The romanov code, p.29
The Romanov Code, page 29
Ekaterina’s eyes widened.
Novak pulled the Makarov from his belt and aimed it at Bulatov’s face.
Ekaterina moved closer to the screen.
Novak said a few words to Bulatov. Pulled the trigger. It would have been near-impossible to have missed from that distance. Ekaterina saw the Colonel’s skull explode, spraying Novak with blood. The near-headless body wobbled for a ludicrous moment before toppling to the ground. Novak tossed the pistol aside, spoke a few words to the bodies of his friends, and walked from the basement.
-98-
Ekaterina’s Story (cont.)
Ekaterina was an unusually resilient person, but now she put her face in her palms and wept. Not out of pity for the people she had seen murdered. Not out of its senselessness or her part in what had happened. She wept as a release. The tension and fear leaking out in her tears.
For almost twenty minutes, she cried. No thoughts other than self-pity and a sense of relief that she was secure.
Bulatov might be dead, but she intended to remain in the vault for days if necessary, until she knew it was absolutely safe to venture out. She wanted to be certain the Colonel’s men had left and Novak wasn’t lingering in Ipatiev House to exact his revenge. No problem. She could wait.
After about half an hour, she began to realise that events had apparently conspired to help her. Surely the British authorities would find the dead bodies and deduce they’d been murdered by the Russian state? History repeating itself. And she would be the brave Romanova who had somehow survived the massacre. She had a recording of Novak shooting the Colonel at point-blank range, so any claims he made about her could be dismissed as the inane, insane ramblings of an unfortunate psychopath driven mad by the slaughter of his friends.
And wasn’t it obvious Bulatov had exceeded his authority by murdering her guards and the other five victims? Russian Intelligence would disown him, both publicly and privately. That situation created a vacuum. A chance for her to step into his place? To position herself for power when the opportunity arose . . .
She had won. She felt it. The whole affair had been arduous and draining, but she had won.
Ekaterina stood. Entered a ten-digit sequence into the keypad on the secondary door. Nothing happened.
What?
She frowned, then remembered.
‘Verification: Ekaterina Romanova.’
Click-click-click!
Yes, she felt thirsty. Needed water. She would enter the vault, help herself to some of the Evian she’d left there and, of course, look over the Romanov Code. Perhaps even now, in this bloody victory, she wanted to reassure herself it had been worth it.
The door to the vault swung open.
She looked inside. Blinked.
‘What . . . ?’
She tilted her head in an attempt to process what she was seeing. Because as Ekaterina Romanova gazed through the vault’s doorway, she was looking at the most mind-blowing thing she had ever seen in her life.
-99-
Ekaterina’s Story (cont.)
Marc Novak flashed her a broad smile. ‘Miss Romanova! What took you so long? Come on in! Join us for cocktails!’
Ekaterina blinked again, as if trying to dismiss what she was seeing and reboot visual reality with something – anything – that made sense. Because she should have been evaluating the inside of Europe’s most impregnable vault. Instead, through the metal doorway, she was looking at the American Bar, the world famous cocktail lounge of London’s Savoy Hotel.
She whispered, ‘This can’t be happening . . .’
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Novak told her. ‘But don’t worry! The American Bar operates a no-reservations policy. So, come on! Slide your slingbacks over the threshold and name your poison.’
Ekaterina stepped into the cocktail bar.
‘What’s up, hen? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’ Stacey Smith, dressed in a daring silk, Roberto Cavalli animalier-print dress, was taking a seat at one of the tables.
‘Actually, sugar,’ Reggie added, ‘you look like you’ve seen six.’ She wore a fifties-style polka dot swing dress.
‘Yes, come on in, comrade!’ Colonel Bulatov looked resplendent in his full military uniform.
Sophie Grace was wearing a green-tinged rabbit-print poplin midi dress. D&G. ‘But do close the door, dear heart. There’s a dreadful draught.’
Molly Stone, casually attired in jeans, black T-shirt and a Fred Perry jacket, called over her shoulder, ‘What would you recommend for Miss Romanova, Frank?’ She smiled. ‘He introduced me to the joys of gin and he’s my former husband, so I trust his taste in drinks and women implicitly!’
