A Matter of Honor

“But does it belong to the Russian people?” asked Romanov, still hopeful of some reward for all his trouble.

“No, Comrade Major,” said the researcher emphatically. “It belongs to the Munich Gallery, from where it has been missing since the day Hitler was appointed Reichschancellor.”

Herr Bischoff scribbled a note on a piece of paper in front of him. At least one bank in Munich was going to be happy to do business with him in the future.

Romanov reluctantly handed back the icon to Herr Bischoff, only just managing to say, “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” said Herr Bischoff imperturbably, replacing the icon in the box and turning his key in his lock. His son completed the same routine with his own key and then departed with the unclaimed treasure. Romanov rose, as he considered nothing more could be gained from the meeting—although he believed he had discovered Goering’s alias, or one of them.

“I wonder if I might be permitted to have a word with you in private, Herr Romanov?” asked the elderly banker.

“Of course.”

“It is rather a delicate matter I wish to put to you,” said Herr Bischoff, “so I thought you might prefer your associate to leave us.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Romanov, unable to think of anything Bischoff might have to say that he wouldn’t later need to discuss with Petrova.

“As you wish,” said Bischoff. “I am curious to discover whether there was any other reason behind your request to see me.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Romanov.

“I felt perhaps I knew the real reason you had selected this bank in particular to start your inquiry.”

“I didn’t select you,” said Romanov. “You were only one of—” he stopped himself.

“I see,” said Bischoff, himself now looking somewhat bemused. “Then may I be permitted to ask you a few questions?”

“Yes, if you must,” said Romanov, now impatient to get away.

“You are Alexander Petrovich Romanov?”

“You must already believe that or we would not have proceeded this far.”

“The only son of Petr Nikolayevich Romanov?”

“Yes.”

“And grandson of Count Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov?”

“Is this to be a history lesson on my family tree?” asked Romanov, making his irritation visible.

“No, I just wanted to be sure of my facts, as I am even more convinced it would be wise for your associate to leave us for a moment,” the old man diffidently suggested.

“Certainly not,” said Romanov. “In the Soviet Union we are all equal,” he added pompously.

“Yes, of course,” said Bischoff, glancing quickly at Anna before continuing. “Did your father die in 1948?”

“Yes. He did,” said Romanov, beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“And you are the only surviving child?”

“I am,” confirmed Romanov proudly.

“In which case this bank is in possession …” Bischoff hesitated as a file was put in front of him by one of the men in gray. He placed a pair of gold, half-moon spectacles on his nose, taking as long as he could over the little exercise.

“Don’t say anything more,” said Romanov quietly.

Bischoff looked up. “I’m sorry, but I was given every reason to believe your visit had been planned.”