie cried, jumping up from the settee. 
Constantine put out his arm to hold her back.  She struggled against his
grip, eyes flashing from the little girl’s lifeless body to the gun at her
sister’s head. 

“How could you?” Beth screamed.  “All you had to do was
untie me, and I could have held her!”  Tears streaked through the dirt and
grime and blood on her face, creating shapes that arched and forked like
lightning strikes. 

“It is done,” Viktor said.  “Let it be.”

“Let it be?” he yelled.  “That was Vadim’s
granddaughter, you bastard.” 

Viktor raised his right shoulder in an elegant shrug. 
“And what is the likelihood Starinov would have released her?  We’d have
carted her all around Moscow and she’d have ended up dying anyway.”

“She was a child, Viktor, not a disposable Mafiya thug.”

“Oh, spare me the conscience, you bloody hypocrite!  We
killed hundreds of people in Chechnya, surely some of them children, and you
didn’t bat an eye.  Do you think our reports on Chechen positions didn’t
lead to bombing raids?  Do you think women and children didn’t die when
our rockets obliterated the villages their generals tried to hide in?  A
soldier either feels guilty all of the time or none of the time.  I happen
to be the latter.  What the hell are you?”

“He’s a better man,” Natalie said.  “And you know it.”

“You bloody fucking pillocks!  None of you understand a
goddamn thing!  I can’t wait to be rid of you!”  Suddenly, his thick
brows drew together.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
vibrating phone.  He gulped when he saw the number on his screen. 

“Shut up, the lot of you,” he growled.  “It’s
Starinov.”    

July 2012

Moscow, Russia

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Viktor said, putting away his
phone.  “It appears we’ve been given a change of venue.  Probably a
good thing, too,” he muttered, glancing from Yakov’s body to Marya’s. 
“The cleaning crew will arrive soon and we want to be well out of their way.”

Constantine felt Natalie’s small, warm hand slip into his
and he squeezed it, tracing out two words in English on her palm. 
Be
ready.
  Her eyes flickered to her sister.  Constantine inclined
his head slightly, giving her permission to go to her.  The two women were
better off together.  He didn’t think Viktor would risk killing either one
of them just yet.