‘I can recommend a Hanky Panky Highball. Or the Pocket Rocket.’ Frank Harvey was crossing the art deco-themed room that seemed to perfectly show off his black Brioni three-piece suit. He paused. Rested his thumb in his waistcoat pocket. ‘Actually, I can recommend anything on the menu. God knows, I intend to give all of them a whirl!’
Novak said, ‘Actually, they do a rather wonderful vodka-champagne cocktail here. It’s called the New Beginning. Yes, Ekaterina. I really think you could do with a New Beginning.’
-100-
Ekaterina’s Story
Still dazed, Ekaterina took a seat at one of the small circular tables. She touched its edges to reassure herself that it existed. The other women and Bulatov were ensconced at one of the longer, oblong tables. Novak and Frank Harvey remained standing.
‘What just happened?’
Novak said, ‘We knew about your vault. Knew it would be impossible to break into. So we thought, why bother? You see, you’ve just witnessed a heist. And you didn’t even realise it.’
‘But how?’
‘Well,’ Novak continued, ‘the Colonel and I decided to join forces. When we were both seized, he had us carefully transported to this place. It’s a replica of Ipatiev House. Or, rather, parts of your Ipatiev House. Like you said, getting details of the original is fairly easy. The only snag was getting your office correct. When I visited you, I wore a tiepin that actually recorded the whole thing, so we got what we needed from the footage. The one problem, of course, was the desk drawers. We didn’t have a clue what was in them. When you opened them, I thought the game was up.’
‘That’s why they were empty . . .’
‘Exactly! There wasn’t time to recreate all the corridors, hence the sack cloth bags placed over our heads. Sorry about that. And you were injected with a low-level dose of Valium that made you a little fuzzy. Just another way of diminishing your perceptual awareness. The basement was good, though, wasn’t it? There was an extra step leading to it, though. Not going to lie – low-key annoyed by that, but, hey – nobody’s perfect!’
Colonel Bulatov took up the story. ‘I knew you would need, let’s call it an incentive to open the vault. Which is why we staged the deaths of Mr Novak’s friends. Pig-blood pellets detonated by remote control. Blank bullets. I’m sure you can guess the rest.’
‘I didn’t feel a pulse in any of their necks,’ Novak mused, as if to himself, ‘because I didn’t bother trying to find one.’
‘We bought out Pavel, which was easy, because you had him on minimum wage.’ Frank took a sip of his Platinum Punch. ‘That side of the sting was all organised and choreographed by an old friend of ours. Sebby Hughes. I’m just gutted he couldn’t hang around for the after-work drinks.’
Ekaterina, still in a state of shock, panned across their faces. ‘But I saw you shoot Bulatov in the head!’
‘No. You saw me and Maksim acting out a little scene that was later enhanced with some special effects. Looked good, though, didn’t it? When you switched on the monitor, we simply played the video. We shot the short film as part of the . . . Hold on . . . Cheers.’ He took a mouthful of his drink. ‘You know, this La Belle 1890 really is to die for.’
Sophie replied, ‘I think there’s already been more than enough dying for one day! Incidentally, Katty, you’ve probably worked it out by now, but when you entered the ten-digit sequence code into the replica vault, well, we rather had the number relayed to us.’
‘And in case you were worried,’ Frank chipped in, ‘we also recorded your voice verification, so we can go straight to your Ipatiev House, open the vault and take the Romanov Code.’
Ekaterina shook her head. ‘Helen won’t let you within a mile of it.’
‘Give over, luv!’ Stacey gave a brief laugh. ‘After we’ve shown her your video confession of how you’ve abused and misused the Foundation, I think she’ll do anything we ask.’
‘Your problem,’ Molly informed her, ‘is that you believed history always repeats itself. And it normally does. But once in every hundred times, we learn. We move on.’
‘What’s going to happen to me?’
Novak looked at his watch. ‘Jeremy Simmonds’ people should be arriving shortly. There won’t be any fuss. You’ll be taken directly to Moscow and handed over to an old friend of yours.’
