The Lost Throne

39

While in the MANIACs, Jones had been forced to make life-or-death decisions on nearly every mission. Communication could rarely be counted on in the desolate outposts where they operated, so his men had relied on him to read Payne’s mind anytime their unit was separated.

It was a skill that had saved them from friendly fire on more than one occasion.

Their strange psychic ability continued in their everyday lives. Payne and Jones spent so much time together that they could read each other like identical twins — twins who happened to look nothing alike. Whether it was reaching for the phone just before the other called or finishing each other’s sentences, they knew what the other was thinking most of the time. And in this situation, Jones had no doubt that Payne wanted him to search Byrd’s room.

So that’s what he set out to do. As quickly as possible.

Unlike Allison’s single room facing the inner courtyard, Byrd’s was a large suite on an upper floor that overlooked St. Isaac’s Square. Jones knew elevators were dangerous places, often equipped with video cameras and full of witnesses who had nothing better to do than stare at one another, so he opted to take the stairs instead. He climbed the steps two at a time, hoping to reach Byrd’s window before anything bad happened between Payne and the soldiers.

In a worst-case scenario, Jones was willing to fire a few shots into the air just to make the Russians reevaluate their priorities. What’s more important: a man and woman sightseeing in the plaza or someone firing shots in a nearby hotel? Not only would the soldiers come running, but Payne and Allison could escape in the resulting chaos.

The hallway was deserted when Jones reached Byrd’s suite. The “do not disturb” sign, written in Russian, still hung from the doorknob. Wasting no time, Jones pulled out his lock picks and went to work. Less than thirty seconds later he was slipping into the room.

“Hello,” he called softly. “Is anyone in here? The door was wide open.”

He waited for a response. Hearing nothing, he closed and locked the door, put on the security chain, and then set Allison’s book bag and computer on the parquet floor.

Allison had briefed him on the basic layout of the corner suite, so he had a pretty good idea where everything was. With gun in hand, he crept from room to room, making sure that he was alone, before he went to the bank of windows in the main sitting area. The white curtains were drawn, filling the suite with diffused light. He parted them and carefully peeked outside. He had a glorious view of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, its gilded dome glistening high above the city below, but was unable to see the monument to Nicholas I.

“Shit!” he swore as he hurried toward the next room. He passed through a set of French doors, hoping he would have a different angle from the bedroom, but quickly realized that it shared the same outer wall as the sitting room. “Shit, shit, shit!”

His last hope was the bathroom. It was on the far side of the bedroom, away from the massive cathedral. He knew it had a small frosted window — he’d noticed it when he checked the bathroom for trouble — but wasn’t sure what direction it faced. Heart pounding, he undid the lock and threw the window open. Glancing outside, he realized it was angled perfectly, overlooking the equestrian monument that towered above the square. And in front of it, he saw Payne, Allison, and three uniformed soldiers. None of whom looked happy.

Grizzly snatched Payne’s papers then studied them intently, searching for anything that might be missing or incorrect. Meanwhile, the other two soldiers ogled Allison as though she were dancing on stage at a local strip club. They whispered obscene remarks to each other, describing what they would like to do with her if they ever got her alone. One even made a slurping sound. Neither Payne nor Allison could understand Russian, but they had a pretty good idea what the soldiers were saying and who they were talking about.

And it sure as hell wasn’t Payne.

Remarkably, he managed to keep his cool. If the same situation had presented itself in an anonymous tavern, Payne would have fought the soldiers and anyone who tried to intervene. And the odds were pretty good that Payne would have won. His fighting skills were that extraordinary. But as things stood, he had nothing to gain by being aggressive. The last thing he wanted to do was bring any attention to himself, so he casually put his arm around Allison’s waist and pulled her close. It was his way of marking his territory.

“You no look Canada,” Grizzly declared without lifting his gaze from Payne’s paperwork. His accent was thick and slurred. His face was scarred. “You look Poland.”

Payne’s paternal ancestors were actually from a small town outside Warsaw. When his great-grandfather came to America, the guards at Ellis Island had been unable to pronounce his surname, which was Paynewski. So they gave him two choices: either shorten his name to Payne or get back on the boat and return to Europe. His family name had been Payne ever since.

But he wasn’t going to tell Grizzly that. The less the Russian knew, the better.

“Canadian, born and raised,” Payne claimed.

“What city?”

“Toronto.”

Grizzly glanced at Payne. He studied his face as intently as he had studied his paperwork. The two of them were roughly the same height, so Grizzly was able to look Payne directly in the eye. Man to man. After an uncomfortable silence, he asked, “You like the hockey?”

Payne nodded. “I’m Canadian. I love hockey.”

“You know Evgeni Malkin?”

“Of course I do. He’s a great NHL player. He’s Russian, right?”

