The three of them sailed through customs on their arrival in France, their progress sped along by Richard’s charm and impeccable French.
Her French was good but the American accent remained, branding her a foreigner, no matter how polished. Richard spoke French as a native. “My Aquitaine is gone,” he’d said yesterday, implying that he’d lived there after his supposed death in the Tower of London. How long ago had that been?
Checking into the hotel and renting a car went smoothly. It should. That was her job. Richard was pleased at the hotel suite, especially with the three rooms. Cost was not an object to a man with access to a private jet.
A quick break for lunch from a local restaurant and they were refreshed enough to head out for the meeting with Lord Romanoff.
Richard and Daz hardly spoke during the drive. Oh, she’d heard their argument last night and wondered if Richard was jealous. But he seemed more angry about his brother than trying to lay claim to her.
He’d done that already, by calling her his angel.
Marian drove the car up the winding, sand-strewn driveway to Lord Romanoff’s home. He had chosen a mansion atop the cliffs of Normandy for his new home. A strange place for a Russian exile, but perhaps settling in a home in a place so unlike his native country was the point.
Especially since Romanoff clearly wanted to establish his new identity, even if only in his own mind.
She parked at the bottom of the long trail that wound from the side of the mansion to the front door. She suspected Romanoff liked to see how his visitors handled their trudge to his front door. Supplicants coming to consult the master.
She hoped Richard wouldn’t make trouble by challenging their source of information.
She wasn’t worried about Daz. He knew when to be silent and when not to be. And he missed very little. While the customs agents had been checking them through, Daz had been watching the crowds, including who came through what door.
It was good to have him around. She trusted him. He was solid and real. And he made her laugh.
As they reached the front of the home overlooking the sea, Richard turned and walked toward the cliff’s edge. Daz looked at her. She shrugged. He rolled his eyes. Richard did what Richard wanted. That was clear to them both.
Richard stopped at the cliff’s edge and stared across the English Channel. She walked and stood next to him, glad she had worn sensible shoes. She’d almost worn heels—Romanoff liked being around well-dressed women—but her natural inclination for comfort won out. Heels would have been no good on this gritty soil.
Waves crashed against the sharp rocks at the base of the cliff. She had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“Have you seen this view before?”
“Long ago.”
“Is this what made you want to surf?”
“God, no.” He backed off from the cliff and the sound of waves faded. “The air here is dank and dark and full of secrets. I began surfing in sunlight and happiness.” Richard smiled. “In that, I was much like any other arrival in California.” He shook his head. “I never thought to be back here.”
“Revisiting the past can be difficult.”
“You’re good to me, Angel, putting up with my brooding. Enough. Come, we’ll see if your fake Russian lord can help us.”
“He’s not going to help if you call him a fake,” she said.
“Likely not.”
Daz fell into step behind them as they hit the marble steps, the last part of their “assault” on Castle Romanoff. The sea winds whipped at her hair some more. For once, she was grateful for curls rather than straight hair. The wind could only do so much damage.
Richard looked like some mythic figure as he turned the corner and was backlit by the sun rising over the ocean. What the hell was she doing, fantasizing about him? Okay, so she was his angel. She took that to mean she was a sort of special creature to him. A precious possession, perhaps.
Not his love, just someone to flatter and pet. Else he would have made a move in the limo on the way to the airport. She had never wanted to do something insane like rip off his clothes as much as on that ride to the airport.
It would have been so worth it. But then she’d have had to face the inevitable break-up. Immortal princes must have their pick of women. Aside from her ability, she was nothing special. It was better to keep it as a fantasy.
The three-story mansion looming above them was whitewashed. Dark boards framed the windows and doors and several chimneys dotted the roof. Maybe not such a strange place for Romanoff, after all. Russians seemed fond of romance, and this was definitely a romantic, if sometimes bleak, place.
Daz looked behind them. “This is near where the allies sent paratroopers behind lines for D-Day.”
“Yes,” she answered. “How did you know?”
“Military history and tactics classes. That operation was one of the first organized air drops. A lot went wrong. But a lot went right.”
As they reached the mansion’s front entrance, framed by an overhang, Richard gestured to her.
