The Lost Throne

37

Located in St. Isaac’s Square, the Astoria Hotel first opened in 1912 and was renovated in 1991. Complete with parquet floors, crystal chandeliers, and a world-class caviar bar, it was one of the fanciest hotels that Jones had ever broken into.

Smiling and nodding like he belonged, Jones cut across the lobby and took the stairs to the second floor, where Allison’s room faced the inner courtyard. Wasting no time, he put the key in the lock and slipped inside. Everything was as she’d described it. The room was small but tastefully decorated with Russian linens and fabrics. The bed sat on the right, facing a built-in wardrobe, where she kept most of her clothes and all of her research. Just to be safe, he peeked into the bathroom and glanced under the bed, making sure he was alone.

As far as Jones could tell, nothing in the room had been disturbed.

It was a positive sign — one that meant Allison was probably in the clear.

If her research had been missing or her room had been tossed, the odds were pretty good that she had been linked to Byrd. It also meant Byrd had been killed for something other than a personal vendetta. Possibly his secret mission — whatever the hell that was. But at first glance, Jones was fairly confident that the killer didn’t know about Allison. Or didn’t care.

According to Allison, Byrd had gotten spooked on Sunday when he left the Hermitage Museum. He thought someone was following him, so instead of going back to the Astoria Hotel, he led the guy on a wild-goose chase for several hours. Ducking into churches and stores, changing cabs and trolleys, he did everything he could to lose his tail. But nothing worked. During his journey, he called Payne every half hour, hoping to get advice on how to get away. When that failed, he phoned Allison and told her to get to the Peterhof as fast as she could so they could leave Saint Petersburg together.

Unfortunately, he had been killed before they left the city.

Working quickly, Jones gathered her research and stuffed it into a book bag he found. He removed the identification tags from her suitcases and made sure no personal items — wallets, prescription drugs, monogrammed jewelry — were left behind. He even went through her trash, looking for receipts and old airline tickets. When he thought the room was clean, he unplugged her computer and put everything by the door.

Then he searched her room again. Just in case.

Her clothes were too bulky to carry, so they would have to stay. The same thing with her shoes, toiletries, and nonessential items. But he grabbed her iPod — in case it was loaded with personal photos or contact information — and slipped it into her computer bag.

Now he was positive the place was clean.

Payne and Allison stood in the middle of St. Isaac’s Square, near the equestrian monument that honored Nicholas I, the former emperor of Russia. The twenty-foot-long bronze statue, which sat atop a three-tiered ornamental pedestal across the plaza from the Astoria Hotel, depicted Nicholas riding into battle while wearing his grandest military outfit.

Allison stared at the statue while Payne glanced around the square.

She said, “See how the horse is rearing back on its hind hooves? It was the first equestrian statue ever with only two support points. It was hailed as an architectural marvel.”

Payne turned around and looked at the monument. Until that instant it had never dawned on him that this massive chunk of bronze was balancing on two thin legs. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“Even the Communists, who destroyed royal statues all over Russia, left this one alone.”

“I can see why.”

“Strangely,” she continued, “the person who had the most trouble with it was Nicholas’s daughter, the grand duchess. It made her quite uncomfortable.”

Payne refocused on the plaza, searching for anyone who looked suspicious. “Why’s that?”

Allison pointed to the south side of St. Isaac’s Square. A large building made of reddish-brown sandstone stretched for more than a block. “That’s the Mariinsky Palace, where the grand duchess used to live. If you look closely, you’ll notice she has a unique view of the statue. Instead of gazing at her father’s face, she was forced to stare at the horse’s ass.”

Payne laughed at the remark. It was completely unexpected.

“So you were listening,” she teased. “I wasn’t so sure.”

“Don’t worry. I can do several things at once.”

“That’s good to know.”

He glanced at her, unsure what she meant by that. From the tone of her voice, it almost sounded as if she was flirting was him. Which, considering the circumstances, would have been even more surprising than her remark about the horse. Not that Payne hadn’t noticed Allison’s beauty and intelligence. Those traits were obvious from the first time they’d met in the wee hours of the morning. But at the moment, he had more important things to worry about — like his best friend breaking into a dead man’s hotel room and their getting out of the country alive.

If not for those things, Payne would’ve been tempted to flirt back.

“Do you get to travel a lot?” she asked.

Payne was about to respond when his phone started to vibrate.

“Hold that thought,” he said to Allison as he answered his phone. “Hello.”

It was Jones. “I’m ready to leave her room. Can you put her on the line?”

“Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine. Just put her on the line.”

Payne handed the phone to Allison. “D.J. has a question for you.”

“For me?” she said, intrigued. “Hello.”

“I forgot to ask you something before. Are any of your clothes personalized?”

“Personalized?”

“Initials on your jeans, tags on your shirt, names on your underwear. I don’t want to dig through your pantie drawer if I don’t have to.”

She blushed. “No, my panties are safe. But thanks for checking.”

Payne grimaced. He couldn’t imagine what Jones had asked that had produced such a response, but he’d definitely question him later.

She handed the phone back to Payne. “He wants to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Payne asked.

“I’m heading up to Byrd’s room. Am I clear to go?”

“As far as I can tell.” Payne turned and glanced in all directions. “Wait.”

“What?” Jones demanded.

“Jon,” Allison whispered. She noticed the problem, too.

Three Russian soldiers, dressed in full uniforms and carrying guns, were walking toward the monument of Nicholas I. Normally, that wouldn’t have concerned Payne, who was used to seeing soldiers and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by them. But as these soldiers approached, they weren’t focused on the statue. They were staring at Allison.

“Hang on,” Payne said to Jones. “I might’ve spoken too soon.”

“What is it?”

“Some soldiers are coming straight toward us.”

“You’ll be fine,” Jones assured him. “You’re white.”

Payne played it cool, casually glancing away. “I don’t know. They look determined.”

“Jon,” she said again. Her voice was filled with nervous energy.

Jones asked, “What should I do?”

“You know. I gotta go.”

“I know? What the hell does that m—”

Payne hung up on him and slipped the phone into his pocket. As the soldiers approached, he casually put his left arm around Allison’s shoulder. “Play along,” he whispered.

“I’ll try,” she whispered back.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.” Extending his right arm upward, Payne pointed at the statue. Then in a much louder voice, he exclaimed, “I’m telling you, it’s made of brass!”

“Brass?” she said, quickly understanding his plan. “It’s made of bronze!”

The soldiers, all of them in their mid-twenties and looking rather serious, stood behind Payne and Allison, listening to their argument. The largest of the three, who was bigger than Payne and looked like a grizzly bear, tapped Payne on his shoulder, much harder than he needed to.

In a heavily accented voice, he said, “Papers.”

Payne lifted his arm off Allison and slowly turned around, completely under control. No sudden movements of any kind. Then, with a smile on his face, he said, “No problem.”

As he handed his papers to Grizzly, he prayed that Kaiser had hired the best damn counterfeiter in K-Town. Otherwise, things were going to get sticky in a hurry. Not only was Allison liable to turn the same shade of red as the patches on the Russian’s jacket if she was forced to lie, but Payne knew if he was frisked, they would find a loaded gun. Or two.

All things considered, the other St. Petersburg had been much more relaxing.