The romanov code, p.28
The Romanov Code, page 28
I ask, ‘But why is the book so important?’
‘Because it is history! Because of what it represents! A past that we can respect, but must not replicate.’
‘Is the Kremlin really so worried about the power of an old book?’
‘Mr Novak, men have been fighting wars over old books since the time of Christ.’
‘Then perhaps it’s time to stop.’
‘History repeats itself. And as surely as the tide will continue to ebb and flow. Any person that tries to fight or deny it is nothing but a chronological King Canute. And now . . .’ He steps over Pavel’s body and sits in the seat behind the desk. ‘I’d like the Romanov Code, Mr Novak.’ He checks his watch. ‘You’ve less than five minutes to give it to me, or I’ll order the death of everyone dear to you.’
-93-
I approach the desk. ‘I don’t have the book. You know that! Ekaterina’s had it in her possession all along!’
‘I’m aware of this. Yes. But we had a deal. And I’m offering you a chance to keep your side of it.’
Ekaterina walks towards the Colonel. ‘What you’re doing is an outrage and—’
As she nears the desk, one of the soldiers swings his UMP in her direction, but he lowers the barrel as Bulatov gives a tiny shake of his head. Ekaterina spots the gesture. Pauses. And as realisation hits her, she beams.
‘That’s why I’m still alive! You’ve butchered everyone else in the building because they can’t help you. But you need me alive, because without me you can’t hope to get your hands on the book!’
Bulatov drums his fingers on the desktop.
Ekaterina gives a short, high-pitched yelp of triumph. ‘I believe this is what they call a reversal of fortune, Colonel.’
I say, ‘Would someone care to explain what’s going on?’
Ekaterina takes a seat. ‘In the basement of this building, there is possibly the most sophisticated vault in Europe. It has what is known as a shield door. That’s to say a door that can withstand a laser cutter, acid or even explosive force. The only force capable of destroying it would be a military-grade strike. So it’s protected by a paradox. The only way to get past the shield door would destroy the entire vault itself, rendering such an attack pointless. And the Colonel knows it.’
Bulatov nods. ‘We hacked the records of the men who fitted it. Beyond the shield door, which can only be opened by a ten-digit sequence known only to yourself, there is a chamber. The shield door must be closed for the second door, the door within this chamber, to be unlocked. As with the first, it can only be opened with a ten-digit code. That second door leads to the storage area of the vault, where I presume the Romanov Code is housed. Now, I understand this second door could be penetrated by a military-grade laser. Something like a Lockheed Martin, that can produce a single beam of 58kW. But even then, piercing it would take some time. A lot of time . . .’
‘Time you don’t have,’ Ekaterina reminds him. ‘You’ve just carried out a massacre on British soil. It isn’t going to be long before someone notices those men are missing. At best, you’ve got hours. But you certainly don’t have days, which is how long it would take you to open that second door . . . And that’s only if you can open the shield door. Which, without me, is impossible. Literally impossible.’
‘True enough!’ Bulatov stands. ‘But this is not a reversal of fortune, Miss Romanova. I was aware of the situation long before today. We find ourselves in something more akin to a Mexican stand-off. I need the book. So I need you. But if you flat-out refuse to give it to me, I may as well kill you. What would I have to lose?’
‘Then we’re at an impasse.’
‘Not quite. You will come with me!’ The Colonel barks something in Russian to one of his guards and Ekaterina shouts in protest.
‘No! You cannot do that!’
We’re roughly pinned to the far wall. Sack cloth bags are pulled over our heads and I feel myself being pushed towards the door.
‘Try anything en route,’ Bulatov warns us, ‘and it will not end well for either of you.’
I’m half pushed, half guided to the corridor and sense the same is happening to Ekaterina. She seethes, ‘This is an outrage! I am a Romanova!’
‘You are a Romanova in Ipatiev House,’ Bulatov replies. ‘You may wish to consider that fact before issuing any more shrieking protests.’
The short journey proves a painful one. The guards apparently delight in knocking us to the floor as we’re propelled through the building. It’s disorientating and humiliating in equal measures.