Ekaterina looked at Colonel Bulatov and he nodded. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll find you a real vault in Russia.’
-101-
I mix myself a Gibson and re-join Stacey and Reggie at one of the central tables. Bulatov and Ekaterina have left with the operatives sent by Simmonds, and Frank and Molly are chatting in the corner of the room. I feel a mild sense of elation, although I know that further dangers await. But for now, at least, I’m content to chink glasses with my friends and enjoy a cocktail.
As I take a seat in the replica of the American Bar, I say to Reggie, ‘Please send the Baron my congratulations. And my thanks. Getting this whole thing ready so swiftly . . . We’d never have been able to pull it off without him.’
She replies, ‘Yeah, well, he had a bunch of teams working round the clock. The rooms themselves were straightforward. His people are the best in the business. Getting the vault from the manufacturers, then adding the modifications – not gonna lie to you, that was touch-and-go. The only other problem was the first room had to be elevated. I’m not sure the geography was 100 per cent . . .’
I shrug. ‘It was close enough.’
Stacey asks, ‘What about this place? The bar.’
‘Oh, this is for another client. We just placed your job next to it. We’ll be extending this room tomorrow.’ She sips her pale blue Midnight Kiss. ‘And that woman. Ekaterina. She thought she could rule Russia some day, just because of an old book? Genuinely?’
She pronounces the third syllable as wine, which I always enjoy.
‘The Romanov Code is a legend,’ I reflect. ‘Whoever holds the book holds the power of the Romanovs. Like Excalibur in the Arthurian histories. She was a Romanov and she really believed it was her destiny to restore her family’s position of supremacy. All her politicking, planning and murders were to that end. She had networks of people in her employ, of course, but she became fixated on the book. I mean, simply as a relic its financial value must be extraordinary. But she, and many before her, felt its real value was something more . . . transcendent.’
‘Baloney!’ Reggie chops her hand through the air as though to convey the absolute certainty of her words. ‘A thing is a thing is a thing!’
‘I’m not saying the FSB and their masters in the Kremlin all believe in the book’s power. But its reputation holds enough sway to ensure they aren’t taking any chances.’
‘No, it’s more than that.’ Stacey sounds uncharacteristically quiet. ‘My ma was Catholic,’ she says, and there’s a firmness in her voice. ‘She believed the wine in the chalice at mass became the blood of Christ. Not figuratively. Not symbolically. But the actual blood of Jesus. And that the wafer or bread handed to her by the priest was the real, honest-to-God flesh of Christ. That’s what the Church believes. It’s what millions believe. I guess it’s the belief that’s the important thing. In this case, for Ekaterina and the people she hoped to convince, it surely was. The book was some sort of totem. A sign and an assurance.’
Reggie looks sceptical. ‘What do you think, Novak?’
‘I think Ekaterina proved one thing. Like I always say, it’s my clients that kill me. Or at least try to.’
‘Sucks to be you, huh?’
‘Quite the contrary.’
Reggie finds herself holding an empty glass and declares, ‘Well, soldiers, I’m getting another drink!’ As she gets to her feet, she asks, ‘Anyone else want more ammunition?’
My Gibson is almost done. ‘Get us both one of what you’re having!’
‘Sure thing, sugar.’
She makes her way to the bar. I’m alone at the table with Stacey and for something like a minute there’s an easy silence between us. Perhaps it’s too easy. Too much like the ‘. . . and relax’ moment that follows anything that’s painfully endured. As if reading my thoughts, Stacey says, ‘Don’t worry. I know it’s not over yet.’
‘If anything, what I have to do next is the riskiest part of the process. But if I stand any chance of . . .’ I pause. Something strikes me. ‘Where’s Sophie?’
‘Sorry!’ Stacey replies. ‘She said to pass on her goodbyes. She had to shoot.’
‘Is she picking up the twins?’
‘I think so. She said it was about the children.’
That’s not quite the same thing. In fact . . .
