something to be discussed now. Or, ever, if that is your wish. Our warm feelings for you will remain unchanged regardless. Let me give you this card. There’s no name on it, only a number. It is Putin’s private number. Not ten people in the world have access to it.”
“Thank you,” Hawke said, pocketing the card.
“On to other matters. Let’s begin with the true nature of your visit, shall we?”
It was the one moment Hawke had been dreading during the long journey across Siberia. The moment of truth.
“Well. Where does one begin?” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “You see, Nikolai, I’ve come about Anastasia.”
“Anastasia. I see. Well, I—”
Hawke, in a turmoil of emotion, held up his hand. “Please, Nikolai. Don’t say anything. Just let me say what I have to say first. After that, you can either throw me a rope or throw me to the wolves. Is that all right?”
“As you wish, Alex.”
Hawke rose to his feet, pacing back and forth before the fire with his hands clasped behind his back.
“It was no secret in Moscow that I was deeply in love with her. And, I believed, she with me. What you may not know are the exact events surrounding her death in Sweden. I had followed Korsakov from Stockholm to his island summerhouse. His escape route, his airship, was tethered to the roof. He had Anastasia with him in the car, bound and drugged. He felt she’d betrayed him for me. I had no doubt the Tsar was going to kill her. I was gravely wounded trying to get inside that house. To save her from her father’s blind rage. I failed. Then, I watched helplessly as he had her loaded aboard the doomed airship on a stretcher. I’m positive it was her. And—then—I—dear God—I—”
He felt a hot clench in the muscles of his throat and was afraid he could not go on.
“Alex, please, you’re very upset. Let me try to—”
Hawke waved him away and took a moment to regain his composure. He returned to the chair opposite Kuragin and stared into his eyes for a long time before speaking.
“Nikolai, I heard a rumor. I’m sure it cannot possibly be true. But I have lived with the knowledge that I killed the woman I loved for a very long time now. It’s unbearable. I returned to Jasna Polana solely because I was told that Anastasia is still alive. I was told that she was held prisoner here. I’ve absolutely no reason to believe this is true. I still don’t believe it, as we sit here. But I simply could not go on living without knowing the truth. I’ve come to you to learn the truth. Please—please help me.”
“Anastasia is alive, Alex. She’s here. In this house. Now.”
Five
H awke stared at Kuragin in disbelief for a brief moment, then, seeing the clear truth in his wise old eyes, put his face into his hands and leaned forward, giving full rein to his overwhelming emotions. The general stood up and placed his one good hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’ll go and get the ‘prisoner’ now, Alex. I’m sure you two will want to be alone. I will send her to you here where you’ll be comfortable. Sit back now. Calm yourself. That decanter on my desk contains the purest Russian vodka dirty money can buy. I suggest you avail yourself of it.”
A gentle tapping at the door. So soft an anxious Hawke nearly missed the sound above the crackle and hiss of the great fire in the hearth. He practically leaped from the chair, set his small glass of vodka on Kuragin’s massive desk, and raced across the large room to the door. His hand was shaking badly as he reached for the doorknob. His heart had taken on a life of its own, beating like some jungle drum warning of imminent danger.
Little did he know.
He pulled the heavy wooden door open, slowly, terrified of what he might or might not see beyond it.
Anastasia.
He saw her upturned face, morning light spilling down from a high window, afire in her golden hair.
Her luminous green eyes shining with tears.
Her lower lip trembling.
Her tentative hand,
“Thank you,” Hawke said, pocketing the card.
“On to other matters. Let’s begin with the true nature of your visit, shall we?”
It was the one moment Hawke had been dreading during the long journey across Siberia. The moment of truth.
“Well. Where does one begin?” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “You see, Nikolai, I’ve come about Anastasia.”
“Anastasia. I see. Well, I—”
Hawke, in a turmoil of emotion, held up his hand. “Please, Nikolai. Don’t say anything. Just let me say what I have to say first. After that, you can either throw me a rope or throw me to the wolves. Is that all right?”
“As you wish, Alex.”
Hawke rose to his feet, pacing back and forth before the fire with his hands clasped behind his back.
“It was no secret in Moscow that I was deeply in love with her. And, I believed, she with me. What you may not know are the exact events surrounding her death in Sweden. I had followed Korsakov from Stockholm to his island summerhouse. His escape route, his airship, was tethered to the roof. He had Anastasia with him in the car, bound and drugged. He felt she’d betrayed him for me. I had no doubt the Tsar was going to kill her. I was gravely wounded trying to get inside that house. To save her from her father’s blind rage. I failed. Then, I watched helplessly as he had her loaded aboard the doomed airship on a stretcher. I’m positive it was her. And—then—I—dear God—I—”
He felt a hot clench in the muscles of his throat and was afraid he could not go on.
“Alex, please, you’re very upset. Let me try to—”
Hawke waved him away and took a moment to regain his composure. He returned to the chair opposite Kuragin and stared into his eyes for a long time before speaking.
“Nikolai, I heard a rumor. I’m sure it cannot possibly be true. But I have lived with the knowledge that I killed the woman I loved for a very long time now. It’s unbearable. I returned to Jasna Polana solely because I was told that Anastasia is still alive. I was told that she was held prisoner here. I’ve absolutely no reason to believe this is true. I still don’t believe it, as we sit here. But I simply could not go on living without knowing the truth. I’ve come to you to learn the truth. Please—please help me.”
“Anastasia is alive, Alex. She’s here. In this house. Now.”
Five
H awke stared at Kuragin in disbelief for a brief moment, then, seeing the clear truth in his wise old eyes, put his face into his hands and leaned forward, giving full rein to his overwhelming emotions. The general stood up and placed his one good hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I’ll go and get the ‘prisoner’ now, Alex. I’m sure you two will want to be alone. I will send her to you here where you’ll be comfortable. Sit back now. Calm yourself. That decanter on my desk contains the purest Russian vodka dirty money can buy. I suggest you avail yourself of it.”
A gentle tapping at the door. So soft an anxious Hawke nearly missed the sound above the crackle and hiss of the great fire in the hearth. He practically leaped from the chair, set his small glass of vodka on Kuragin’s massive desk, and raced across the large room to the door. His hand was shaking badly as he reached for the doorknob. His heart had taken on a life of its own, beating like some jungle drum warning of imminent danger.
Little did he know.
He pulled the heavy wooden door open, slowly, terrified of what he might or might not see beyond it.
Anastasia.
He saw her upturned face, morning light spilling down from a high window, afire in her golden hair.
Her luminous green eyes shining with tears.
Her lower lip trembling.
Her tentative hand,
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