The romanov code, p.30
The Romanov Code, page 30
Marius interrupted, ‘Speak of the devil . . .’
‘And he shall appear.’
Novak reached them. Shook Marius’s hand. ‘I don’t have the words to sufficiently thank you . . .’
Later, across the road from the National, the three men sat in a booth at the Chandos. They drank beer and swapped improbable stories.
Marius rose. ‘And now, I think, one for the road!’ He walked to the bar without waiting for a response.
Novak nudged his friend. ‘He still won’t give me his real name. I don’t think anyone knows it. I’m not even sure he does.’
Frank shrugged. ‘Maybe he just comes from a cautious family.’
‘Maybe.’ Both men tipped back their glasses and drained their pints. ‘You never did tell me, by the way.’
‘Tell you what?’
Novak nodded to Marius. ‘How do you know the Baron?’
*
Jeremy Simmonds’ assistant, Beryl, held the envelope aloft. ‘I found this in your out-tray, but you hadn’t addressed it, so I didn’t know whether you wanted me to forward it or . . .’
She paused. Simmonds seemed more interested in the jiffy bag she’d handed him moments earlier. He ripped it open, tipped it to one side and caught the hip flask that fell from it. ‘So, he did return it. At last.’ He looked up. Although she didn’t know it, Beryl was holding his letter of resignation.
‘What shall I do with it?’
‘Let me ponder for a moment . . .’ Deep in thought, he idly turned over the hip flask. Paused. Smiled. Laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ He grinned at his assistant. ‘Get your coat on! We’re going for that drink we’re always saying we should have!’ He stood, placed the flask on his desk and brushed past Beryl. ‘I’ll just get my coat!’ He hesitated. ‘The American Bar? Novak recommended it.’
‘But what should I do with this letter?’
‘Just bin it, Beryl!’ He strode into the corridor. ‘I was having a bad day when I wrote it!’
She nodded. Tiptoed over to the desk and took a peek at the flask. She frowned, uncertain what had changed his mood. It was just his usual hip flask, although she’d never noticed the inscription on its side before.
To Jeremy. With heartfelt thanks. N.
Beryl tossed the resignation letter into the bin and called after Simmonds, ‘The American Bar will do very well!’
*
It fell to Frank to return the Red Diamond. He arrived at the old people’s home at noon, and was greeted by a couple of members of staff who knew him by sight. He asked, ‘How is he this morning?’
‘Today is a good day! He complained about his eggs Benedict and ordered a second portion!’
Frank laughed. ‘Good to hear!’
He walked to room 6. Knocked on the door.
‘Come in, Frank!’
He entered. Smiled. ‘You’re looking well!’
It wasn’t a lie. The home’s most distinguished resident was one hundred and five years old and, although frail, remained mentally alert. He wore grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, offset by a burgundy cravat and the inevitable blue blazer. ‘Do you mind if I don’t get up?’
He sat in a wicker chair by a large and ancient gleaming brass telescope and French doors that overlooked a rose garden.
‘You stay right where you are!’ Frank approached him. Dropped to his haunches. ‘It’s always good to see you, old friend.’
‘Who are you calling old?’
He chuckled. ‘Fair play. I wanted to return something. And to let you know something important.’ Frank felt overawed. He hesitated. ‘Your father was right.’
‘He was a good soul. I still miss him.’
‘Aye. You’re not the only one. On the same day the Romanovs were murdered, he put the Red Diamond in your hand . . .’
The older man nodded. ‘I’ve told you the story many times. As many times as he told it to me. My father said, “I believe that one day it will do great good.’’ ’
‘Well, thanks to your son and some other friends of mine . . .’ Frank took the Red Diamond from his pocket. Pressed it into his friend’s palm. ‘It really has done, Georgy. It really has done.’
‘Thank God, and thank you . . .’ The eyes of the son of Leonid Pavlovich Kiselyov filled with tears. ‘Tell me how.’
EPILOGUE 2
History
Less than 24 hours before Frank had given George Alexander closure, Lady Eleanor walked with Marc Novak, side-by-side, down a broad corridor. Deep red carpet underfoot. Masterpieces flanking their every step. The couple reached a set of imposing doors, and although Lady Eleanor held back, anticipating Novak would open them for her, he’d been distracted. She smiled at the look of astonishment on his face.
He stood starring at the final painting in the passage. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
Lady Eleanor didn’t even look up at the work. ‘Last seen in public in 1913. I always felt it was grotesquely overrated. She’s terribly plain. The background – dull.’ She finally spared the painting a glance. ‘And why hasn’t she got any eyebrows?’