He wanted her to take the lead, then. She knocked and the door opened instantly. They were ushered in by Jean-Marie Claudet, a middle-aged woman dressed in business casual. Marian had to give Romanoff credit, he could’ve hired a beautiful young thing—male or female—to decorate his home. Many older collectors did, whether the person had the skills or not to do an executive assistant job.
“I did not expect three to visit the lord. He was expecting only two, Miss Doyle.”
Claudet was no decoration. She was Romanoff’s gatekeeper.
Richard smiled. In his perfect French, he explained that their third party was to ensure their security in these troubled times, a sentiment that he knew Madame Claudet agreed with, as safety was paramount to her employer too.
By the end of his little speech, Claudet only nodded. “I would ask, however, that Monsieur Montoya remain here. My lord doesn’t like to receive visitors in groups.”
Marian gave points to Claudet for standing her ground even a little bit under Richard’s charm.
“That’s okay,” Daz said. “You meet with the lord, I’ll stroll around the place and make sure it’s safe.” He grinned at Claudet.
While she’d handled Richard’s charm, Claudet seemed less sure if Daz was trying to be charming or threatening. “Please remain on the first floor,” she ordered.
“No problem.”
Claudet still glanced back as she led them down the hallway, uncertain of what Daz might do. Did she think him a clumsy oaf? If so, she wasn’t as good a judge of people as Marian had thought.
She tapped Richard’s arm. He tilted his head.
“Whatever else you do in that study, don’t make fun of it,” she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Just don’t.” She should’ve explained. But an explanation wouldn’t do it. That study had to be seen to be believed.
Claudet opened the double doors to reveal Romanoff’s inner sanctum.
Marian had been here several times and she still struggled to keep a straight face in the Jungle Room.
A cheetah pattern filled the walls. Zebra-stripe throw rugs covered the floor. Framed gold records lined the walls. A stereo system dominated one corner of the room.
The pièce de résistance of the whole room was in the other corner: a full-size mannequin, under protective glass, of Elvis Presley wearing an authentic 1970s-era white jumpsuit.
“Doesn’t he look grand, Marian?” Romanoff said in English. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her to Elvis.
This was new. “He’s perfect for the room.” And that was the absolute truth.
“And I have you to thank for him!” He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her on both checks.
“How so?”
He held her at arm’s length. “The referral you provided was perfect. He found this for me.”
She blushed. He was a round, medium-sized man, but his personality was larger than life. Romanoff was not unlike Richard in his very strange way. He belonged in some outlandish tale.
“You’re welcome.” At least Romanoff had not grown the Elvis sideburns he’d been contemplating on her last visit. That was a relief.
“And who have you brought me?” Romanoff asked as he let her go. “A beach bum?”
“This is Richard Genet and, yes, he’s from California. He has an interest in a particular Russian artifact that has been lost.”
Richard shook Romanoff’s hand with a straight face. “I see you are as enamored of a particular American time period as you are with Normandy,” Richard said.
Romanoff grinned. “I spent some time in America in the 1960s and early 1970s. On vacation, of course.” He winked at her.
Since all signs pointed him to being a former KGB agent, she didn’t find that particularly funny. But at least Romanoff was in a good mood.
“Do you like Elvis?” Romanoff asked Richard.
“I loved his music in the Lilo and Stitch movie. I have the soundtrack on repeat in my home,” Richard said.
“Disney!” Romanoff raised an arm in the air, his finger pointed at the ceiling. “They have done wonders for the King with that movie. I love them for it.” He waved at the furniture. “So, come sit, and tell me what you would know.”
A former Russian KBG agent being in love with all things Elvis was one thing, but an immortal prince who watched Disney’s childrens’ movies?
I swear, this is my last client, ever.
Richard took the one easy chair, a thing of leopard spots, and occupied it like a throne. “Lord Romanoff, I’m interested in acquiring Rasputin’s remains.”
“Hah!” Romanoff barked a laugh. “You get right to the point. But nothing remains of Rasputin, I’m afraid. Are you sure your client’s brain hasn’t been sun-bleached, Marian?”
“Are you certain nothing remains of Rasputin?” she asked.
