The Romanov Legacy (40 page)

Natalie reached out and grasped the doorknob.  It felt
cold beneath her hand. 
I can’t believe I’m doing this,
she
thought. 
This isn’t real.

She turned the knob and opened the door.  Two walls of
the small, windowless room were stacked floor to ceiling with gold bars. 
The dim hall light bounced off them, producing an amber halo.  The third
wall held a metal shelf with several shoebox-sized strongboxes. 

“Jesus,” Beth said.  “What is all this?” 

“Kolchak’s gold,” she breathed.  “Beth, Soloviev stole
it from him!  Soloviev stole it from Kolchak, who stole it from the
Soviets, who stole it from Nicholas!”

“Good God, how much did he steal?”

“They took over $330 million from the reserve in
Kazan.  No one ever found the last hundred million or so.”

“Unbelievable,” Perry breathed.  “It was always here,
and I never knew it.”

“No one did,” Natalie said.  “This is what the Soviets
were looking for all along.”

“Rumkowski wasn’t looking for the Tsar’s secret account,”
Constantine said, staring at the gold in wonder.  “He was looking for
Kolchak’s gold.  He knew they were connected.”

“What’s in the boxes?” Beth asked.

“Let’s find out,” Natalie said. 

Constantine reached up and grabbed them.  He set them
on the floor and Natalie sank to her knees.  She undid the clasp of the
first box and lifted back the lid.  Dark velvet pouches lay huddled
amongst each other.  She picked one up and pulled it open, revealing a
small sea of rough, uncut diamonds.  The second revealed a
diamond-encrusted tiara, emerald brooch, ruby necklace, and diamond
earrings.  “This is the jewelry they smuggled out through Soloviev,” she
said.  “They thought he would sell it and use the money to rescue them,
but he deposited it.” 

“They’ll be worth millions,” Perry whispered.

Instantly, she put a hand over the brooch on her
shoulder.  The pieces from Grigori’s cache were hers.  She would
never let anyone take them from her.  But the treasures in this box
belonged in a museum, somewhere they could be seen by everyone.  They had
nothing to do with her or Beth or Constantine.  They had not been stained
with her blood.  They were still pure.  “They aren’t mine,” she
said.   

She set the box of jewelry aside and reached for the second,
flipping the latch and opening the lid.  Stuffed inside there were thick
stacks of tsarist rubles, tied together with string, and stacks of British
World War I bond certificates, with denominations from £100 to £1,000. 
She thumbed through the piles, scanning the zeroes. 

The tsarist currency was worthless now, but it would have
meant life and freedom to someone who’d escaped Bolshevik captivity. 
“This is money Soloviev collected,” she said, holding her hand over the rubles
tied up in string.  “The money people said he stole from them.” 

The sight of those crumpled bills took her breath
away.  Real people had given money to try and save the tsar and his
family.  Those rubles were hope and good wishes and prayers, none of which
came true.  If they hadn’t been locked inside a box, would they have made
a difference?      

She gulped and set them aside.  “Perry, are these bonds
worth anything?”

“Let me see them.”

She handed him one stack and he pulled a note loose,
inspecting it on both sides.  “These aren’t the typical war bonds we see
in the collections of investors.  Those were all issued in late
1917.  This…this looks to be a sort of pre-issue designed on the same
principle as the public bonds.  The king may have had these privately
printed for the Tsar.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I have a kid to put through college,” Beth said.  “How
much are they worth?”

“I can’t give you a firm answer without calculating things
like inflation, deflation, and the interest rate.  But the public war
bonds are being sold and redeemed at around 75 percent of their face value.”

“Harvard it is,” Natalie said, handing Beth an inch-thick
stack of £1,000 bonds.  “I think Nicholas would approve of a boy getting a
good education.”

There was one box left and she twisted its latch slowly, almost
afraid of what she would find inside.  It was nearly empty.  There
were several yellowed sheets of paper tucked beneath two jewel-encrusted photo
frames. 

