Ekaterina’s Story (cont.)
Ekaterina was an unusually resilient person, but now she put her face in her palms and wept. Not out of pity for the people she had seen murdered. Not out of its senselessness or her part in what had happened. She wept as a release. The tension and fear leaking out in her tears.
For almost twenty minutes, she cried. No thoughts other than self-pity and a sense of relief that she was secure.
Bulatov might be dead, but she intended to remain in the vault for days if necessary, until she knew it was absolutely safe to venture out. She wanted to be certain the Colonel’s men had left and Novak wasn’t lingering in Ipatiev House to exact his revenge. No problem. She could wait.
After about half an hour, she began to realise that events had apparently conspired to help her. Surely the British authorities would find the dead bodies and deduce they’d been murdered by the Russian state? History repeating itself. And she would be the brave Romanova who had somehow survived the massacre. She had a recording of Novak shooting the Colonel at point-blank range, so any claims he made about her could be dismissed as the inane, insane ramblings of an unfortunate psychopath driven mad by the slaughter of his friends.
And wasn’t it obvious Bulatov had exceeded his authority by murdering her guards and the other five victims? Russian Intelligence would disown him, both publicly and privately. That situation created a vacuum. A chance for her to step into his place? To position herself for power when the opportunity arose . . .
She had won. She felt it. The whole affair had been arduous and draining, but she had won.
Ekaterina stood. Entered a ten-digit sequence into the keypad on the secondary door. Nothing happened.
What?
She frowned, then remembered.
‘Verification: Ekaterina Romanova.’
Click-click-click!
Yes, she felt thirsty. Needed water. She would enter the vault, help herself to some of the Evian she’d left there and, of course, look over the Romanov Code. Perhaps even now, in this bloody victory, she wanted to reassure herself it had been worth it.
The door to the vault swung open.
She looked inside. Blinked.
‘What . . . ?’
She tilted her head in an attempt to process what she was seeing. Because as Ekaterina Romanova gazed through the vault’s doorway, she was looking at the most mind-blowing thing she had ever seen in her life.