The Romanov Sanction, page 2
part #1 of Briefings from the Deep Scarlet Compartment Series
Once out of the airport, the driver slid down the glass partition. “Sir, we were only told to meet you and take you wherever you wished to go. Where should I drop you off, Major?” Seeming to notice the other two passengers, the driver quickly added, “and you too, your Ladyship.”
Surprisingly, it was the white-haired lady with a pixie smile who spoke first, “Take Major Anderson straight to Lubyanka. After he has completed his little errand, you can then drop us all off at the Ambassador’s Residence.”
Getting a nod from the major in the back seat, the driver raised the partition and headed for the home of the KGB. Although he had ferried some of the Embassy staff to the building in the past, this was the first time he had taken a foreign courier there. This was a strange assignment.
Later that evening, the driver’s day became even stranger when the Chief of Station himself handed him a completed trip ticket to sign. The new ticket stated that two of the military liaisons had taken a joy ride around the Russian countryside. The bogus trip ticket was accompanied by a reminder that the Official Secrets Act covered all the events of the day – whatever they had been. By evening, the original trip ticket was reduced to shredder dust.
Lubyanka Prison
Moscow, Russia
55.76N 37.62E
August 21, 1991
Leaving the idling Rolls Royce at the curb, Queen Charlotte’s military aide walked at an easy pace toward the massive yellow brick façade of the former All-Russia Insurance Company—now Lubyanka Prison, the headquarters of the KGB. Briefly, Major Anderson stopped and checked his watch against the clock above the building’s third row of cornices. Satisfied, he sauntered through the pair of oak doors in the center of the gray stone lower level. Inside he stopped at a plain desk staffed by a KGB lieutenant.
The lieutenant looked at the schedule sheet before her. There were no visitors listed. Finding nothing highlighted, she faced the new arrival with a blank stare and waited in stony silence. Presenting his identification and papers to the stern-faced guard, Anderson stated, “I am Major John Anderson of the South Atlantic Kingdom. I have a three o’clock appointment with Comrade Leonid Shebarshin. Could you get someone to escort me?”
Accustomed to some nervousness in visitors, the guard was surprised by the command presence and voice of the of the foreign officer. Quickly, the lieutenant reached for the phone and, at the same time, depressed a hidden button to summon additional security. Surprisingly, confirmation was immediate given by the Chairman’s aide. Starting to make an entry in the log, the guard jerked her hand back at a crisp order over the phone and put down her pen. “Here is your escort, major.”
Without delay, the major was escorted to the elevator for the ride upstairs. His armed escorts surreptitiously eyed the major. None had ever seen an officer from the Kingdom before. He must be someone of high importance to be whisked immediately to chairman’s office—and without being logged. They knew better than to comment on such an anomaly.
Leonid Shebarshin, interim head of the KGB since the arrest of Vladimir Kryuchkov the previous day, received his expected visitor cordially. His dark eyes kept darting from the lean deeply tanned face to the metallic case as the major walked across the room. The result of over six months of extremely secret negotiations through the KGB Chief of Station in London and a mysterious agent known only as ‘Yoni”, an agreement was reached so DNA matches to the Romanovs could be confirmed. The last communications from Yoni indicated that the proof would be delivered personally to him today by courier.
“Major, I must confess that you are the first officer from the South Atlantic Kingdom that I have personally met. May I ask why the Military Liaison to Queen Charlotte was chosen for this sensitive assignment? Based on the eyes-only message received from our Chief of Station in London, I expected someone from the British Embassy to ferry the samples to us.”
Somewhat ill at ease in this heart of Russia’s secret police, John Anderson thought for a moment. He too was perplexed by the assignment from his recently widowed monarch. Deciding that security would not be violated by a direct answer, the Queen’s Military Aide looked the acting KGB Head in the eye and replied, “You are not the only one perplexed by this assignment, Comrade. Her Majesty called me in and handed me this case, a plane ticket, and instructions to deliver it directly to you. However, I expected the recipient to be the head of the First Chief Directorate, not the head of the whole organization. Congratulations on your promotion.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Shebarshin commented dryly, “Thank you for the thought. As you probably know, I worked for Comrade Kryuchkov for years. Although I was not among his coup conspirators, the association is too close. I will not be in the KGB much longer. In less than a week, I’ll be replaced and in maybe a month, I am on the street - or under one.” Returning to the subject of the meeting, Shebarshin pointed to the metal briefcase chained to Anderson’s wrist. “Major, do you know what is in the case that you are couriering?”
Again, Major Anderson hesitated. Three days before, he had been called into Charlotte’s small private office within Government House. Entering the Queen’s office, Major Anderson observed the young widow’s baby playing on the lap of the white-haired lady who had accompanied him on his trip almost a third of the way around the globe. The metal case, currently chained to his wrist, was open on the queen’s desk, and Doctor Kelvin, her science advisor, was placing a small vile into the foam lining.