She picked up the first frame, encasing a snapshot of
Nicholas and Alexandra as newlyweds.  Alexandra smiled at the camera,
while Nicholas stared at her in wonder.  “Alix never smiled,” she said,
reaching out to the glass, wanting to touch the image and feel the warmth it
conveyed.  Then she pulled her hand back, afraid to touch something the
subjects of the photo had themselves had one touched.  She felt like a
voyeur, or a thief.  She set the frame on the floor and picked up the
next. 

It was a photo of the children, all five of them.  From
their ages, Natalie guessed it had been taken in 1912 or 1913.  “They’re
all so young,” she said, looking at Anastasia’s chubby cheeks and the ruddy
circles of Alexei’s cheeks.  She looked at Marie, with her thick, dark
hair spilling over her shoulders and radiant eyes.  “You can’t even dream of
what will happen to you, can you?”  

Natalie put the picture down, afraid to look at it with such
terrible knowledge—as if Marie would look back out at her from the photo,
asking her why she looked so unhappy.

All that remained in the box were a few pieces of
paper.  She lifted them out and shuffled through them.  Two of them
were in Russian.  “I can’t read this,” she said, passing them off to
Constantine.  “What do they say?”

He scanned them quickly.  “They’re deeds.  To gold
mines.  One in Nertchinsk and one in Altai.  What are the ones in
your hand?” 

“More property deeds.  One in France, one in
England.  I don’t suppose any of these will still be valid.  Lenin
nationalized all Nicholas’s property, at home and abroad, a few days before he
killed them.”

“It’s heartbreaking,” Beth said.  “To think this is all
that’s left of them.  A few crumpled papers that don’t mean anything
anymore.”

“What about the gold?” Perry asked.  “That’s worth
something.”

“I don’t care about the gold,” Natalie said.  “It
didn’t help them.”

“No,” Beth said, “but it can help lots of other
people.  Nat, think about what you can do with all this.  Charities,
scholarships, medical research…this makes the university’s endowment look like
chump change.”

Natalie lifted the last piece of paper from the box. 
It was covered with spiky writing, in English.  It had rested on top of a
slim envelope.  She glanced down at the signature.  “This one’s from
Peter Bark.”

She read the letter through.  “This is all that’s left
of the primary account, the one opened in 1916,” she said, grasping the
envelope.  “Bark ordered it cashed it out in 1920 because by then, the
news of the tsar’s death was widespread.  He writes that the money came
from a diversion of proceeds of gold bars sold to the English to aid the war effort. 
He says he’s leaving it in this master account in case any of the survival
rumors are true and a child of the tsar’s can come and claim it.”

Natalie opened the envelope.  Tucked inside was a
single folded piece of paper.  She unfolded it and started to choke. 
It was a cashier’s check for £15 million.  Her hands began to shake and
Constantine took the paper from her.  He looked at the amount and
whistled.

“I don’t even know what these numbers mean,” she said. 
“What do I do?”

“I can’t tell you that, sweetie,” Beth answered.

She felt her head begin to throb.  “I’m not the right
person for this.  None of this belongs to me.  It should have gone to
them…to save them.”  She imagined a rescue effort, purchased with the
millions lodged in this room and it overwhelmed her.  Why should anyone’s
survival be so dependent on pieces of pressed metal and paper? 

She turned into Constantine’s arms.  “It isn’t
fair.  They could have survived if someone had used this all to rescue
them!  If I take it, it’s like I’m helping to kill them all over again.”

“No one said it would be fair,
lastochka
,” he said,
kissing her forehead gently.  “You have to understand that.”

Perry stared at the ground awkwardly.  “If I may make a
suggestion,” he said. 

“Go ahead,” she said, turning to look at him from the
protection of Constantine’s arms.

“The Bank of England can buy the gold bars from you. 
The less attention this matter receives, the better.  If you were seen
carting gold bars from the bank, or repatriating them, where would you say you
acquired them?  Far better that they stay here and become a part of our
reserve.”

