The Romanov Ransom

by Clive Cussler

  He walked to the door that Helga had left open, looking out. “No way we’re getting down that drive without being seen.”

  “How did you get in?” Tatiana asked.

  “The service entrance gate.” Unfortunately, he couldn’t see that far down the curved drive from where they were. “No doubt it’s guarded now.”

  Tatiana moved to his side. “What if we joined the party? Surely he wouldn’t kill us in front of all his guests?”

  “No. He’d kill us before we ever got there. Easier to say we were mistaken for burglars than let us get close enough to call for help.”

  “Besides,” Remi said, “there’s a constant patrol walking the stretch of lawn between here and the terrace.”

  Sam looked over at the cars in the garage. “Check to see if the keys are here.”

  They did. Not one set.

  “We could hot-wire the van,” Remi said.

  Sam looked out the window. “Actually, we won’t need to. The keys are hanging from the rear door.” He turned to Tatiana. “Put your uniform on. I think it’s time we helped Helga load her boxes into the van.”

  Tatiana pulled on a pair of pants and jacket, both far too big for her slight frame. With no choice, she rolled up the pant legs so she could walk without tripping, then grabbed a box, following Remi and Sam out the door. The same guard who’d been patrolling the area glanced over at them, his gaze landing on the boxes as they loaded them into the back of the van. When he turned away, Sam grabbed the keys from the lock. Another guard appeared, and the two met up, their attention fixed on the three at the rear of the van. Both started walking in that direction.

  “I think that’s our cue,” Sam said. “I’m going to start the van before they get too close. Maybe if they think we’re loading up to leave, it won’t look so obvious.”

  Remi stood to one side near the rear, pointing at the garage, doing a convincing job of acting like she wanted him to back the van closer. He shifted to reverse. The guards seemed to buy it, their steps slowing. But then one of them put his hand to his ear, adjusting his earpiece. Suddenly, both men broke into a run.

  Sam shifted to drive, checking the side mirror. “Now!” he shouted. The weight in the back of the van shifted as the two women jumped in. Sam hit the gas, the tires screeching as the van lurched forward, Remi barely closing the rear door in time. He approached the curve, letting his foot off the gas when the wheels lost traction. Up ahead on the left, between him and the gate, another guard stood near the hedge, his gun pointed at them. Sam floored the gas. The guard fired, then dove, his shot going wide. Sam glanced at the side mirror, saw several guards running behind the van.

  “Get down!” he called. The two women dropped to the floorboards as a volley of shots rang out. Leaves flew up beside the van like a hedge trimmer in action. The closed gate loomed ahead, the guards standing in front of it, guns out. Sam shifted to the right, overcorrecting, the van coming up on two wheels, then settling. Both guards fired. The windshield fractured, obscuring his vision, as he gunned it straight toward them. The guards dove, one to the left, one to the right. Sam blasted through the gate, wood boards flying as the van hurtled through.

  56

  Remi, Tatiana, and the boxes they’d loaded flew backwards into the cargo hold as Sam slammed on the brakes, then made a turn onto the street. Remi grabbed one of the cargo straps hanging from the side. “Any chance you were sampling that champagne we were serving?”

  Sam took the corner a little too fast, sending her against the side of the van. “Sorry,” he said. “Must have been all the alcohol.”

  He looked back at Tatiana, who was also clinging to one of the cargo straps, looking a bit shell-shocked. “Ignore my wife,” he said, turning back to the road. “She’s a little sore that she had to watch the baby while I had all the fun.”

  “The what?” Tatiana asked.

  Remi cleared her throat as she made her way to the front passenger seat. “Do you really want to get into who was the better parent?”

  “Did I mention how good you look in that uniform?”

  The van jarred as they hit a pothole. Remi turned a stern glance his way.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That one, I really didn’t see. He checked the side mirrors just before turning down an alley. “Keep an eye out. The van’s a bit obvious.”

  “You think?” Remi said. “The giant catering sign on the side? Or the bullet holes in the shattered windshield?”

  He laughed, glad to see her sense of humor had returned.

  Even Tatiana smiled. “You two are incorrigible.”

  “Makes for a good marriage,” Sam replied as he pulled up behind their rental car.

  They got out, Remi glancing at the damage to the front of the catering van as they walked to their car.

  They drove straight to the hotel where Nika and Felix were waiting. Sam knocked on the door of their room. Nika opened it after only a moment. “Sorry we’re late,” Sam said. “Stopped by to pick up another passenger.”

  He stepped aside to let Tatiana in the door first.

  Nika’s eyes widened. “Tatiana . . . ?” she said, her voice filled with disbelief. “How . . . ? I don’t understand.”

  “The Fargos saw an opportunity and took it.”

  Nika stared a moment longer, then shook herself, saying something in Russian as she gave Tatiana a hug. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  Felix closed the door behind them. “We were just talking about what we were going to do—I wasn’t sure we could pull this off. I—” He hugged her, then stepped back, uncomfortable with the show of affection. “Good to have you safe.”

  “Thank you, Felix.”

  “You’re not hurt?”

  “Other than a few bruises, I’m fine.”

  He nodded. “Have you called Viktor?”