Waving him to a chair, the trim figured monarch rose and began pacing the room. “John, I have a most secret task for you. One that is personally distasteful to me, but something I am convinced must be done. You are to take this case to the head of the KGB First Directorate in three days’ time. You are to give it to him personally and to get a signature on this document. Otherwise, you are to activate the destruct mechanism which will cremate everything in the case. Officially, you will be on an inspection trip out to Misty Island. This trip to Russia will not be recorded. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will pack to leave immediately and arrange the necessary transport.”
“The transport arrangements will not be necessary.” Gesturing toward the fifth adult in the room, “Jonathan has your travel documents. He and Miss Ann will be accompanying you on the trip. You will use my G-5 and accompany the quarterly diamond shipment. Elizabeth’s military aide is handling the logistics from London to Moscow and back. You have only to pack and get the three of you to Black Watch Base. Any more questions?”
“No, Your Majesty, I will be ready to depart at your guests’ convenience.”
“Thank you, John. Report back to me when you return. That will be all.”
Major Anderson turned and began the first leg of the trip that left the hills of the Mardi lóna or Home Island and ended in front of this desk at the center of Russia’s secret service. He chose the safe road in his answer to Chairman Shebarshin’s question. “I am not at liberty to answer that question, sir. My instructions are only to hand this case over to you personally and to get a signed receipt. If you are prepared to accept the contents of this case, I will disarm it.”
“How do I know the contents are genuine, Major Anderson? I am not in the habit of signing for an unverified package,” snapped the Chairman.
“Her Imperial Highness provided me this talisman as an indication of the validity of Queen Charlotte’s package to you.” With that, Major Anderson followed his careful instructions. Extracting a gold projectile from his vest pocket, he placed it carefully on Shebarshin’s desk with the base facing the Chairman.
Not knowing the significance of the iconic artifact that he put into play, Major Anderson was somewhat surprised with the Chairman’s reaction. One of the most powerful men in the Russian government took a single glance at the RR inscribed at the base of the bullet, blanched, and physically recoiled from the object on his desk. It was as if there was a coiled viper on the desk instead of an inert projectile.
In an unsteady voice, Chairman Shebarshin continued, “Take that thing away. Just open the case and give me the paper to sign.”
With theatrical panache, Major John Anderson plucked the golden bullet off the desk and returned it to his uniform vest pocket. He then entered the cipher into the digital lock and opened the metallic case. Carefully, he removed the destruct mechanism from the top of the foam insert containing eleven vials, closed the case, and placed the heavy vellum receipt and a pen on the Chairman’s desk.
In a shaky hand, Leonid Shebarshin signed the form and handed it back to the courier. “Thank you, Major Anderson, you may go. Will you be remaining in Moscow long?”
“No Comrade, Her Majesty was specific in the timetable for this mission. I will be remaining overnight at the British Ambassador’s residence if there is any additional correspondence that you wish me to take back. Otherwise, I will be on the first returning flight to London tomorrow.”
Without further comment, Major Anderson turned and left the office. Passing the security desk in the lobby, John was amused to see the KGB lieutenant studiously studying her nails so as not to look at him. Once out of Lubyanka, he slipped into the back seat of the British Ambassador’s waiting Rolls Royce and returned the object of Chairman Shebarshin’s ire to the lady he had first met just days before.
After counting the vials and looking at the names on each, Leonid Shebarshin closed the case, locked it in his personal safe and headed out of Lubyanka to report the successful completion of the mission to his boss in the Kremlin.
The evidence needed to back up Yakov Yurovsky’s public report was now in hand.
Book One: Sagamore Sedition
“There is little use for the being whose tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder. Well for these men if they succeed; well also, though not so well, if they fail, given only that they have nobly ventured, and have put forth all their heart and strength.”
Theodore Roosevelt, April 23, 1910
Chapter 1: Chip in the Stone
Biltmore Estate
Asheville, NC
35.54N 82.55W
1530 GMT[1], May 20
As the three Americans and their two South Atlantic guests entered at the southeast end of the estate lawn, they were rewarded with their first look at the century old house. The largest private home in North America rose majestically from the lush green grass bordered by the oval pebble covered carriage path leading to the front entrance. Even though it was an hour short of noon on a weekday, the ever-present line of tourists was cued up for their assigned timeslot to enter the country estate of George Vanderbilt.
As the five walked up the carriage path, Will Longbow reacted to the immense chateau before them, “We sure don’t have anything like this back home!” Looking to the left at his ward, an amber-haired young lady apparently in her mid-twenties, he added, “Your Mother’s official residence is the biggest thing on the islands, and it is certainly small compared to this.” Then to the dark brown-haired beauty to his right, he asked, “You say a regular guy built this place up in these mountains?”
Laughing, Anne Cox replied, “Well, not what I would call a regular guy. George Vanderbilt was the son of one of the wealthiest families in America when this place was built. In the late 1890’s, wealthy families tried to outdo each other in their summer cottages and estates. Except for some billionaires today, most regular folks settle for something a lot less grand than this!”
