During his first year as a student, Romanov had diligently continued with his gymnastics and even gone on to represent the State side until the university coach had written in bold letters across one of his reports, “This student is too tall to be considered for senior Olympic competition.” Romanov heeded the coach’s advice and took up judo. Within two years, he had been selected for the 1958 Eastern Bloc games in Budapest, and within a further two years found that other competitors preferred not to be drawn against him on his inevitable route to the final. After his victory at the Second Soviet Games in Moscow the Western press crudely described him as “The Axe.” Those who were already planning his long-term future felt it prudent not to enter him for the Olympics.
Once Romanov had completed his fifth year at the university and obtained his diploma (with distinction) he remained in Moscow and joined the diplomatic service.
Zaborski had now reached the point in the file at which he had first come across the self-confident young man. Each year the KGB was able to choose for assignment from the diplomatic service any person it considered to be of exceptional talent. Romanov was an obvious candidate. Zaborski’s rule, however, was not to enlist anyone who didn’t consider the KGB to be the elite. Unwilling candidates never made good operatives and sometimes even ended up working for the other side. Romanov showed no such doubt. He had always wanted to be an officer of the KGB. During the next six years he carried out tours at Soviet embassies in Paris, London, Prague, and Lagos. By the time he had returned to Moscow to join the headquarters staff he was a sophisticated operative who was as comfortable at an ambassadorial cocktail party as he was in the gymnasium.
Zaborski began to read some of the comments he himself had added to the report during the last four years—in particular how much Romanov had changed during his time on the Chairman’s personal staff. As an operative he had reached the rank of major, having served successfully in the field before being appointed head of a department. Two red dots—indicating successful missions—were placed by his name: a defecting violinist attempting to leave Prague and a general who had thought he was going to be the next head of a small African state. What impressed Zaborski most about his protégé’s efforts was that the Western press thought the Czechs were responsible for the first and the Americans for the second. Romanov’s most significant achievement, however, had been the recruitment of an agent from the British Foreign Office, whose parallel rise had only assisted Romanov’s career. Romanov’s appointment as head of a department had surprised no one, Romanov included, although it soon became clear to Zaborski that he missed the raw excitement of fieldwork.
The Chairman turned to the last page, a character assessment, in which the majority of contributors were in accord: ambitious, sophisticated, ruthless, arrogant but not always reliable were the words that appeared with regularity in almost every summation.
There was an assertive rap on the door. Zaborski closed the file and pressed a button under his desk. The doors clicked open to allow Alexander Petrovich Romanov to enter the room.
“Good morning, Comrade Chairman,” said the elegant young man who now stood at attention in front of him. Zaborski looked up and felt a little envy that the gods had bestowed so much on one so young. Still, it was he who understood how to use such a man to the State’s best advantage.
He continued to stare into those clear blue eyes and considered that if Romanov had been born in Hollywood he would not have found it hard to make a living. His suit looked as if it had been tailored in Savile Row—and probably had been. Zaborski chose to ignore such irregularities although he was tempted to ask the young man where he had his shirts made.
“You called for me,” said Romanov.
The Chairman nodded. “I have just returned from the Kremlin,” he said. “The General Secretary has entrusted us with a particularly sensitive project of great importance to the State.” Zaborski paused. “So sensitive in fact that you will report only to me. You can hand-select your own team, and no resources will be denied you.”
“I am honored,” said Romanov, sounding unusually sincere.
“You will be,” replied the Chairman, “if you succeed in discovering the whereabouts of the Czar’s icon.”
“But I thought …” began Romanov.
CHAPTER FOUR
ADAM WALKED OVER to the side of his bed and removed from the bookshelf the Bible his mother had given him as a Confirmation present. As he opened it a layer of dust rose from the top of the gold leaf-edged pages. He placed the envelope in Revelations and returned the Bible to the shelf.
Adam strolled through to the kitchen, fried himself an egg and warmed up the other half of the previous day’s tinned beans. He placed the unwholesome meal on the kitchen table, unable to put out of his mind the one Lawrence and Carolyn must now be enjoying at the new Italian restaurant. After Adam had finished and cleared his plate away, he returned to his room and lay on the bed thinking. Would the contents of the faded envelope finally prove his father’s innocence?
When the grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten times, Adam lifted his long legs over the end of the bed and pulled the Bible back out of the bookshelf. With some apprehension Adam removed the envelope. Next, he switched on the reading light by the side of the small writing desk, unfolded the two pieces of paper, and placed them in front of him.
One appeared to be a personal letter from Goering to Adam’s father, while the other had the look of an older, more official document. Adam placed this second document to one side and began to go over the letter line by line. It didn’t help.
He tore a blank piece of paper from a notepad that he found on Lawrence’s desk and started to copy down the text of Goering’s letter. He left out only the greeting and what he assumed to be a valediction, hochachlungsvoll, followed by the Reichsmarschall’s large, bold signature. He checked over the copy carefully before replacing the original back in its faded envelope. He had just begun the same process with the official document, using a separate sheet of paper, when he heard a key turning, followed by voices at the front door. Both Lawrence and Carolyn sounded as if they had drunk more than the promised bottle of wine, and Carolyn’s voice in particular had ascended into little more than a series of high-pitched giggles.
Adam sighed and switched off the light by the side of the desk so they wouldn’t know he was still awake. In the darkness he became more sensitive to their every sound. One of them headed toward the kitchen, because he heard the refrigerator door squelch close and, a few seconds later, the sound of a cork being extracted—he presumed from his last bottle of white wine, as they were unlikely to be so drunk they had started on the vinegar.
Reluctantly he rose from his chair and, circling his arms in front of him, he made his way back to bed. He touched the corner of the bedstead and quietly lowered himself onto the mattress, then waited impatiently for Lawrence’s bedroom door to close.
He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he remembered was the tick
of the hall clock. Adam licked his fingers and rubbed them over his eyes as he tried to get accustomed to the dark. He checked the little luminous dial on his alarm clock: ten past three. He eased himself off the bed gingerly, feeling more than a little crumpled and weary. Slowly he groped his way back toward the desk, banging his knee on the corner of a chest of drawers during his travels. He couldn’t stop himself cursing. He fumbled for the light switch, and when the bulb first glowed it made him blink several times. The faded envelope looked so insignificant—and perhaps it was. The official document was still laid out on the center of the table alongside the first few lines of his handwritten duplicate.
Adam yawned as he began to study the words once more. The document was not as simple to copy out as the letter had been, because this time the hand was spidery and cramped, as if the writer had considered paper an expensive commodity. Adam left out the address on the top right-hand corner and reversed the eight-digit number underlined at the head of the text. Otherwise he ended up with a faithful transcript of the original.
The work was painstaking and took a surprisingly long time. He wrote out each word in block capitals, and when he wasn’t certain of the spelling he put down the possible alternative letters below; he wanted to be sure of any translation the first time.
“My, you do work late,” whispered a voice from behind him.
Adam spun round, feeling like a burglar who had been caught with his hands on the family silver.
“You needn’t look so nervous. It’s only me,” said Carolyn, standing by the bedroom door.
Adam stared up at the tall blonde who was even more attractive clad only in Lawrence’s large unbuttoned pajamas and floppy slippers than she had been fully dressed. Her long, fair hair now dropped untidily over her shoulders, and he began to understand what Lawrence had meant when he had once described her as someone who could turn a matchstick into a Cuban cigar.
“The bathroom is at the end of the corridor,” said Adam, a little feebly.