The Romanov Prophecy Page 0,38
His mouth felt like it'd been rinsed with Elmer's glue. He needed a shower and a shave, but there was no time. He also needed to contact Taylor Hayes, but there was a problem. A big problem. And his hostess seemed to know.
"Those men will be waiting at the station."
He licked the film off his teeth. "Don't I know."
"There is a way off."
"How?"
"We will cross the Garden Ring in a few minutes and the train will slow. There is a speed limit beyond. When I was small we would hop on and off the Petersburg express. It was an easy way to and from downtown."
He didn't particularly relish the idea of jumping from a moving train, but he couldn't risk a reunion with Droopy and Cro-Magnon.
The train started to slow.
"See," she said.
"You know where we are?"
She glanced out the window. "About twenty kilometers from the station. I would suggest you leave quickly."
He reached for his briefcase and snapped open the locks. There wasn't much there--just the few copies of what he'd found in the Moscow and St. Petersburg archives and some other unimportant papers. He folded all of them and stuffed them into his jacket. He felt for his passport and wallet. Both were still in his pockets. "This briefcase would just be in the way."
She took the leather case from him. "I will hold on to it for you. If you want it back, come to the circus."
He smiled. "Thanks. I might just do that." But on another trip at another time, he thought.
He stood and slipped on his jacket.
She moved toward the door. "I will check the hall to see if all is clear."
He lightly grasped her arm. "Thanks. For everything."
"You are welcome, Miles Lord. You brought interest to an otherwise boring ride."
They were close and he savored the same flowery scent from last night. Akilina Petrovna was attractive, though her face bore hint of life's harsh effects. Soviet propaganda once proclaimed communist women the most liberated in the world. No factory could run without them. Service industries would literally collapse if not for their contribution. But time was never kind to them. He'd long admired the beauty of young Russian women, but pitied the inevitable effects society would wreak. And he wondered what this lovely woman would look like in twenty years.
He stepped back, out of the doorway, as she slid open the panel and left.
A minute later it reopened.
"Come," she said.
The corridor in both directions was empty. They were about three-quarters of the way back in the long car. To the left, beyond another steaming samovar, was an exit door. Through its glass the stark reality of urban Moscow whizzed past. Unlike American or European trains, the portal was not alarmed or locked.
Akilina wrenched the handle down and pulled the steel door inward. The clatter of wheel to rail increased.
"Good luck, Miles Lord," she said as he passed.
He took one last look into her blue eyes, then leapt out to the hard earth. He pounded the cold ground and rolled away.
The last car passed and the morning lapsed into an eerie quiet as the train roared southward.
He'd landed in a weedy lot between blocks of dingy apartment buildings. He was glad he'd jumped when he had. Any farther and there may not have been anything but
concrete to greet him. Sounds of morning traffic filled the air from beyond the buildings, a pungent scent of carbon exhaust filling his nostrils.
He stood and brushed off his clothes. Another suit destroyed. But what the hell. He was leaving Russia today, anyway.
He needed a telephone, so he made his way to a boulevard lined with shops and businesses opening for the day. Buses deposited passengers, then steamed away with a belch of black exhaust. He spied twomilitsya across the street in their blue-and-gray uniforms. Unlike Droopy and Cro-Magnon, these wore regulation gray caps with red brims. He decided to avoid them.
He spotted a grocery a few yards down the sidewalk and ducked inside. The man tending the shelves was thin and old. "You have a telephone I might use?" he asked in Russian.
The man tossed him a grave look and did not reply. Lord reached into his pocket and brought out ten rubles. The man accepted the money and pointed to the counter. He stepped over, dialed the Volkhov, and told the hotel operator to connect him with Taylor Hayes's room. The phone rang a dozen times. When the hotel operator came back on, he told her to