“Does your great aunt live here now?” Will continued.
“No one lives here now. This whole estate – house and grounds – is a house museum. Aunt Ann stayed here for a while when she was young and is the guardian of a codicil to the original owner’s will that transferred the land as a national park. She still likes to visit, when she can,” was the somewhat guarded reply. “She wanted to talk to our War Correspondent here before he finished his tome on the late unpleasantness down in the Kingdom. She suggested we drop him off here, so she could get to know him better before he finished his book.”
“Finished, that’s a joke” quipped the tall lanky-built Les Thompson. “I have yet to get everything organized. Usually, military history includes what started it all and why the antagonists became antagonists. I still have not figured all of that part out.”
“Well sir, that is why we are here,” Anne chuckled. “I mentioned your background dilemma to Aunt Ann a week ago and she insisted we bring you here, so she could, if I can quote my great aunt, “put the young man on the straight path.’”
“Young man, she calls me. I like this lady already. It’s not often this grey-haired reporter is referred to as a young man. How old is your great aunt?”
“Now sir, you should know not to inquire into a lady’s age,” Anne chided. “She is well over a hundred years old, but her mind is still sharp.”
“Well that makes me a young man, relatively speaking,” replied the reporter with a grin as they approached the scheduling booth at the head of the drive. “How long do you think the wait will be to get in?”
“No wait today,” she said, flashing a laminated pass. Anne directed them toward the carriage house to the right. The young pilot led them through the former stables, now the location for a restaurant and gift shops, and out to a door on the east side of the house.
Showing her pass to the guide at the door, Anne escorted them through a series of rooms that opened out to a broad porch on the back side of the house. The land dropped off and met the forest at a distance. As far as the eye could see, a green carpet of treetops covered the rolling hills of the Blue Ridge. “Not a bad view, don’t you think?”
On the far end of the porch, a white event tent beckoned. An elderly gentleman in a dark suit stood before the tent and returned Anne’s wave. “That’s Jonathan, Aunt Ann’s driver and bodyguard. He has been with her for as long as I can remember.”
“Alex, a little senior to be a bodyguard, isn’t he?” asked the reporter in a low voice. To himself, he wondered why a little old lady needed a bodyguard.
“I wouldn’t try him,” retorted the fourth member of the group, State Senator Alex Roman from upstate South Carolina. “I was feeling my oats once last year when Anne and I came up here to visit Miss Ann. I told her that if she needed a bodyguard, I could recommend one of my Over the Mountain Rangers. Miss Ann told me to take my best shot at her with old Jonathan around. At her request, I drew back my hand and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my backside seeing stars in the bright daylight. Ole Jonathan picked me up as if I was a tot.”
“Telling tall tales again, are you Mr. Roman?” Jonathan greeted them in his heavy Greek accent. “Shame falls on you, sir! Next thing I know, these lovely girls will be fleeing as fast as their running shoes can carry them. You should show some respect to your elders, if not your betters!” The wizened-looking elderly man delivered his reply with a twinkle in his eyes and obvious warmth. Before anyone could react, he grabbed Alex in a bear hug, lifted him off the stones, and pounded him on the back. “We’re glad to see you back safe, boy!”
Turning to Anne, he shook his finger at the willowy dark-haired beauty and the young princess beside her. “You girls have been up in the high country again, I’m told. Dangerous place that high country. Missy, you know it worries the old lady when you go up there with guns.” Pointing out over the mountains in the distance, he continued, “I hear your aim is still as good as when I taught you back in these green woods some years ago. You did some good shooting -- for a girl.”
This earned Jonathan a swift, but gentle poke on the shoulder from the chief test pilot for Cox-Marion. “Miss Ann told me what you did as well,” Jonathan continued unfazed and pointing to Princess Caroline, heir to the throne of the tiny South Atlantic Kingdom island nation. “You must have ice water in your veins. But your Daddy was like that.” Looking at the correspondent he continued, “A man your age should know better than to ride around in one of those flying contraptions with fast young women like these! It can age a man. I should know, trying to keep up with Miss Ann all these years.”
Finally, Jonathan turned his gaze deep into the eyes of Will Longbow. “Boy I hear you are the closest shaver in all of Washington, DC. Don’t think I will sit for you to shave me, though. Your last customer is burning for sure. But here I am chattering away like a bunch of wash women, when Miss Ann is waiting. Patience is not her best virtue.” Jonathan turned, opened a door into the tent, and let the group in. He remained outside, eyes and ears scanning in all directions.
Inside, the group found a well-appointed private retreat. Open on the side toward the distant mountains, the tent provided shade from the warm late spring sun. Reclining in a deck chair was the small, slightly plump frame of an elderly woman, but obviously one that had a mind of her own. Her medium length white hair was in a ponytail pulled through a day-glow orange Cox-Marion baseball cap. When she sensed the company, she grabbed for a cane and started to rise.