Eventually, I hear the Colonel tell us, ‘You must be careful, my friends. We shall now descend into the most infamous basement in the history of the world. Where I have a little surprise for you.’
Ekaterina and I are guided down a flight of stairs. I count twenty-four steps and feel floor beneath my feet. I hear a door being shut and someone snatches the bag from my head. Ekaterina has hers removed, and as soldiers take off our handcuffs, we exchange glances. We’re in the room that’s a recreation of the chamber where Nikolai II Alexandrovich Romanov, his wife, children and friends were gunned down.
Something in the basement makes me shout, ‘My God! This is madness! You can’t be serious, Colonel!’
Because, to my right, I see a line of uniformed guards. Some grip UMPs, a few hold rifles and a couple are brandishing Makarovs. But every one of them is armed, and every single weapon is pointing at a line of people to my left.
‘The tide of history seeps in, creeps out and seeps in again,’ the Colonel insists. ‘It’s inevitable, my friend.’
‘Stop this now!’ I demand.
But our captor simply smiles.
There are five people in the line.
Stacey Smith, Sophie Grace, Reggie DeLuca, Molly Stone and Frank Harvey.
Maksim Bulatov tells me, ‘I cannot be a chronological King Canute, Mr Novak.’
-94-
The Colonel checks his watch. ‘You have precisely one minute to persuade Miss Romanova to give me the book. Otherwise, your friends will suffer the same fate as the Tzar and his family in 1918.’
‘Bulatov! Listen to me! That’s not the way her mind works! She doesn’t care about any of those people or me! The only person you can threaten that would have any sway is her! You must see that!’
He shrugs. ‘You are, in a sense, her colleagues. That must mean something to her.’
I look at my friends, forced to pose in a line-up that’s ghoulishly similar to the assembly of Romanovs who faced their killers over a century earlier. I turn to Ekaterina. Plead with her. ‘Please! Just give him the book! Is it worth the lives of five innocent people? Ekaterina! He will execute them!’
Sophie says, ‘What’s going on, Marc? We don’t understand! We were all taken at gunpoint and—’
Bulatov shouts, ‘Silence!’ He adds to his soldiers, ‘If any of that lot says another word, shoot them in the face.’
I see Sophie go even paler as she steps back into line.
‘Ekaterina, please!’
She remains silent.
I grip the lapels of Bulatov’s suit in desperation. ‘It’s possible Helen Merrydale knows the combination of the vault. They trust each other! We just need to find her!’
Ekaterina’s voice is thick with scorn. ‘Helen hasn’t a clue! I’ve used the Romanov Foundation to launder money and cultivate alliances for years! She’s never suspected a thing and has never even asked me for the opening sequences. Kill me and the book is lost forever. Helen can’t help you.’
The Colonel says, ‘You have thirty seconds, Mr Novak.’
‘Ekaterina! I have the Red Diamond! You know that! It’s priceless! I can give that to you! Give him the book and you can keep the diamond.’
‘Do you have it here?’
‘No!’
‘Then no deal.’
Bulatov peels away and stands by the side of the armed men. Looks to my friends. ‘Stacey Smith, Sophie Grace, Reggie DeLuca, Molly Stone and Frank Harvey . . . In view of the fact that your colleagues are continuing their attack on Russia by repeatedly refusing a simple request, the Special Executive Committee has decided to execute you.’
Frank looks at me and stammers, ‘What? What?’
Bulatov turns away. ‘As I said, history repeats itself. Raise arms!’
Every weapon picks out a pre-arranged target.
I make one last plea, in the form of a simple promise. ‘If you do this, Colonel, somehow, some way – I will kill you.’
‘Really? Well, that’s a chance I’m prepared to take. We cannot fight history, Mr Novak.’ He looks to his soldiers. ‘Fire!’
-95-
There’s a simplicity in death.
Grey-white smoke from the hot barrels of the sidearms fills the room and when I inhale, I can taste the sharp chemical tang of cordite and feel its caustic burn at the back of my throat. Visibility is further worsened by a heavy snowfall of dust from the plaster ceiling, loosened by the reverberation of the shooting. And yet I can clearly see the effects of the gunfire.