I ponder the half-hints that Sophie Grace has given me about who, or what, she truly is, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s seeking vengeance on—
‘Ammunition, troops!’ Reggie has returned with a tray that’s pleasingly crowded with drinks. She dishes out some cocktails and I dive into one without waiting to hear what it is. Turns out it’s strong and it’s sharp and I like it. Before I can praise her mixology prowess, she points out, ‘You didn’t answer my question!’ She retakes her seat. ‘Do you think any of the Romanov treasure possesses otherworldly powers?’
Stacey scoffs, ‘Novak doesn’t believe in any of that blather!’
I hesitate. I’m recalling how my fingertips moved towards the Fabergé egg in the priest’s study. The overwhelming sense I had that touching it would be a terrible mistake. That the artefact held, if not a curse, then a kind of gathering of its own history, making it more than the sum of its physical parts.
‘Who knows?’ I feel myself shudder.
I’ve never completely believed in the supernatural, or in destiny for that matter. But if both are somehow at play, I feel that in the same way Maughan’s Fabergé egg was intrinsically not for me, then, conversely, the Romanov Code is waiting for me. Is it fanciful to suggest I might escape the curse of its namesakes because it offers me redemption?
But if I’m wrong . . .
I reach for my cocktail, because, frankly, that’s a possibility I don’t even want to consider.
-102-
Bulatov’s Story
Two days later, in the basement of the Ipatiev House used by the Romanov Foundation, Marc Novak opened the ingenious vault. Watched by Frank Harvey, Stacey Smith and Maksim Bulatov, he entered the storage section and emerged moments later carrying a small book. It was plain. Battered. Locked by a clasp. Novak handed it to the Colonel.
‘Our business is complete, Maksim.’
Bulatov saluted him and took the book.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ Stacey sounded amazed. ‘Aren’t you going to open it? See what all the fuss has been about?’
Frank shook his head. ‘The key’s been lost for generations. Even Ekaterina didn’t want to force it. You see, what’s inside the book isn’t the important thing. The really important thing is—’
‘Oh, give it here!’ Stacey snatched the book from the Colonel and wrenched open the clasp. All three men in the room gasped. ‘Typical blokes! Never knowing when to just crack on and see what’s there!’ She handed the book back to Bulatov. ‘I think you should do the honours, pal.’
He nodded. ‘Lady and gentlemen . . . history!’ The Colonel opened the book. Turned a page. Then two. Then clumps of pages, zipping through the entire tome. ‘This cannot be!’
Frank and Stacey began laughing.
Bulatov let the book drop to his side. ‘Empty pages. It was just a myth . . . Empty pages!’
‘Look at it another way, my friend.’ Novak placed his palm on the Russian’s shoulder. ‘It’s history waiting to be written.’
-103-
The Romanov Code’s Story
The four of them shook hands outside Ipatiev House. Maksim Bulatov’s chauffeuse opened a rear passenger door of the gleaming eighth-gen Rolls-Royce Phantom. ‘It’s been fun,’ the Colonel declared. He got into his car. The chauffeuse closed the door, slipped behind the wheel and gunned the purring engine. The vehicle inched forward. Stopped. The window closest to Novak slid down to reveal Bulatov’s beaming face. ‘Let’s do this again some time, comrades!’
The Phantom glided away.
Silence for a moment.
Frank, Stacey and Novak began walking to the mustard-coloured Morris Marina.
They paused. The Colonel’s car moved through the estate’s iron gates and disappeared onto the roads beyond.
Stacey glanced at Novak. ‘Did you make the switch?’
Frank replied, ‘Course he made the switch.’
‘Hey.’ Novak pulled a small item from the poacher’s pocket specially sewn into the inside of his suit’s lining. Wrapped in brown paper, the package looked to be the size of a book. ‘I made the switch. Now, can we get a drink, please?’
EPILOGUE 1
The Son’s Story
Frank met Marius in the foyer of the National Gallery. They shook hands, then embraced.
‘We couldn’t have done it without you, Mya. I still don’t know how you got your people to create the replica of Ipatiev House so quickly. And so brilliantly!’
‘I only work with the best! Aside from you, of course!’
‘And the Red Diamond gave Novak access to the Court. I think—’