  “Not yet,” Tatiana replied. “We were—” She took a deep breath, then sat on one of the beds. “Sorry. It’s just now hit me how very close we were to not making it.”

  “It was the key,” Felix said. “That was brilliant.”

  Sam and Remi backed to the door, Sam saying, “We’ll talk in the morning. Give you time to call Viktor and get some rest.”

  Tatiana nodded. “I don’t know how to thank you both.”

  “No thanks needed,” Sam said. “You looked out for us. We wanted to do the same for you.”

  They left, driving back to the hotel that Selma had found for them. After checking in, they called Rube on speakerphone, informing him of the night’s events.

  “Glad it worked out,” Rube told them. “I’ll get a more detailed briefing from you tomorrow—in case there’s anything we need to know for the investigation.”

  “Actually,” Remi said, “there is one thing I’m curious about. The Ambassador’s wife. She knew we were there. She even created a distraction for us. CIA, by chance?”

  There was a second’s hesitation on Rube’s end, then, “Wow. Didn’t realize how late it was there. You two should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

  “Guess that answers that question,” Remi said.

  “Good night, Rube,” Sam said, then disconnected. He walked over to the bar. “I don’t know about you, Remi, but I think we deserve a celebratory drink.”

  “As long as it’s not champagne,” she replied, moving to the window and pulling the curtain.

  He looked over at her in surprise.

  “After spending the night serving whatever cheap brand Rolfe bought for that party,” she said, “I’d rather have a good brandy. Enough to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

  “A girl after my own heart.” He selected the brandy, and poured two glasses just as his phone vibrated. He picked it up, reading the text from Selma. “Looks like you and our flight crew will be getting up early tomorrow after all. Selma found the address we need.”

  R
emi lifted her glass to his. “Here’s to discovering what that key leads to.”

  “I’ll definitely drink to that.”

  57

  Your car is ready,” Gere told Rolfe from the doorway.

  Rolfe ignored him, watching as the last guest’s vehicle exited from his property, the red brake lights momentarily lighting up the faces of the two guards at the gate. “Let’s hope everyone bought our story,” Rolfe said.

  Leopold glanced up from the computer monitor, where he’d been reviewing the surveillance videos. “How could they not? With that catering woman screaming that her van had been stolen, and the guards firing at it as it fled, there’s no other explanation than a few rogue catering employees. You’re lucky.”

  “How? They got away.”

  The man turned back to the computer. “Imagine trying to explain what the Fargos were doing, stealing a van from your villa. Good thing the police don’t have access to the surveillance.”

  “I told them the system’s been malfunctioning.” Rolfe moved away from the window, eyeing the monitor, recalling the sight of the catering van crashing through his gate. “The question now is, what to do about the Fargos?”

  “I’d be more worried about your princess and what she plans on doing. Letting a kidnapped Russian agent escape might put a damper on your plans to go after the Fargos. Or anything else, for that matter.”

  Gere cleared his throat, no doubt as a reminder that he was waiting. Rolfe glanced over at him, giving a dismissive wave. “I’m coming.”

  Leopold waited until Gere left. “Almost done. What are you planning?” he asked.

  “I’ve survived this long by having contingencies in place—several in non-extradition countries.”

  “I assume you’re crossing Russia off that list?”

  “Is that supposed to be amusing?”

  “Very.” Leopold pushed away from the desk, then stood. “Your surveillance videos are erased.”

  “One piece of evidence they can’t use against me.”

  “So where are we going?” Leopold asked as they left the room and started down the stairs.

  “I have private quarters just outside Berlin that can’t be traced to me. We’ll regroup there until it’s time to leave the country.”

  “And then what?”

  “Figure out where the Fargos are going next.” Not that he was about to tell Leopold everything. What he didn’t mention was that if he was forced to leave the country, he intended to use the Romanov Ransom to support his lifestyle. He wasn’t sure if Leopold planned to keep the portion Rolfe had promised him—the forty percent that was Tatiana’s—or if he planned to turn it over to the Wolf Guard. It mattered little. With Tatiana on the loose, law enforcement was sure to start closing in, and they needed to get out. “That key is the clue to the third tin. Since we failed to get it back, I’m open to ideas.”

  “For sixty percent,” Leopold said, “I’ll implement one.”

  After tonight’s events, Rolfe was at a complete disadvantage, and he decided to make one last attempt to maintain his hold on the larger share. “You really think I would turn over sixty percent?”

  “Assuming you want the Guard’s help, yes.”

  Resisting the urge to pull out his gun and kill the man right there, Rolfe tried to think of a way to finish this hunt on his own. Nothing came to mind. Keeping his expression calm, he waved Leopold through the door.

  When Gere saw them walking out, he hobbled forward, opening the back door for Rolfe, before sliding in behind the wheel and starting the car.

  Leopold walked around to the other side and got in, his expression that of a man who knew he had the upper hand. “Do we have a deal?” he finally asked once they took off.

  “That depends on how you plan to accomplish this.”

  “Easy. We do to one of the agents what the Russian princess said they were doing to the old man.”

  Rolfe looked over at him.

  “You recall how she said she threatened the old man’s family to get cooperation?”