I look across to my friends. There’d been no time for any show of courage. No brave last words or declarations of love. The deafening cacophony of gunfire still echoes in my ears. The reverberation still finds my bones and seems to rattle them. The plaster dust coats us all. The living and the dead.
I push Bulatov out of the way, but for a moment I can’t approach my friends. The sight of them shrieks at me. Their truth too appalling. Because the Colonel had been wrong in a way. History did not repeat itself. The victims here had no jewels and gemstones to protect them from the bullets. They lie contorted on the floor, their bodies drenched in blood.
I force myself to approach Stacey. My hand reaches for her throat, but I find no pulse.
Sophie’s mint-green top is sodden w ith blood, so much so that I imagine – or maybe I can – taste the salt of it. I reach for her throat, but I find no pulse.
Reggie lies prone, half underneath Stacey’s body. I pull her free. Turn her over. The blood leaking through her clothes is still warm. I reach for her throat, but I find no pulse.
I shuffle along. Molly Stone’s still, pale and blood-speckled hand is resting on Frank’s sleeve. I reach for her throat, but I find no pulse.
I drop to the ground. ‘Frank, Frank . . .’ I haul his body around and drag him towards me so his head rests on my lap. I reach for his throat, but I find . . . A pulse! ‘Frank! Stay with me! Frank!’
I must be crying because my vision of him has become blurred.
I see his eyes flicker open. ‘The girls?’
‘They’re all right,’ I tell him. ‘We all just need you to hang on! Do you hear me? Just hang on!’
He somehow musters a smile. Shakes his head. ‘Too late. But wanted you to know . . .’ He takes two quick shallow breaths. I lean closer to him and he whispers, ‘Jock was right. I love you, lad.’
I hug him so tightly, it feels like I might crush his bones. And I wait for another breath but hear nothing more. There is nothing more. Because there is, after all, a simplicity in death.
-96-
Frank’s Story (cont.)
Blackpool, England. July, 1981
Frank Harvey sat in a snug at the Oliver Arms, an apocalyptic little pub close to the ABC cinema.
Jock walked in, bought a couple of pints and took the seat opposite him. ‘How do, Frank?’
‘Y’all right?’
‘What the hell are you doing in this place? It’s probably the worst boozer in Lancashire.’
‘One of the lasses in the office recommended it.’
‘Tall, fair-haired woman?’
‘Aye.’
‘Yeah, she said she’d mentioned this hellhole.’ Jock took a sip of bitter. ‘Were you rude to her?’
Frank grimaced. ‘Probably.’
‘That’s why she sent you here. Payback. Right! Have you calmed down yet?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Good! Let’s sort out your first story, then! Covering the wedding of Charles and Diana from a Blackpool point of view. I had wanted you to go to the Pleasure Beach on the day of the wedding. They’re giving out free tickets to anyone called Charles or Di. But you said—’
‘I said that the wedding day is going to be a bank holiday. Except some registry offices will be opening. I think we should cover a local wedding. Follow it. See how the married lives of our Blackpool happy couple differ from those of the Prince and Princess of Wales.’
Jock nodded. ‘Not a bad idea. Run with it!’
Frank nodded. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Long as it’s legal.’
‘Why are you helping me out? You took a chance on me after I was kicked out of London. I was an idiot today in the office and here you are again. Actually, maybe I don’t need to know why. But I just wanted to say . . . Thank you. It means a lot.’
Jock smiled. ‘One day you’ll be an old man. And you’ll meet some younger bloke who’s a hothead and impulsive and kind of smart but off the rails. He’ll do things his way and to hell with the consequences. But you’ll also see he’s got a good heart. When you meet him, remember me, yeah? Remember this, lad.’
Frank nodded. ‘Aye, will do.’
The two men clinked glasses.
‘Time for some shots, yeah, Jock?’
‘Not yet. Still got a bit of business.’
‘What might that be?’
‘You’re covering the Charles and Diana story like you wanted to. No problem. But someone else already suggested that angle. So I’m teaming you up with her. She’s young. A complete novice. But I think she’s special.’ Jock turned around. ‘Come on over, luv!’
