killed people. Plus, I saw
it. I was there last night, remember?” He bent his head
Taliban-style and she softened. “I saw the soap in the garbage. You
didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t. Ask any of my shrinks. None of
them had much luck getting me to do things I didn’t feel like doing. If I
didn’t push you away, it was because I didn’t want to.”
“But I know better, even if you don’t.”
Anger flared in her belly. “I’m trying to let you off
the hook. Don’t jump back on it and play the martyr. And don’t you
ever pity me. Not for a second. Belial hates that.”
“Belial,” he said softly. “Right.”
“Fuck you.”
“Let’s just get this over with. Are you ready to go?”
“ You kidnapped me , remember?” She got up
and paced, hating the way her toes squished together to fit into the
pointed-toe shoes. “Before we go, tell me one more thing. Where
does this guy say he got the password?”
“A pair of letters, written by two of Nicholas II’s
daughters.”
“A pair,” she repeated. “That’s new.” The
guard’s granddaughter’s tale mentioned one letter from Marie to Ivan
that was promised but never arrived. “How’d he get them?”
“His great-grandfather smuggled them out of the Ipatiev
House. That’s all I know.”
“Who wrote the second letter?”
He turned his head sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I’m positive Grand Duchess Marie wrote one of them, but
I’ve never seen anything that mentions a second letter.”
“What are you saying?”
“He’s either telling the truth or the world’s worst liar.”
“Let’s find out,” he said, grabbing her arm and propelling
her out the door.
Chapter Seventeen
July 2012
San Francisco, California
Yuri Voloshin lived one block southwest of Russian Hill Park
on a court filled with pretty Victorians. Natalie stared at the houses,
most with children’s bikes and toys lying in the small front yards. This
was not a neighborhood accustomed to drive-by shootings and gun-toting
spies. Had Yuri Voloshin ever considered what might happen if the
Russians called his bluff? Or was he in over his head, just like she
was? “Tell me again what’s supposed to happen,” she said.
Constantine flicked his head from side to side, looking at
house numbers as the BMW crawled down the street. “We get the Romanov
letters from him and try to verify their authenticity as best we can.
Then we get the hell out of here.”
“What happens to Yuri?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you going to kill him?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“I think you should.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“He put everyone on this street in danger. He put Beth
in danger. She has a son, for God’s sake. What would have happened
to him if Vympel found Beth instead of me?” She shivered. “Just for
that, he deserves to die.”
Belial, quiet until now, raised his head. I can
help you , he said.
“Let me handle Voloshin.” Constantine pointed at the
least attractive house on the cul-de-sac, painted a tired brown with peeling
ochre trim. The house wore its drooping gutters like a worn-out
scarf. A short driveway angled down into a one-car garage with a yellowed
NO PARKING sign nailed to its door.
“That’s it,” Constantine said. He parked across the
driveway, blocking the garage. Natalie followed him up to the porch and
looked down at the spiny green welcome mat, missing its plastic daisy.
Constantine rapped on the door and Natalie closed her eyes. What would
this man look like, the man who’d lied about her sister? Would Belial be
able to tell if he was lying just by looking at him? Please, Belial, she thought. I need help here.
But no one answered Constantine’s knock.
Natalie turned to look at the street, scanning parked cars
for raised heads. “Maybe Vympel got him
it. I was there last night, remember?” He bent his head
Taliban-style and she softened. “I saw the soap in the garbage. You
didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t. Ask any of my shrinks. None of
them had much luck getting me to do things I didn’t feel like doing. If I
didn’t push you away, it was because I didn’t want to.”
“But I know better, even if you don’t.”
Anger flared in her belly. “I’m trying to let you off
the hook. Don’t jump back on it and play the martyr. And don’t you
ever pity me. Not for a second. Belial hates that.”
“Belial,” he said softly. “Right.”
“Fuck you.”
“Let’s just get this over with. Are you ready to go?”
“ You kidnapped me , remember?” She got up
and paced, hating the way her toes squished together to fit into the
pointed-toe shoes. “Before we go, tell me one more thing. Where
does this guy say he got the password?”
“A pair of letters, written by two of Nicholas II’s
daughters.”
“A pair,” she repeated. “That’s new.” The
guard’s granddaughter’s tale mentioned one letter from Marie to Ivan
that was promised but never arrived. “How’d he get them?”
“His great-grandfather smuggled them out of the Ipatiev
House. That’s all I know.”
“Who wrote the second letter?”
He turned his head sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I’m positive Grand Duchess Marie wrote one of them, but
I’ve never seen anything that mentions a second letter.”
“What are you saying?”
“He’s either telling the truth or the world’s worst liar.”
“Let’s find out,” he said, grabbing her arm and propelling
her out the door.
Chapter Seventeen
July 2012
San Francisco, California
Yuri Voloshin lived one block southwest of Russian Hill Park
on a court filled with pretty Victorians. Natalie stared at the houses,
most with children’s bikes and toys lying in the small front yards. This
was not a neighborhood accustomed to drive-by shootings and gun-toting
spies. Had Yuri Voloshin ever considered what might happen if the
Russians called his bluff? Or was he in over his head, just like she
was? “Tell me again what’s supposed to happen,” she said.
Constantine flicked his head from side to side, looking at
house numbers as the BMW crawled down the street. “We get the Romanov
letters from him and try to verify their authenticity as best we can.
Then we get the hell out of here.”
“What happens to Yuri?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you going to kill him?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“I think you should.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“He put everyone on this street in danger. He put Beth
in danger. She has a son, for God’s sake. What would have happened
to him if Vympel found Beth instead of me?” She shivered. “Just for
that, he deserves to die.”
Belial, quiet until now, raised his head. I can
help you , he said.
“Let me handle Voloshin.” Constantine pointed at the
least attractive house on the cul-de-sac, painted a tired brown with peeling
ochre trim. The house wore its drooping gutters like a worn-out
scarf. A short driveway angled down into a one-car garage with a yellowed
NO PARKING sign nailed to its door.
“That’s it,” Constantine said. He parked across the
driveway, blocking the garage. Natalie followed him up to the porch and
looked down at the spiny green welcome mat, missing its plastic daisy.
Constantine rapped on the door and Natalie closed her eyes. What would
this man look like, the man who’d lied about her sister? Would Belial be
able to tell if he was lying just by looking at him? Please, Belial, she thought. I need help here.
But no one answered Constantine’s knock.
Natalie turned to look at the street, scanning parked cars
for raised heads. “Maybe Vympel got him
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