The Romanov Ransom

by Clive Cussler

  “Schnell!” the woman said, waving her hand for them to quicken their pace. They followed her out, and she led them down a graveled path, around the garage, to the manicured garden. Shorter boxwood hedges surrounded fountains, flowers, and topiaries. Farther down the path, an expanse of lawn stretched out just beneath the terrace, accessed by twin staircases, one on either side.

  Two armed security guards walked past, giving them a quick look, before continuing on toward the perimeter, as Helga rushed them up the staircase to their right. At the top, she said something to Remi, then quickly walked toward the main house, where uniformed staff, carrying hors d’oeuvres, mingled among the guests.

  Remi touched Sam’s sleeve. “This way, Hans. Apparently, we’re here to serve champagne.” She nodded toward a long table on one side of the terrace, where a bartender filled crystal flutes.

  Sam, following Remi’s lead, picked up a tray. “Somehow, we need to get back out to the garage and that door.”

  “How?”

  “Playing it by ear, Marta.” He casually moved to the edge of the terrace and saw a line of cars, headlights glowing in the dark as they idled in the street, waiting to enter to drop off even more guests. The guards who’d been removed from the perimeter to carry the potted plants earlier that evening were back on patrol. Sam turned toward the guests, now numbering over three dozen, surprised to recognize a couple of faces in the crowd. “Take a look at ten o’clock.”

  Her gaze slid to the left, her brows going up. “American Ambassador Halstern and his wife. And that congressman . . . What’s his name . . . ?”

  “Jones.”

  “What’re they doing here, of all places? Halstern, I get. But Jones?”

  “I seem to recall some recent trade agreement with Germany.”

  Remi smiled at a man who approached, taking two flutes from her tray. “Lovely. Always nice to know our politicians are fraternizing with crooks.”

  “We’re assuming they know he’s a crook. At least Rolfe isn’t around. Do me a favor. Try not to position yourself anywhere near them in case he suddenly makes an appearance and they recognize you.”

  “I doubt any of them will see past our uniforms.”

  “If we get caught, you better make sure they do see past them. They might be our only chance out of here.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Remi asked.

  “We serve champagne until we can go down the opposite staircase and get back to the garage. Too many guards on this side. If we get separated, you glue yourself to the Halsterns. Whether they’re supporters of his or not, I doubt they’ll allow Rolfe to start an international incident by killing an American on his back porch.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  Sam hefted his tray, about to take a step in that direction. “How do I say—”

  “Champagner,” she replied.

  “Got it.” He wove his way through the guests, feeling the warmth from the propane heaters as he passed by. “Champagner?” he said, holding the tray out. He’d picked a path that would purposefully avoid Ambassador Halstern. And just when he thought he had a clear path, the Ambassador and his wife suddenly appeared in front of him.

  52

  The Ambassador grabbed two flutes from Sam’s tray, handed one to his wife, who barely spared Sam a glance before both turned back toward the couple they were talking to.

  Sam worked his way around the guests until the tray was empty, spotting Remi coming up on his left. He took the stairs down, holding his empty tray at his side, hoping he looked like the hired help taking a short break rather than someone about to burglarize an exclusive German villa. Wondering where Remi was, he turned, saw her starting down the stairs behind him, then stopping when someone called out, “Marta!”

  Helga, the woman who’d cornered them in the garage, stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips. And though Sam couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, it was clear that she was demanding to know what Remi was doing.

  Remi held up her empty tray with her right hand, saying something to the woman, as she moved her left hand behind her back, waving for Sam to continue on.

  He hesitated, then hurried down, knowing that Remi would’ve never signaled for him to go on if she’d thought there was the least bit of trouble. A moment later, she was exchanging her empty tray for one full of hors d’oeuvres, before making her way back into the crowd. Little he could do about that. Deciding that she was probably safer up there than with him, he ditched his tray in the bushes, walked back to the garage, then moved the uniform rack. After double-checking his phone for the code that Rube provided, he punched it in, breathing a sigh of relief when the red light turned green.

  Just as he slipped in, a man entered the garage and walked up to the uniform rack. Sam was stuck. He couldn’t close the door without being seen or heard and so he pressed back against the wall, looking through the crack in the door, gun aimed. Just when he thought he’d been seen, the man grabbed a uniform, then turned away and walked out.

  Sam pulled the door closed, then took his small flashlight from his pocket, the dim blue glow reaching just a few feet in front of him. The hallway sloped down, no doors on either side as he followed along, judging it to be at least the length of the open lawn, then the terrace above him. A door at the end blocked his way, its red light indicating it was alarmed.

  He used the same code. The door opened into another hallway that branched off in three different directions. He took the left, followed it to the stairs, then up. At the third level, a guard stood at the door.

  No doubt, he’d found Tatiana.

  Now all he had to do was take out the guard.

