the Romanov Prophecy (2004) by Steve Berry Read Free Book Online Page B

“I saw something on the television about that earlier. So terrible.” He shook his head. “This country will be the ruin of itself if something is not done soon.”
    Lord sat and offered a seat.
    “Were you involved?” Pashenko asked, settling into a chair.
    “I was there.” He decided to keep the rest of what happened to himself.
    Pashenko shook his head. “That sort of display says nothing for who or what we are. Westerners, like yourself, must think us barbarians.”
    “Not at all. Every nation goes through periods like this. We had our own during the western expansion and in the nineteen twenties and thirties.”
    “But I believe our situation is more than merely growing pains.”
    “The past few years have been difficult for Russia. It was hard enough when there was a government. Yeltsin and Putin tried to keep order. But now, with little semblance of authority, it’s nothing short of anarchy.”
    Pashenko nodded. “Unfortunately, this is nothing new for our nation.”
    “Are you an academician?”
    “A historian. I have devoted my life to the study of our beloved Mother Rus.”
    He grinned at the ancient term. “I would imagine there hasn’t been much use for your specialty in some time.”
    “Regretfully. The communists had their own version of history.”
    He recalled something he’d read once.
Russia is a country with an unpredictable past.
“Did you teach, then?”
    “For thirty years. I saw them all. Stalin, Khrushchev, Brezhnev. Each one inflicted his own peculiar damage. It is sinful what happened. But even now, we find it hard to let go. People still line up each day to walk past Lenin’s body.” Pashenko lowered his voice. “A butcher, revered as a saint. Did you notice the flowers around his statue out front.” He shook his head. “Disgusting.”
    Lord decided to be careful with his words. Though this was the postcommunist era, soon to be new tsarist era, he was still an American working under credentials granted by a shaky Russian government. “Something tells me that if tanks rolled through Red Square tomorrow, everyone who works in this archive would be there to cheer them on.”
    “They are no better than street beggars,” Pashenko said. “They enjoyed privilege, kept the leaders’ secrets, and in return received a choice apartment, some extra bread, a few more days off in summer. You must work and earn what you get, is that not what America stands for?”
    Lord didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “What do you think of the Tsarist Commission?”
    “I voted yes. How could a tsar do any worse?”
    He’d found that attitude quite prevalent.
    “It is unusual to find an American able to speak our language so well.”
    He shrugged. “You have a fascinating country.”
    “Have you always had an interest?”
    “Since childhood. I started reading about Peter the Great and Ivan the Terrible.”
    “And now you are a part of our Tsarist Commission. About to make history.” Pashenko motioned to the sheets on the table. “Those are quite old. Do they come from the Protective Papers?”
    “I found both a couple of weeks ago.”
    “I recognize the script. Alexandra herself penned that one. She wrote all her letters and diaries in English. The Russians hated her because she was born a German princess. I always thought that an unfair criticism. Alexandra was a most misunderstood woman.”
    He offered the sheet, deciding that this Russian’s brain might be worth picking. Pashenko read the letter, then said when he finished, “She was colorful in her prose, but this is mild. She and Nicholas wrote many romantic letters.”
    “It’s sad handling them. I feel like an intruder. I was reading earlier about the execution. Yurovsky must have been one devil of a man.”
    “Yurovsky’s son said that his father always regretted his involvement. But who knows? For twenty years after he gave lectures to Bolshevik groups about the murders, proud of what he did.”
    He handed Pashenko the