The Romanov Conspiracy Read Free Page B

could be an enormous waste of time and money. What about the DNA?”
    Roy wasn’t getting all the answers he wanted and I could hear his frustrated sigh. “They’re working on it. I can tell you from the preliminary forensics it’s likely that the woman was Caucasian, between seventeen and twenty-five. We haven’t even got to the second body yet, we’ve been too busy with the first.”
    “Anything else?”
    “She hasn’t thawed out enough to tell what trauma she might have suffered, but remember the coins we found? The latest was 1916. We think we’re dealing with roughly the same period, give or take a few years. The woman’s dental work suggests she was reasonably well-to-do. So we’re in the right ballpark for the Romanovs. Any luck with the inscription?”
    With great care I plucked the locket from my purse and turned it over in my palm. I’d spent most of the last nine hours of flying time studying it and managed to clean away more of the dirt. But the rest of the inscription was eaten with corrosion and stubbornly defied deciphering. “I still can’t make out what it says.”
    A cautious tone crept into Roy’s voice. “The Russians aren’t going to be happy. They’re already asking where you’ve gone. I told them some urgent family business came up and you had to leave. Gee , Laura, taking a piece of their history could be construed as theft. I don’t even like talking about it over the phone. What if they throw you in prison when you get back?”
    I carefully slipped the locket into my purse. “Don’t worry, the locket will be returned. I’ve only borrowed it in the hope that I can identify its origin.”
    “How?”
    “We’ll talk again.”
    “Hey, baby, don’t keep me in suspense.”
    “Sorry, I’ve got to go. And don’t worry about the Russians, I’ll handle them. Call me as soon as you have anything.”
    I flipped off my phone as I saw an old man come toward me among the graves.
    He halted near a cluster of tombstones. I noticed that they were Russian-style crosses with double crossbeams and Cyrillic inscriptions, and they looked odd among a landscape of Anglo-Christian and Celtic crosses.
    The man waited by one of the graves. I could make out the name inscribed in Russian on the polished granite stone: Uri Andrev.
    The man stood studying me as he rested his right hand on a blackthorn walking cane. His skin was a jaundiced yellow and looked thin as crepe paper. He stood tall and dignified but with a slight stoop, and he spoke English but I thought I detected a Russian accent. “So, you came at last. It’s Dr. Pavlov, isn’t it?”
    I stared back at him. “How did you know?”
    “I finally got your phone messages. I never carry a cell phone, as you Americans call it. Forgive me, but I’ve been a hospital patient these last few days.”
    “Nothing serious, I hope?”
    He offered a faint smile. “The usual problems of old age, I’m afraid. Forgive me, I didn’t call you back but your message said you’d meet me at the church. I had my housekeeper drive me and saw you from the road. I recognized you from your photograph in the professional journals. You’re an outstanding scientist, Dr. Pavlov.”
    “You’re too kind.”
    The man offered his hand, the backs of his palms freckled with liver spots. “Michael Yakov. It seems we share an obsession, doctor.”
    “Pardon?”
    “The Romanov era. I’ve long been interested in your work.”
    “And I’m suddenly very interested in yours.”
    “I believe your message said you found the woman?”
    “Yes, Mr. Yakov. We found her. Just as you predicted. There may be other bodies, including what could be a child, but at this stage I can’t tell you any more than that.”
    Yakov sucked in a breath, as if my confirmation had struck a nerve. “I very much hoped that you’d find her. You dug in an area where I believed she might be buried.”
    As I stood there listening to this old man talk, I couldn’t help but think how absurd