“Da.” Grizzly paused for a moment, still holding Payne’s documents in his meaty grip. Then, with a hint of bravado, he claimed, “I play Malkin in Magnitogorsk.”

“Really? You must be pretty good. How did you do?”

Grizzly sneered, crinkling his oversized brow. “He win.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He handed the papers back to Payne, then turned his attention to Allison. “Who is this?”

“That’s my girlfriend,” he said, trying to talk for her as much as possible. “She’s a big fan of history, so I wanted her to see Saint Petersburg. She loves the place.”

Grizzly stared at her with lust in his eyes. Starting with her legs, he slowly moved his gaze upward, lingering in all the inappropriate places, until he finally stopped on her face. “She does not look smart to me.”

Allison’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“But she is,” Payne claimed. “At least most of the time. She thinks this horse monument is made of bronze.”

Grizzly looked at the horse and grinned. “Da.”

“Really?” Payne said. “I guess I was wrong. I could’ve sworn it was made of brass.”

Allison managed a smile but said nothing in return. Not even a friendly retort.

And Grizzly found that unusual. Especially for a couple on vacation. “Papers.”

The order frazzled Allison; she wasn’t used to this type of deceit.

Payne encouraged her by patting her on her hip. “Give him your papers, honey.”

She did as she was told but still said nothing. Too scared to speak.

Grizzly flipped through her passport and visa, studying all the signatures. Finally, after several anxious seconds, he said, “You no look Canada. You look California.”

Whoosh! Allison’s face turned bright red. Somehow the Russian had figured out where she was from. Instantly, her heart started throbbing twice as hard. She could feel it pounding in her rib cage like someone playing a bass drum. And Payne felt it, too. His arm was draped around her back, but he felt the intense thumping in her chest. Panic was setting in.

In a flash, he knew he had to cover for her.

“Look!” he said as he pointed at her cheeks. “You made her blush! She always gets that way when people compare her to a beach bunny. I tease her all the time. It’s hilarious.”

“She no talk? Why she no talk?”

Payne shrugged. “She’s just a little shy. That’s all.”

“I no like shy when I ask question.”

Grizzly stepped forward, invading her personal space. Standing close, he loomed over her the way the monument loomed over the square, only the Russian seemed much more dangerous.

Threatened by the soldier’s proximity, Allison reached her arm around Payne and clung to him for support. As she did, she felt the handgun tucked in the rear of his belt. Until that moment, she had completely forgotten about Payne’s weapon and the threat of violence, but the cold touch of his gun made her flash back to the Peterhof. It made her remember the pink mist when Richard’s brains were splattered into the fountain. It made her think of death.

Grizzly glared at her. “He say you like history. Say something smart.”

“Smart?” she asked, meekly. It was her first word since he started questioning them.

“Tell me about city. Something I not know.”

Allison racked her brain, trying to remember one of the stories she had learned about Saint Petersburg since her arrival. For the past hour, she hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut, spouting random facts like a knowledgeable tour guide. But now that she needed one to save her life, she was drawing a complete blank. Which made her even more anxious.

Payne noticed the fear in her eyes and started to speak for her again. “We went drinking last night, and she told me—”

Grizzly interrupted him. “I no care what she say then. I care what she say now.”

“Tell him, honey.”

As luck would have it, Payne’s comment about drinking actually helped her remember one of the best stories she had heard about the city’s history. That wasn’t his intent — she hadn’t shared the story in their time together — but it triggered her memory.

“Did you know,” she said, her voice cracking, “that Peter the Great opened the first museum in Saint Petersburg?” She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure as the soldiers continued staring at her. “He wanted to bring culture to the city that he created and figured a museum would be a great way to start. Once it was built, though, he was worried that no one would use it, so he promised everyone a free shot of vodka when they reached the museum’s exit. To this day, the residents of Saint Petersburg love their culture almost as much as free vodka.”

Grizzly’s English wasn’t great, but he knew enough to grasp the meaning of her words. Handing back her passport, he said, “This is good story.”

“Thanks,” she said, relieved. “I’m glad you liked it.”

He stepped back and patted Payne on his shoulder. “You are correct. She is smart beach bunny. You are lucky man.”

Payne nodded. “I know.”

“Keep eye on her. Other soldiers not friendly like me.”

With that, Grizzly walked away, followed closely by the other two soldiers. They cut across the busy square, conducting more random searches in the heart of the city.

Payne waited a few seconds as Allison trembled against him. Then he asked, “Are you all right? I thought you were going to have a stroke.”

“I still might,” she mumbled, burying her face against his chest.

Payne smiled. He thought back to the video of her at the Peterhof. She had broken down for about a minute, and then found the courage to sneak away. “I have to admit, you started out shitty, but you finished strong. You’re tougher than you think.”

“Well, I think I’m going to vomit.”

Payne laughed. Early in his career, he had often felt the same way at the end of a mission. “If you have to puke, do it on the giant horse. Not me.”