“You doubt me? Tsk, tsk.” He looked at Richard. “Our Mad Monk was pulled from his burial place in a park in St. Petersburg and burned by revolutionaries in 1917. There’s nothing left of him.” He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Though there is some information that points to an erotic museum having a portion of his body.”
“What portion?” Marian asked.
“His penis,” Romanoff said flatly.
That would have the DNA Richard wanted, she thought.
“I doubt that’s part of Rasputin.” Richard waved a hand, dismissing the information. “My sources claim the corpse that was pulled from the small chapel by the revolutionary troops was not Rasputin at all.”
“Really?” Romanoff mumbled something in Russian, far too low for Marian to hear. She thought it was some insult to charlatans and fools.
“Yes, really,” Richard said. “One of his followers or perhaps even Rasputin’s wife took his body and moved it long before then. Possibly to prevent the very indignities that happened to the replacement corpse, among other reasons.”
“What other reason could there be to change the Mad Monk’s resting place?”
“Now you’re teasing us, Lord Romanoff. You know why.”
Romanoff smiled. “I do know why, Marian. But I wanted to know if you do.”
Richard sighed. “Rasputin’s body, if still available, would surely be a religious icon of some sort.”
Romanoff snapped his fingers. “Rasputin’s cult died with him, though I recall one of his daughters also claimed healing powers. And then she moved to America and went into circus entertainment. Which is absolutely where that family belonged. Religious icon. Bah. People are far too obsessed with him.”
This from the man who had a nearly religious devotion to a dead rock and roll singer, enough to create a shrine to him.
Thank God she didn’t say that out loud.
“Much of Rasputin’s abilities do seem like smoke and mirrors, like a circus act.” Marian needed to settle Romanoff down. Richard had challenged him, though quietly, and Romanoff hated it.
“My information also claims that Rasputin’s abilities may have been real,” Richard said.
And there went her chance to settle Romanoff down.
Romanoff laughed. “Ah, I see, you are one of those kind of treasure hunters. A true believer.” He stood and went to his liquor cabinet. “The worst kind. The most dangerous kind.”
He poured a glass of Kentucky bourbon.
Richard walked over to the liquor cabinet and put out his hand. Romanoff poured him two fingers of bourbon. Richard knocked it back without a flinch. He set the empty glass down on the cabinet.
“I’m a true believer in the information I have, Romanoff,” Richard said. “Considering the research the Soviets did in parapsychology, even your own people were of my mind.”
“Fools and charlatans, like Rasputin himself.” Romanoff tossed back his glass and emptied it. He muttered something that sounded like durachit. That was fool or idiot in Russian.
“I’ll humor you, beach bum. So, tell me, where does your information say the monk’s corpse is located?” Romanoff asked.
“I have no exact location. That’s why I’ve come to you. You’re the expert in these things, Marian says. And I trust her opinion, so I trust your information. Whether the Mad Monk was a charlatan is ultimately immaterial. I need to find his corpse. And that penis won’t do. It’s not his.”
Romanoff stroked his beard and stared at his Elvis mannequin. Richard glanced at Marian. She put a hand to her lips to signal that he should remain quiet and let Romanoff decide what to say.
The exile knew something, Marian decided, or he would have thrown them out already. And it was odd to see him drink. Despite the reputation of Russians, Romanoff never drank in her presence. Until now. What if Drake was right about a curse? What if curses were real by virtue of some sort of psychic ability?
“What will you do with the body if you find it? Put it on display?”
“The body will be given honorable burial,” Richard said.
“Of what use is Rasputin save as a decayed thing? Then and now?”
“He was useful as a symbol then. For now? I represent a private collector who is interested in seeing Rasputin’s remains properly settled.”
“I think you represent a museum that could use the revenue from making a public spectacle of the corpse,” Romanoff said. “Or, even worse, a researcher poking and prodding and disturbing the Monk’s rest.”
Richard said, “The private collector I represent has his quirks, but not those.”
“Why do you represent this private collector?” Rasputin asked.
“It’s a family obligation,” Richard said.
“Hmm…is your private collector also a religious fanatic?”
“Not that either. The interest is more on Rasputin’s place as a historical figure. He was instrumental in the excesses that led to your revolution.”