She nodded.  “What about the rest of this?”

“It is yours,” he said softly.  “The deeds and tsarist
bonds are worth little more than a memory.  The British bonds will be
honored at the current interest rate and the cashier’s check at face value, of
course, and I can handle that for you as well.”

“I don’t believe it,” Natalie said.  “It doesn’t feel
right.”

“But think of what you might do,” Constantine said. 
“You can find things that are unfair and try to settle the score.  Your
money, your way.”

“We’ll start a charity or a trust,” Beth said.  “Think
of the people you can help, Nat.”

She nodded, feeling as if the world was spinning too fast
for her to hold on.  It was frightening and exhilarating, like the
carnival rides she remembered as a child.  She’d always been the one to
close her eyes and beg for mercy, while Beth raised her arms and screamed for
more.  At the end of the ride, she always promised herself she’d behave
more like Beth next time—and never did. 
That changes now
, she
thought.   

“It’s settled,” Perry said.  “I’ll complete the
transactions myself first thing in the morning.  Shall I call the prime
minister and tell him you will be staying until morning?”

Natalie looked from Beth to Constantine.  Even if it
felt like sliding off a cliff, this was her chance to do something good for the
people she loved.  This was her chance to grow up, open her eyes, and
throw up her arms.  “Yes,” she said.  “I’ll stay.”

Perry reached out to shake her hand and clasped it warmly
between his.  “I can’t believe I’ve lived to see this.  But you do
know the bank must continue to deny the existence of this account?”

“I understand,” she said.  “And I’m not eager to talk
about it, either, believe me.  Speaking of which…Perry, I need you to tell
Davies something for me.”

“Oh?  What’s that?”

“I might have…um…said some stuff about Queen Mary.  You
know, to convince him to rescue us.  I want you to tell him it’s not
true.  He got pretty upset over the phone.”

Perry’s eyes twinkled.  “Then are you sure you want me
to tell him?  He’s never been my favorite person.”

“Please,” Natalie said.  “I just want this to be
over.  I want to go back to real life.”

“Real life?”  Constantine recaptured her in his arms,
pulling her close.  “And what might that include?”

“You, of course,” she said, breaking into a smile. 
“Maybe not the broom closet this time, though.” 

“Definitely not.”  Constantine leaned over her and
kissed her.  She opened her mouth to him and his tongue swept hers
gently.  Then he pulled away and touched the tip of her nose with his
finger.  “I have an idea,” he said, reaching for the first box.  He
pulled out the velvet bag with loose diamonds in it, and tumbled a few into his
palm.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m going to need something to put in your ring.” 

“Hey, buddy,” Beth said, smacking him in the arm. 
“Don’t you need my permission first?”

Constantine cleared his throat.  “Actually, there is
something I want to ask of you.  Both of you.  How do you feel about
stopping off in Russia, one more time?”

“Are you nuts?” Beth said. 

Natalie saw him clench his jaw and realized what he wanted
to ask them.  She reached out for his hand.  “It’s your sister, isn’t
it?”

He nodded.  “She needs someone like you, to show her a
way out.  And you,” he said to Beth.  “My sister is a lot like
Natalie.  My parents are struggling with it.  They don’t
understand.  Maybe if you talked to them, about how it can be...tell them
how you do it and show them there’s hope.”

“Of course,” Beth said.  “We’ll do whatever we
can.”     

“I’ll pay for anything she needs to get well,” Natalie
said.  “But are you sure you want to use me as an example?”  She
pointed to her ear.  “I look like Vincent VanGogh over here.”

“There is no one else,” he said, holding her face in his
hands.  “It was always you.”

“Shit,” she said.  “I knew you were going to say
that.”    

So did I,
Belial said.  His wings shuffled,
tickling her brain, and she knew it right away—he was laughing.

The
End

*

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