‘Maybe Leonardo ran out of paint.’
‘Our people made the swap. We paid Vincenzo to spin his little tales, although why we couldn’t have hired someone with more flair for verisimilitude is beyond me. It’s fortunate we did take it, of course. That grubby little reproduction has been vandalised so many times, the French may just as well have hung it in a firing range. Dear God. Shall we continue?’
Novak hesitated. ‘Since arriving here, I’ve seen dozens of works of art like this. You don’t want me to sign an NDA?’
Lady Eleanor replied, ‘If you say nothing, I shall honour my NDA to you.’
‘How so?’
‘My non-death agreement with you. An implicit promise to let you live, Mr Novak, despite all you have witnessed. The minute you utter a word, you can be assured that the agreement no longer stands.’
‘Non-death agreement? You just made that up, yeah?’
But Lady Eleanor’s only response was a faint, unreadable smile.
They entered the room beyond the doors and she gestured to a Louis XIV chair.
Novak shook his head. ‘I’m not staying.’
‘Very well. I wanted to let you know that the book has been analysed and confirmed to be the Romanov Code. I imagine you’ll want to be appraised as to what will become of . . . such an extraordinary relic.’
‘Nope! I don’t give a damn what you lot do with it. Ironically, it’s about the only first edition I’m not remotely interested in. It’s a book written by royalty. I can’t think of anything more tedious and trite and out of touch. Use it as a paperweight for all I care. I’m only bothered about the money.’
Lady Eleanor looked disappointed. ‘How predictable. But very well. We agreed on the sum of eleven million.’
‘We did.’ Novak paused. ‘But you can make it ten million. On one condition. I need a favour.’
‘A one-million-pound favour. Is it legal?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Thank God.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure God would approve. You may have heard that once upon a time I was hired to find out the truth behind the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. I uncovered what really happened, but the majority of the men responsible escaped me.’
‘How?’
‘The ultimate escape. Death. But I believe one of the perpetrators remains.’
‘Go on.’
‘Ekaterina Romanova told me she knew where he is. I believed her. And I also believe you could get me that information. His whereabouts. The Court is the most powerful organisation I’ve ever encountered. You can help me do this thing. I know you may have moral qualms but—’
‘I can help you.’ She nods. ‘Find the bastard and kill him. You can have your eleven million. But for reasons I can’t divulge, I cannot be seen to be a part of your mission of vengeance.’
‘Understood.’
‘Really?’
‘No. Just felt like the right thing to say.’ Novak extended his hand towards her. ‘But thank you.’
Lady Eleanor glanced at his palm and flared her nostrils. ‘Oh, put it away, Mr Novak. Eleven million pounds. The full amount will be in your account within the hour.’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What would I do with eleven mill? Here . . .’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘These are the details of the account I want the money transferred to.’
She read the details aloud. Repeated the first word of the instructions. ‘ACTION.’ She stared at her guest. ‘I think you’re a fool.’
‘Yeah. It’s a recurring theme.’
‘But . . .’
‘You look flummoxed, Princess.’ He winked at her. ‘Don’t you worry about it!’ He turned to leave.
‘I’m afraid I simply don’t understand!’
‘There are only two things you need to know.’
Lady Eleanor arched an eyebrow.
‘My name is Marc Novak and I’ve got the best job in the world.’
‘Remember that the evil which is now in the world will become yet more powerful, and that it is not evil which conquers evil, but only love.’
– Olga Romanova, four months prior to her death.
Marc Novak will return.
THE ROMANOV CODE DECODED
I genuinely thought I’d invented the Romanov Code, the actual book written by Russian royalty that enshrined and evolved their credos and codes of conduct. But after writing this novel, I’ve spoken to a couple of historians who told me they’ve vaguely heard about it, but it should be considered a myth, or, at best, a legend that stretches back many decades. I’ve found no mention of it online or in any texts, but the book’s possibility is seductive, isn’t it? It’s enticing to think that maybe, just maybe, the tome survived and is waiting to be found. The romantic in me hopes it’ll come to light. The realist doubts it ever existed.
And speaking of the real and the unreal, Leonid Pavlovich Kiselyov and his friends and family are fictions, but the other characters we meet in the Russia of July 1918 are genuine historical figures. The terrible Peter Ermakov, the haunted Yakov Yurovsky and the young soldiers such as Kabanov were real-life participants in the tragedy at Ipatiev House.