“Many historical figures are instrumental for all the wrong reasons. Some people still follow the butcher Hitler in Germany or the tyrant Stalin in my motherland. No one should go to any efforts to disturb that kind of dead.” Romanoff stalked closer to Richard. “Especially one with a curse.”
Crap, Marian thought. She’d doubted Drake because he was so hostile. But here was confirmation of the “curse”.
Richard poured another bourbon and drank it down as quickly as the first. He made a show of setting down the empty glass.
“You’ll forgive me for thinking this is a waste of time and you know nothing,” Richard said. “See ya.”
“I know far too much. That is the problem.” Romanoff put his hands behind his back and walked to the windows. “I am loathe to expose Marian to a curse.”
“Too late. I’m already involved,” Marian said.
“Hah. Maybe so.” Romanoff stared out his window.
“We need to know, sir,” she said.
“You must stop this.” Romanoff turned to face them. This wasn’t a room for dignity but somehow he managed it. “There were rumors about Rasputin’s strange abilities that interested certain elements of the KGB who remembered the hold the Mad Monk had on the czar’s family. They were taken with absolute seriousness. I know of this because I was assigned to trail one of Rasputin’s daughters for a time. As I said, the circus was the proper place for her. That task ended abruptly when the man who gave me the order died.” He shook his head. “I later found out that every member of that particular department either died in ‘accidents’ or mysteriously vanished. I counted myself lucky to have only done the one job for them.”
“That’s some curse,” Marian said. His information matched up with what Drake had told them.
“Indeed. You see, then?” He spread his hands apart. “It’s dangerous to ask these questions, even now.”
“Perhaps those in that department did something to anger those in charge?” Richard asked.
“A more likely tale than a madman’s curse, I grant you that. Still, they are dead and it chills me to contemplate sending Marian, of all ladies, into such a dangerous wilderness.” He bowed. “You deserve all consideration. I will speak no more of this.”
“The lady’s under my protection,” Richard said. “She’ll come to no harm.”
“And what resources do you have to protect her?”
“Considerable, as you can tell from our choice of bodyguard. And if you recognize what’s dangerous, then you recognize it in me.”
Romanoff’s eyes narrowed. “You hide it well.”
Richard shrugged. “A rep as a dangerous man isn’t as useful as it was once. It’s better to be underestimated.”
Romanoff sat back down. “You are determined, Marian, to go on with this?”
Marian nodded. “If you turn us away, I’ll go to the next source. But your information is the most reliable. I need your help.”
Romanoff scowled. “They tell me women today can do all that a man can. Bah. Valuable women need to be protected. See you do that for her, Genet.”
Richard nodded.
The Russian finally settled and crossed his legs, signaling the beginning of a tale.
“It is true I have made a study of things lost after my country was liberated from the czar’s tyranny. And after my assignment to follow Rasputin’s heiress ended so abruptly, I decided to look into whether we possessed any of Rasputin’s relics.”
Nice way to parse his ownership of various illegal goods, Marian thought. In truth, she had smuggled out pre-Bolshevik weapons, uniforms and artwork, including one gorgeous Fabergé egg, for him. Romanoff also referred to items the Soviets had taken from the Nazis, who had likely taken them from their victims.
Romanoff had used those proceeds to buy this home.
She felt more guilt about that than about Richard’s quest. At least she had made sure to quietly see that most of the artwork had ended up in the hands of collectors who let the objects be displayed in museums. But she often wondered about the true owners of such things.
Another reason to quit this work. Her new life would be clean, whatever it was.
“So Marian’s correct, and you do have information for me?” Richard asked.
“Despite her endorsement of my knowledge, it is not as solid as many things I could tell you.” He stared at her. “And it is not free. Not with the curse attached. You must pay for that.”
“What do you want?” Richard answered for her.
“Not from you. From her.”
“Sir?” she asked.
“Your firm is genius in acquiring items for me.”
She nodded. “Thank you, but could you please stop being polite and tell me what you want?”
“You will find one of Elvis’s cars for me.”
What? “You mean you wish my firm to find and arrange for you to buy one of Elvis’s cars?”
“Yes, yes. I can pay for the car, but it must be authentic. It must be one he personally drove. And you must also arrange transportation here. And you will waive your customary finder’s fee.”
A fee that normally ran into the thousands or tens of thousands given how valuable the item was. “I may have to obtain permission from the firm on the last condition.”
