us into a fabulous suite, the type the Ritz was known for, with high ceilings, thick moldings, and a bed festooned with a tasteful print. Two onyx pillars tall and fat enough to hold up the Parthenon helped divide the bedroom from the sitting room, where a painted vanity and mirror sat. An elegant man stood near the window, flanked by bodyguards.
He stepped toward me dressed more like a Parisian gentleman than Russian soldier in what appeared to be a bespoke suit, his mustache fanned out like bird wings. Could Mother have known this man in another life? Would he help us?
I offered my hand to General Yakofnavich and introduced Sofya. He shook both our hands, then folded his arms across his chest and scowled at me.
“What brings you here, Mrs. Ferriday? I’m a busy man.” He spoke good French with the trace of a Russian accent.
“I have a pressing matter to discuss regarding my friend Sofya here.” My gaze went to the two bodyguards, both making my six-foot height feel small.
“My mother, Caroline Woolsey Mitchell, gave me your name and said—”
“Carry Woolsey?” His gaze drifted out the window and he smiled. “Such a fine woman. Handsome.”
Mother may have claimed fuzzy memories of her connection to the general, but apparently, he remembered her well.
The General lit a cigarette. “And Mr. Mitchell?”
“My father? Gone for years now, sir.”
He nodded at that. “Never remarried? Such a waste. She could row a boat, Carry Woolsey.”
I shifted in my shoes. “General, I’m here to give you information. Coded passwords, actually.”
He smiled. “That’s a good one. Where did you get these passwords?”
“They were given to Sofya by her father, Ivan Streshnayva.”
He hung his cigarette on the edge of a crystal ashtray, the size and shape of a small iceberg. “From the Ministry? Murdered on his estate, poor Ivan, like so many. Horrible.”
Sofya stepped forward. “He gave them to me well before that.”
“You have them now?”
“In a safe place,” I said. “But we need something first.”
The general glanced toward his bodyguards. “Money, of course.”
“We need your help with a sensitive issue,” Sofya said. “A Cheka agent kidnapped my son Max. Stole him in Russia and brought him here to Paris.”
“You understand I can barely leave this hotel even with my security detail.”
“Of course. Max attends L’Ecole Cygne Royal, where the headmistress refuses to give the child up since this agent has threatened her life. Can you help us, General?”
“Perhaps I can make some calls. Offer what help I can to Madame. Station a police guard at the school.”
“The agent lives at 24 Rue de Serene,” Sofya said.
“The police commissioner clearly needs to pay him a visit. One less Cheka agent is good for me, certainly. No promises, though, I’m afraid.”
I slipped the bracelet off and handed it to him, my wrist already feeling empty. “The codes are inside, on a piece of paper.”
The general gazed at it there on his open palm. “Thank you, Mrs. Ferriday. This will help us take back what is ours. I’ll do my best with Madame.”
We stepped toward the door and Sofya turned back. “General, my husband is a White Army officer. Would you by chance know him?”
“Name?”
“Afon Stepanov.”
I stepped to Sofya and wrapped one arm around her shoulders.
The general looked at Sofya for a long moment. “Of course, Ivan’s son-in-law. I didn’t make the connection. Good man. From the military academy.”
“I’ve been hoping for news, as you can imagine….”
“Military wives are strong women.”
“Please, General,” Sofya said. “We don’t have much time.”
“I believe he was with a regiment headed from Ukraine up to Siberia and he split off south of Petrograd to visit his family’s estate. There’d been reports of criminal activity there.”
Sofya faltered and I held her fast. “Coming to help us?”
The general nodded. “Nine of his best volunteered to accompany him, but they were attacked by a Red Army unit as they slept, just south of Tsarskoe Selo.”
“He made it that far? And then what?”
“Well, I’d rather not—” The general walked to the window and stood, hands clasped behind his back, and gazed out onto the street below.
“I need to know, General.”
I held her tighter.
The general kept his gaze on the street. “If you insist. All ten were hung, on telegraph poles just north of there.”
Sofya folded her hands at her waist, her gaze steady on him. “There’s no chance of a mistake?”
He turned his attention back to us. “My most trusted lieutenant and two others witnessed it themselves. They’d been out patrolling the area and came back to