  He pulled a coin from his pocket, then tossed it low across the floor. The guard, hearing it hit the wall, took a few steps in that direction. Sam crept up on him, shot his arm around the guy’s neck, then locked it with his other arm, squeezing against his carotids as he pulled the man off balance. The guard, unable to speak, grabbed at Sam’s arm, trying to free himself, his feet thrashing out as he tried to turn away. Within seconds, the guard’s strength waned, and his body jerked as the oxygen supply to his brain was cut off. The moment he went limp, Sam dropped him to the floor, then found the keys to the door and opened it.

  The only furnishing in the room was the chair where Tatiana, bound and gagged, was seated. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him dragging the guard in.

  Sam removed her gag, then took the knife from his pocket to cut her ties. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She rubbed at the rope marks on her wrists. “I take it the trade for the key didn’t work?”

  “We didn’t get that far,” he said, cutting through the rope around her ankles. “As far as Rolfe knows, that deal’s going down at midnight.” He tossed one of the ropes to her and she helped bind the guard’s feet while he took the hands.

  “Why midnight?” she asked.

  “He’s a bit preoccupied. Looks like some political fund-raiser thing.”

  “No wonder he was in such a hurry to get home, never mind they seem to have forgotten about me. If not for that, who knows where I’d be.”

  The guard started to stir. Sam gave his gun to Tatiana so he could place the gag in the man’s mouth. “Let’s get out of here before he comes to.”

  53

  Why do you waste your time with such things?” Leopold asked.

  Rolfe drained the last of his wine from his glass, then glanced out the window down to the terrace below, where his guests mingled beneath propane heaters. If not for the constant scrutiny he was under, he’d let them drink themselves to oblivion, never once stepping out there. “It’s important to keep up appearances,” he said.

  Suffering through the occasional social event so that he could appear philanthropic had served him well over the years. It created an illusion of legitimacy. When those occasional investigations into his extracurric
ular activities veered a little too close, there was never a shortage of high-ranking people willing to vouch for him, never mind overlook the whispers of his involvement.

  “Americans?” Leopold commented.

  Rolfe followed the direction of his gaze. “The Ambassador to Germany and his wife.”

  “Why?”

  “U.S. connections are always good. I have special interests over there.”

  “Legal?”

  “Depends on one’s viewpoint.”

  Leopold turned back to the guests on the terrace. “What does a party like this cost?”

  “Enough,” he said. In truth, too much. What he wasn’t willing to share was that paying the Guard to help him with the hunt for the Romanov Ransom had taken far more capital than he’d ever anticipated. In fact, he had a new appreciation for how it was his father had burned through the family fortune.

  “You should have canceled,” Leopold said.

  “I don’t have that luxury. I’ve worked too hard networking for my contacts. Canceling the party would start the sort of gossip I can’t afford right now.”

  “‘Gossip’?” A look of disgust swept over Leopold’s face. “I’d be more worried about a potential kidnapping charge than what anyone thinks about his invitation being pulled.”

  Rolfe didn’t bother mentioning that the only one who could be identified by any witnesses at the scene was Leopold. Instead, he looked at his watch. “You have at least an hour’s drive. Get Tatiana out through the tunnel. The sooner you and your men get there, the better. We don’t want the Fargos to have the advantage.” He started out the door.

  “One thing you haven’t discussed—how you’re going to keep Tatiana from talking once the exchange is made.”

  He looked back at Leopold. “You don’t think we’re actually going to let her live, do you?”

  “And you think Fargo will turn over the key without getting her in exchange?”

  He had a point. The Fargos had proven themselves to be more than troublesome. “Get the key, then put a bullet in each of their heads. Just make sure that no one gets out alive.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Leopold followed him out the door when Gere suddenly appeared in the hallway, still trying to hide his limp.

  “What are you doing out here?” Rolfe asked.

  “I tried calling you, but it went straight to voice mail.”

  “I have the ringer turned off on my phone. What’s wrong?”

  “I just checked in with security. There’s an abandoned baby carriage outside the service gate.”

  “And I care because . . . ?”

  “I checked the video surveillance. The man and woman pushing it definitely looked like the Fargos.”

  54

  Remi left the terrace, passing through a windowed sunporch that ran the length of the house, on her way to pick up yet another tray of canapés. Just as she pushed through the swinging kitchen door, she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. Her taskmistress, Helga, in the midst of giving orders to the staff about the way the trays were being filled, looked over as Remi read Sam’s text.

  “Nein!”

  Remi apologized, returned the phone to her pocket, breathing a sigh of relief.

  He and Tatiana were on their way out.

  Helga handed her a tray, then swooshed with her hands, urging her out the door. Remi pushed it open with her shoulder, walked through the sunporch just as someone burst through a door almost in front of her.

  She halted in her tracks, the canapés sliding in the tray, watching as Rolfe and Leopold stormed toward the very terrace doors she was heading for. Both men stopped just inside, their gazes fixed on something in the distance. Unable to get past them without being seen, she turned back to the kitchen. At that very moment, the door swung open and Helga appeared, ordering Remi out to the party.

  Deciding it was safer out where there were a hundred witnesses, she approached the doors, coming up behind the two men.

  “I want the grounds searched,” she heard Rolfe saying quietly. “No one gets out until they’re found.”