The fair-haired woman from the office picked up her drink and joined Jock at his table.
Frank groaned, ‘Bloody hell!’
‘Yeah! My thoughts exactly,’ she shot back.
Jock laughed. ‘Frank Harvey, I’d like you to meet your new partner. Molly Stone.’
-97-
Ekaterina’s Story
Ekaterina Romanova glanced at the bodies of Novak’s friends. He had howled a moment ago. A grim and terrifying wail that felt louder than the gunfire. Now he was silent, hunched over an old man’s frame.
She turned to Colonel Maksim Bulatov. ‘All right. I’ll get the book for you.’
Novak raised his head and shouted, ‘No! She’s seen what you’re capable of, Bulatov! If she steps foot in that vault, she’ll just hole up and you’ll never get the Romanov Code!’
‘She can only hide for so long. She understands that. Don’t you, Miss Romanova?’
‘It’s a simple business transaction. You get what you want, Colonel, and you leave me to mop up the mess here.’
He nodded. ‘Quite so.’
Ekaterina stepped over the body of Stacey Smith, careful not to get any blood on her Miu Miu slingbacks. She unlocked, then opened the doors behind the five fallen friends to reveal a huge, metal arched door.
She said, ‘This is the shield door. Immediately beyond it is a chamber. And beyond that is the vault containing the Romanov Code. If I could ask you all to stand back . . .’
Novak didn’t move, but Bulatov and his men retreated a couple of paces.
Ekaterina placed her hands under a ledge in the door and felt the keypad. The covering meant that even if her body hadn’t been blocking their line of vision, the sequence of numbers she entered would be impossible to see from any angle in the basement.
She pressed the tenth and final number and spoke three words aloud. ‘Verification: Ekaterina Romanova.’
Click-click-click!
As the door swung towards her, she stood to one side. Looked back at Novak and the impatient Colonel Bulatov, a foolish man, she reflected, so eager for his prize to take back to the Kremlin that he was blind to the obvious truth, even after it had been spelt out to him. She would step inside the outer vault, close the door and, at that point, and in that place, she would be safe. She would wait.
She nodded. ‘I’ll be right back. You have my word.’
Novak yelled, ‘You’ll never see her again! But it doesn’t matter. You’re a dead man, Bulatov! I promise you that.’
Ekaterina gave the Colonel a pantomime grimace. ‘Awkward!’ Novak called her name and she paused. ‘Yes?’
‘Was any of it true? About the real you?’
She looked at him. Gave a sad smile. ‘The postboxes.’ She pushed her shoulders back. Businesslike again. Ekaterina Romanova walked into the vault’s outer chamber and entered another sequence of numbers into a panel to the left of the doorway.
Bulatov called across, ‘Don’t let me down!’
‘You can trust me!’
The door shut. Ekaterina was alone. She pulled out and switched on a PC built into the vault wall and confirmed all systems were running correctly. No problems.
‘This place is invulnerable!’
She switched on a monitor that was intended to relay a visual feed of what was happening on the other side of the shield door, in the basement.
On the screen, Ekaterina saw the Colonel ushering out all the men who had shot the five people moments earlier. And now, finally, she allowed herself a deep sigh of relief. She could watch and wait. Days if necessary. In the storage section of the vault, she’d placed water and tinned food in case of such an emergency.
She peered at the screen. Novak was getting to his feet. She saw him shout something to the last of the guards as the line of soldiers trudged from the room. Bizarre! He was approaching the young man. Embracing him. Ekaterina furrowed her brow. Why on earth—
She saw the move. Slick and quick. Novak slipped the soldier’s Makarov from his side holster. Slid it into the back of his trousers. He turned away and the guard hurried off to join the other men. Ekaterina wished she’d thought to have an audio feed installed, because she wanted to know what Bulatov was saying to Novak. It was clear he hadn’t seen him take the pistol, but she wanted to hear the words they were exchanging.
Novak seemed calm again. In control. The Colonel appeared flustered. He pointed at the other man and—