  “Clearly, it was a ruse.”

  “Yes, but in our case, it won’t be,” Leopold said. “My men have been following the two agents since we spotted them in Wrocław.”

  “That means you know where Tatiana is. We can stop her.”

  “The last thing you want is to stop her. As long as she and the Fargos believe they’re safe, they’ll discover what that key is for and find that third tin.”

  It took a moment for Rolfe to put aside his anger so that he could concentrate on what Leopold was proposing. “We sit back and wait. What does that do for us?”

  “The woman’s in our pocket.”

  “Tatiana?”

  “No. The one from Kaliningrad,” said Leopold. “Nika. My man cornered her at the hospital.”

  “Then how is it that the Fargos got into my villa and rescued Tatiana without us knowing?”

  “Because the last Nika had heard, they were all coming at midnight, as I’d directed. Fargo didn’t tell them he was changing the plan.”

  “You think she’ll continue to cooperate?”

  “I know she will. All we have to do is sit back and let the Fargos figure out where that key leads. Once they find the tin, she can give us the code.” Leopold sat back and smiled, “We have a deal, then?”

  Rolfe thought how easily they’d be able to kill the Fargos once they had what they needed. “Most definitely.”

  58

  That morning, Sam called Tatiana to let her know they’d found the furniture restorer who might have information on the key. “We’re heading out right after breakfast. You’re welcome to come with us. The jet is waiting.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “but the three of us are driving back to Wrocław to visit Viktor. You’ll let us know what you find out?”

  “Of course. Give him our regards.”

  “I will.”

  Before Sam and Remi made it out the door of their hotel, they received a text from Selma. Apparently, Brand and Karl had discovered something unusual about the logbook from the downed airplane and wanted a video call.

  They immediately skyped the boys. Brand answered. “Sorry to interrupt your trip, Mr. Fargo, but there’s something here that doesn’t make sense, and Selma said you’d be able to help.”

  Sam glanced at Remi, before turning back to the screen. “You have our complete attention.”

  “The logbook,” Karl said, holding it up. “At first glance, it looks like an official record. But there are notes, sketches, the sort of thing that make us think it might be a duplicate.”

  “A duplicate?” Remi asked. “Why would they keep two logbooks?”

  “Because the official one would’ve been turned over to their superior officers,” Sam replied. “The duplicates often have corrections, personal notes . . . Sort of a rough—”

  Remi looked over at him when he stopped talking. “Sam?”

  “I was going to say ‘rough draft.’ If they were turning over the logbook to superiors, they’d want to make sure it looked good. No mistakes. But . . .” He thought of everything they’d learned so far, especially the history in Kaliningrad. He looked at the screen, seeing Karl holding up the book, wishing he could read the German writing. “Miron told us that Lambrecht was a double agent. He was helping the authorities follow some of the Nazi officers who were fleeing Europe after the war. If Lambrecht turned over the official book to the Nazis, this one might have information about his spying.”

  “Spying,” Karl said, looking at the book, turning the pages, nodding his head. “We had a feeling the logbook had something to do with the ratline, but we weren’t sure. That might fit with what we found . . .”

  Brand moved into the video feed. “Definitely. We were trying to figure out what ‘use the first’ meant,” he said. “‘First’ is underlined twice. So th
ere’s got to be some importance.”

  “And,” Karl said, “‘Romanov Ransom’ is also underlined twice.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “They intended that the two be noticed. What else?”

  Karl answered. “We think the pilot was on his way to Tunisia when the plane went down, presumably to deliver the courier bag.”

  “Do you know to whom?”

  “Someone named Häussler. But that’s all we know.”

  “Not all,” Brand said. “We found Lambrecht’s name mentioned in some of our other research. He’d found out something important about the ratline and was delivering the evidence when his plane went down somewhere in North Africa. We just don’t know anything about this Häussler. We’re looking into it now.”

  “Good work, you two,” Sam said. “Give Selma a call and let her know everything you’ve discovered. Have her get back to us the moment she finds anything.”

  They disconnected. “Häussler,” Remi said, picking up her coat. “I wonder what that’s all about.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find out in due time,” Sam said. “Right now, I’d like to get to Münster and find this furniture restorer.”

  —

  THE FLIGHT TO MÜNSTER took a little over an hour, and the drive into town about half that. Once Sam found a parking spot, he and Remi walked to the city center, up a cobbled street toward the main square and St. Lambert’s Church. They searched for the man who was supposed to meet them, eyeing the tourists who seemed to be looking up at the church tower—not at the clock, but at the three iron cages hanging above it. Although Sam and Remi had been there before, like the tourists, their gazes were drawn to the cages where the bodies of the Anabaptist rebellion leaders had been placed on exhibition after the yearlong siege in 1536.

  “Sinister-looking, aren’t they?” someone said from beside them.

  “Definitely,” Sam replied, looking over to see a blond-haired man in his late forties eyeing the two of them. “Wilhelm Schroeder?”

  “Call me Will,” he said, pronouncing the W like a V. He glanced up toward the church towers as the bells started ringing. “But you’re not here to talk about the architecture. I understand you have a key that you’d like me to examine?”