  Suddenly, Helga was at her heels, urging her to move quicker. Moment of truth, she thought, mumbling, “Excuse me,” in German, both men stepping aside as she, then Helga, passed through the door.

  Her only thought at that point was to get to her phone and warn Sam. She dared a glance back and saw that Rolfe had stepped out onto the patio, but Leopold had returned inside, no doubt to issue orders without causing a scene.

  Within a few seconds, she noticed the guards doubling up, patrolling the perimeter, their routine pace turning to hurry, with several of them walking toward the terrace.

  “I’d love one. Thank you.”

  Remi forced her gaze from the garden to the blond woman standing in front of her.

  Ambassador Halstern’s wife.

  The woman looked past her toward Rolfe, who had moved to the balustrade. There was no sign of recognition when her gaze met Remi’s. In fact, her expression was almost blank, dismissive. “A few hours earlier than I was led to expect,” she said, reaching for a second hors d’oeuvre. “No matter. I’ll be the distraction.”

  Before Remi had time to react to or process what she’d heard, Mrs. Halstern turned away, walking toward the table where the bartender stood, filling champagne glasses. Remi, keeping her back to Rolfe, made her way to the far stairs, hoping she hadn’t heard wrong.

  Mrs. Halstern knew.

  At the top of the stairs, Remi glanced back. Mrs. Halstern was laughing at something her husband had said. She looked at Remi, gave the slightest tilt of her head, then turned back to the Ambassador.

  Remi started down the steps, scanning the garden, hesitating at the sight of two guards patrolling the same gravel path she’d need to take to get to the garage. One of them looked up at that very moment, his expression turning wary. He stopped in his tracks, calling out, asking what she was doing.

  Seconds ticked by as she eyed both men, one looking at the tray in her hand, the other focused on her face. Trying to appear slightly embarrassed, she shrugged her shoulders, then in a loud whisper said, “Zigarettenpause.”

  The one guard nodded as though he’d suspected all along. The other eyed her pockets as though trying to determine if she really had any cigarettes. Suddenly, a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass mingled with a scream carried down from the far side of the terrace.

  Both guards took off running in that direction.

  Remi tossed her tray into the bushes, then bounded down the stairs, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she raced to the garage. Glancing back, she saw Mrs. Halstern being helped to her feet from the vicinity of where the champagne table had once stood. Remi nearly slid in the gravel as she rounded the corner, taking a quick look around to see who might be watching. The back of the catering truck was still open, though a few boxes remained. At least it blocked the view of the garage door as she opened it, slipped in, then closed it behind her, leaning against the wall for a few moments not only to catch her breath but to listen in case anyone else was there.

  She glanced up the staircase, saw it was dark, then entered the door on the left into the garage. Sam’s backpack was still there behind the uniform rack in front of the door, the light on the alarm keypad blinking red. Remi took out her phone, texted him that Rolfe knew they were there.

  With nothing left to do but wait, she returned to the garage door and peeked out, catching sight of another guard who had appeared in front of the catering truck. She ducked back as he looked toward the garage. A moment later, she heard footsteps outside. She reached for her handgun, eyeing the doorknob as someone on the outside turned it to enter.

  55

  Sam, Tatiana at his heels, keyed in the alarm code and opened the tunnel door a couple of inches, peering through the uniforms to see Remi standing near the garage door, loo
king outside. Her hand was at the small of her back, about to draw her handgun from beneath her jacket. Gun in hand, he stepped out, motioning for Tatiana to keep quiet as he closed the door behind them, his eyes on his wife.

  Remi suddenly relaxed her grip as Helga’s round face appeared in the garage window. The woman entered, surprised to see Remi there. Although Sam had no idea what she said to Remi, he understood Remi’s response. Something to do with cigarettes.

  “Nein, nein,” Helga said, then straightened, her gaze sliding past Remi into the garage. When she saw Sam and Tatiana standing behind the uniform rack, she pushed Remi aside and approached, the tone of her voice demanding.

  Sam looked at Remi for guidance. Before she had a chance to respond, Helga narrowed her gaze at Tatiana. “Friede?”

  “Ja,” Tatiana said, nodding.

  Helga grabbed a uniform, shoved it at Tatiana, scolding her.

  Whatever Tatiana said in response seemed to satisfy her and she pointed to the boxes stacked against the wall. When Tatiana nodded, Helga turned on her heel, squatted like an Olympic weight lifter, hefted two boxes as though they were empty, then walked out the door.

  Sam picked up his backpack from the floor. “She didn’t sound happy. I take it she thought you were one of the missing employees?”

  “Friede, apparently. She’s upset because someone fell and broke all the champagne flutes on the table. She wants the extra glasses brought up to the terrace. Oh, and my pay is being docked because I was two hours late.”

  “She’s going to be even more upset when we leave.”

  “Which,” Remi said, “could be a problem. Or didn’t you get my text?”

  “No signal came through in the tunnels. What text?”

  “Rolfe knows we’re here. Every security guard out there is on alert.”