“Worried about whether your grandfather will agree? I know he keeps you on a tight leash,” Romanoff said.
Shame closed her throat. A client had sensed that?
Richard stood. “The collector I represent will be glad to cover that fee for your firm, Marian.”
Marian shook her head. Again, he came to her rescue. Was her knee-jerk shame at the mention of her grandfather that obvious? Yes, it was. Even Romanoff knew it and had used it as a lever against her.
“Finding Rasputin is my highest priority at the moment, as my firm well knows,” Marian said. “I agree to your terms, Lord Romanoff.”
All true. Let Grandfather eat the expense. He wanted her to take this job, after all.
Romanoff nodded. “Good!” He stared at Richard. “You make me very curious about this private collector of yours, who also calls on a family obligation.”
“That’s too bad because his identity is confidential,” Richard answered.
Romanoff glared for a second, then laughed. “Very good. Keep your secrets. We all have them, eh? Now, tell me what information you are beginning with and I will try to match it to what I know.”
“The tale I have involved a servant of the czar’s family. He was ordered to secure certain objects before the revolution succeeded. This included Rasputin’s body. It was moved from the public burial location and onto royal grounds. Empress Alexandra was insistent that the body be under her care. It may even have been Rasputin’s wife and family who helped swap the body with that of another.”
These details were more than Richard had revealed to her. It was possible he was making that up. In any case, he was being very careful in the information he was parceling out to Romanoff. And Romanoff was doing the same.
“Ah.” Romanoff sank deeper into his chair. “I can see why the new republic would want to hide that information. If word had gotten out, it is possible some would have believed Rasputin had risen from the dead. Religious fervor was not what was needed in those perilous times, as I said earlier.”
“Hardly likely he could rise from the dead, given that he was drugged, shot, stabbed and drowned. Even a Russian does not survive that,” Marian said.
Romanoff laughed. But she glanced over at Richard, and his thoughtful expression told her that he didn’t take that story at face value.
“True, not even one of us would survive death times four,” Romanoff said. “But religious people are a breed apart. They are not so logical and so the body was burned and scattered. I admit, that could have been a cover.”
“My information ends with the body being moved by the empress. Where does yours begin?” Richard asked.
“With the curse, of course.”
“Were you hurt by it?” Marian asked.
“Your concern touches me.” Romanoff smiled and tapped his heart. “It is an old hurt and one of the heart and not the body. I was determined to find my…” He stared off into space for a moment. “My friend. I wanted to find her after her disappearance, along with others from that office who specialized in Rasputin. I would not believe she was dead. It took me two years. When I finally found her, she was living in a decrepit apartment building in old Stalingrad, an area that still bore the scars from Hitler’s invasion.”
He sighed.
“I thought our reunion would go well but, no, she was terrified. She thought I had come to kill her or that I would lead an assassin to her doorstep. She didn’t believe at first that concern and curiosity lead me to discover her fate. We Russians are not an optimistic people.
“My comrade turned aside my concern, though she did accept my gifts of cigarettes and fresh bread. But it was the wine that loosened her tongue. And she spun a tale that I doubted in retrospect but knew it was the only explanation I would ever have.”
Romanoff walked over to the bejeweled Elvis mannequin again. “Like this lovely costume, jewels were involved. The tale was, that in the days just before the Revolution, Empress Alexandra was said to have lost a close family friend, a long-time nurse who had been with her since she was a child. As the empress was of German origin, so was the nurse. A beautiful coffin was prepared to honor the nurse’s long service. Priceless jewels were embedded into it. The nurse’s family and several long-time Romanov servants accompanied the coffin to Germany. But my friend told me the coffin held Rasputin and that the supposedly dead nurse was on the journey but very much alive.
“It was she who brought her coffin to the valley of the River Nehe, where her hometown of Idar was located. My friend said it was because then Rasputin’s body could be carefully hidden in the many tunnels and hiding places in that area. The jewels were removed to provide funds for those caring for the body. My friend said her department interviewed one of the nurse’s daughters and got the tale from her. My friend said our leaders wanted to bring Rasputin home. Why our government wanted the body back in Mother Russia, she never said. It’s a ridiculous idea.”