Although the main thrust of what happened there is undisputed, various witnesses and historians have inevitably given slightly differing accounts of the massacre and the events that immediately followed. So although we’ll never know the entirety of what unfolded and why (and on whose orders), I tried to embed my characters in an authentic version of that hellish moment in history. Details ranging from the state of the former Tzar’s shoes, to the casual killing of Tatiana Romanova’s French Bulldog and the language employed by Ermakov’s men are largely uncontested. For the slaughter and its immediate aftermath, I predominantly stuck to facts that most eyewitness accounts agree upon.
Incidentally, the Red Diamond, as it appears in this story, is a fiction. But the extraordinary amount of jewels found in the clothes of the corpses and the fact these gems served as a kind of bullet-proofing for the victims is again taken from recorded historical reality.
The sections of The Romanov Code that deal with masterpieces and priceless treasures going missing are also based on fact. Fascinating to think that the Romanovs’ elusive riches are out there somewhere. By the way, if you happen to stumble across one of the lost Fabergé eggs, do let me know. Lady Eleanor has become a good friend of mine and I think I’ll be able to secure you an excellent price for it. My cut is a very reasonable 15 per cent and, believe me, my terms are much more agreeable than those generally offered by Colonel Maksim Bulatov. Za lyubov!
Gavin Collinson, May 2023
For more information on The Romanov Code and Marc Novak, visit gavincollinson.com
AND FINALLY . . .
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving an online review or sending me half a million in cash. The choice is yours. Should you go for the first option – thank you! Every single piece of feedback helps enormously and I’m grateful to everyone who takes the time to share their thoughts. Should you go for the second option, used notes are preferred, but I’m not fussy.
Back to the subject of gratitude . . . I’d like to thank my family and friends for their patience, support and feedback as I wrote The Romanov Code.
Big thanks also to the best agent in the business, Kerr MacRae, and the Welbeck Publishing team, especially Jennifer Edgecombe for such unwavering positivity and support, Loma Halden for being so fantastically forensic and Simon Michele who created this book’s striking cover. I’m especially grateful to my editor, Cat Camacho, who deserves huge praise, not simply for spotting where my narrative was being derailed, but for her ideas in terms of getting it back on track. Thanks, Cat. You worked wonders and your input has been invaluable.
Barry Ryan – thanks for your constant faith. It means a hell of a lot.
Writing can be a lonely pursuit. And that’s fine. Lonely is good. It’s a kind of realisation, isn’t it? But writing is also about how individuals respond to ideas. I’m lucky to have a bunch of people around me who offer sage advice, encouragement and the occasional, much-needed ‘You’re joking, right?’ So thanks to Helen Burgess, Andy Fowler, Ann Challenor-Chadwick, Clair Challenor-Chadwick, Merle Nygate, Sam ‘Elvis’ Presley, Megan Skinner (Kia ora!) and, of course, the extraordinary Jonathan Zane. Rachel Brooke – you legend. I think your ‘No f’ing way!’ is my favourite piece of feedback ever. The next round is on me, and please thank Millicent for the Mercato!
This book is dedicated to Mr Rik Kershaw-Moore. An inspiration, unwavering support and the kind of man you want by your side when going into any battle. Thanks, old friend.
Gavin Collinson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GAVIN COLLINSON
Before becoming a full-time writer Collinson’s career lurched from campsite management to journalism and marketing within the movie industry. He later enjoyed stints on Coronation Street and Emmerdale before working on Doctor Who for over eight years. Since leaving the TARDIS, he’s written for the stage, radio and computer games as well as authoring the Marc Novak series of books. He scripted the 2021 interactive thriller The Lonely Assassins (starring Jodie Whittaker) which was hailed by Engadget as ‘the best Doctor Who game ever made’.
A fan of classic film and TV he’s delivered talks and events on topics ranging from James Bond, Sherlock Holmes and Ghostwatch, to Leni Riefenstahl, Charles Dickens and Alfred Hitchcock.
He was raised in Blackpool, Lancashire and now lives in Guildford, Surrey.
First published in 2023 by Welbeck Fiction Limited,
an imprint of Welbeck Publishing Group
Offices in: London – 20 Mortimer Street, London W1T 3JW &
Sydney – Level 17, 207 Kent St, Sydney NSW 2000 Australia
www.welbeckpublishing.com
Copyright © Gavin Collinson, 2023
Cover design by Simon Michele
Cover images © Jaroslaw Blaminsky / Trevillion Images / Shutterstock.com
Gavin Collinson has asserted their moral rights to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners and the publishers.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-80279-366-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-80279-367-3
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Gavin Collinson, The Romanov Code