Romanoff shrugged. “Someone else apparently saw it that way. Her department was dissolved, made to vanish in a day, as if it never existed. She believed that many of her fellow agents were killed by the curse of Rasputin. Curse or no, they were all killed, save for one who apparently defected to the West. I’ve never heard of what happened to him.”
If Drake’s story was true, that man had been Lansing, Alec Farley’s foster father.
“Isn’t it more likely that the KGB killed them for some reason? Or that the defector you speak of killed them before he vanished?” Richard asked.
“Yes, some KGB officials were notoriously paranoid and did away with anyone who could even mention a failure. Still, it was odd for a whole division to be destroyed. My friend and the rest of the comrades in her department knew nothing connected with national security. They had only tracked down rumors of a long-dead man. This is a curse.”
“You are too logical a person to speak of curses,” Marian said.
“I am Russian. We know curses. Things will always go wrong, somehow.”
No wonder Romanoff loved Elvis and American pop culture if he was this cynical. Elvis must look like a window into some strange, bright foreign land for him.
“Did your friend provide more details? Such as the family name of the nurse?” Richard asked.
“Fenstermaker.”
“Window maker. Interesting,” Marian said. “Does the family still live in the area?”
“I never had a chance to ask my friend more questions. A day later, she was found hanged in her apartment. Suicide, they said. I did not believe them. I did not ask further questions at the time. I wished to live.”
“I’m sorry,” Marian said.
“It was necessary for survival. And I survived.” He poured another bourbon and drank it in one gulp.
“Do you have contacts who might be willing to talk to us more about this?”
“You ask for more than I have given? Hah! I asked for one of Elvis’s cars. Perhaps I should have asked for a higher price. Curses are bad business.”
“I would be happy to meet a higher price,” Richard said.
“That desperate, are you?”
“Disappointing this particular person is not an option,” Richard said. “It’s an obligation, similar in some ways to what you owed your friend.”
“A matter of honor?”
Richard inclined his head. “Exactly that.”
“I have a source. Perhaps. I could ask if they would be willing to talk to you.”
“Stellar,” Richard said.
“It is a source that is even more paranoid than I.” Romanoff grinned. “But for dear Marian, for a matter of honor, and for one of Elvis’s cars, I will see if they will meet with you.”
Richard offered his hand. “Thank you, Lord Romanoff.”
Romanoff shook his hand briskly. “And now, I am bored by the past. We will go outside and celebrate the present and the imminent arrival of my new car!”
He led them out of the jungle room and locked the doors behind them.
“Madame Claudet! Set a table for lunch on the patio! My best wine.”
Claudet rose from her desk near the door. “How many? Three?”
“Oh, I think they brought another American with them. Him too.”
Claudet wrinkled her nose. “He paced the entire floor but finally settled in the study. I will let him know.”
Romanoff smiled. He clapped Richard on the back. “I like Americans! It is good luck to have one with you and even better to have two! It is said Americans are immune to curses.”
“Of course we are,” Daz said as he stepped out from a room off the front entrance. “It’s why we won the Cold War.”
“Careful, boy, or I will serve you my vodka,” Romanoff said.
Daz put up his hand in mock horror. “No! Not Russian vodka. I surrender.”
“You see?” Now Romanoff clapped Richard on the back. “Americans are good luck. They bring laughter.”
Romanoff excused himself to make phone calls to “his people”, but after he was done, they sat down outside on his back patio. The house muted the wind from the sea, so they were only left with wisps tickling the trees overlooking a flower garden. The skies were so blue that Marian wished she could forget this talk of curses.
Daz and Richard drank the wine freely, so apparently they had no problem forgetting curses. Romanoff drank not at all, though he was in good spirits. As the dinner ended and they rose to go, he pressed a note into her hand.
“As you wish, here is someone who might help you and where you can meet him.” Romanoff seized her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “I received this contact point through another party. Therefore, I cannot answer to its reliability and trustworthiness as much as I would want.” He held her out from him. “Be careful.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Lord Romanoff.”
“No, thank you.” He bowed. “Thankyouverymuch.”
She smiled at the Elvis impersonation.
As they climbed back into the car, Daz said, “And now we have left Elvis’s building.”