‘It’s looking bad for you, sport.’

‘For God’s sake, let me-’

‘Wait,’ said Vladimir. ‘I think, yes, I think there is something.’ He flicked a knife out of his pocket and cut a slit in the lining of the lid. A creamy white envelope slid out into the body of the case. He stared down at it in a mixture of awe and amazement. Then, slowly and deliberately, he crossed himself.

‘What the hell is it?’

‘Tsarski piriot.’

‘What?’

‘See.’ Vladimir held up the envelope. The front was blank. But when he turned it round, there, clearly visible, embossed on the flap, was the black double-headed eagle of the Romanovs.

THIRTY-EIGHT

The envelope was unsealed. Inside was a single sheet of vellum notepaper. At its top was the same black double-headed eagle clutching an orb and sceptre. Beneath, neatly arranged, was a full set of fingerprints in red ink, left hand, then right. Below the prints, in black ink, someone had written A.N. 4 viii ’09.

‘What exactly is this, sport?’ demanded Brad. He held the sheet of paper up. He had put his gun back in his pocket, but Gennady still had his trained on Eusden.

‘The fingerprints of the Grand Duchess Anastasia, taken aboard the imperial yacht off Cowes on the fourth of August 1909.’ It was true, then, though Eusden could scarcely believe it. The prints were clearly those of a child and the date was right. A.N. was Anastasia Nikolaievna. Nearly a hundred years had passed since Clem had entertained the Tsar’s precocious youngest daughter with a demonstration of the British police’s most recent advance in the science of detection. Eusden could almost see the sunlight sparkling on the wave-tops in Cowes Roads and hear the blue-blooded little girl’s gleeful laugh. Clem had always had a way with children. ‘This is how Scotland Yard keeps a track of those infernal anarchists, Your Highness. First one finger. Then the next.’ ‘They were there for the regatta. The Tsar, the Tsarina and all their children. The King and Queen came down to-’

‘Fuck the King and Queen. You’re serious about this?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And you can get a set of Anna Anderson’s prints to match with these?’

‘Yes.’

‘How soon?’

‘Regina will already have them. She’s in Germany. It’s just a question of-’

‘Phone her.’ Brad tossed Eusden his mobile. ‘Phone her now and get her to come here.’

‘What about Mjollnir?’ asked Vladimir.

‘We agreed terms with them for the letters. This is something else. This, boys, is what’s known as a bonus. And, hell, haven’t we earned one? Make the call, sport.’

‘OK. I’ll try.’

‘Do more than try.’

‘The number’s in my wallet.’

‘Get it out.’

Eusden took his wallet from his jacket and found the piece of paper with Regina’s number written on it. It was unfair to involve her, of course, but he had no choice. This was his only chance of survival. He placed the call. And started praying she would answer.

She did. ‘Hello?’

‘Regina, this is Richard Eusden.’

‘Richard. Hi. I didn’t recognize the number. I tried to call you earlier.’

‘Sorry. Stupidly, I’ve mislaid my phone. I’ve had to borrow one. Where are you?’ There was a blur of sound in the background. He caught the ding-dong of a PA system.

‘Hanover airport. They should be calling my flight to Copenhagen any minute.’

‘You’ve got the 1938 fingerprint record?’

‘You bet. Any news for me your end?’

‘Yes. I have the matching record from 1909, Regina. I have it in front of me.’

‘You’re joshing me.’

‘No. It’s right here.’

‘But…how did you get it?’

‘I’ll explain when we meet. It’s… complicated.’

‘OK. Well, I should be able to make it to your hotel by around three thirty.’

‘Three thirty? That’s only…’ Belatedly, Eusden remembered that Finland was an hour ahead of Germany and Denmark. ‘Actually, Regina, I’m no longer in Copenhagen. I’m in Helsinki.’

‘Helsinki?’

‘Like I said, it’s complicated. Can you join me here?’

‘I… guess I could try to book a connecting flight before I leave.’

‘Meeting here’s much the safer bet. Werner’s sure to come looking for us in Copenhagen sooner or later.’

‘OK. Point taken. I’ll do it.’

‘Call me on this number when you know what time you’ll be arriving. I’ll meet you at the airport.’

‘Will do. Hey, Richard, have you been holding out on me? This has all happened very suddenly.’

‘I’ll tell you the whole story when you get here. See you soon. ’Bye.’

‘Nicely played, sport,’ said Brad as he retrieved his phone. ‘I guess you’ve negotiated yourself a stay of execution.’

‘We should kill him here,’ said Vladimir.

Brad sighed heavily. ‘We don’t know what the Virginian genealogist looks like, Vlad. And she’s expecting Eusden here to meet her. So, we’ll keep him on ice. Time?’

‘Less than an hour till we meet Mjollnir.’

‘OK. One more call, then we head out.’ Brad punched a number into his phone. While he waited for an answer, Eusden wondered queasily what ‘on ice’ actually meant. Then: ‘Bruno? Brad… Yuh… I have something for you. How are you with fingerprints?… Excellento. Haven’t I always said Orson Welles was way out of line with that crack about cuckoo clocks?…Talking of clocks, there’s one ticking on this job. We need you tonight… Helsinki…Yuh. Slip into your thermals before you leave. It’s the Ice Age here… Got you. ETA to follow. Understood… Of course, Bruno, of course. Standard fee. Standard percentage. When have I ever let you down?… OK. Ciao, good buddy.’ He ended the call and shot Eusden a smile. ‘Bruno will give us an authoritative yes or no on whether the prints match. If they do, we’re in business. If not…’ Brad’s smile remained in place just a little too long. Eusden knew they would keep him alive only as long as he was useful to them. And his usefulness was likely to expire once Regina had arrived with the other fingerprint sample. But airports were crowded, public places. There had to be a good chance he could escape once they were there, taking Regina with him. If all else failed, he could probably get himself arrested; Regina too. Until then, there was nothing for it but to do Brad’s bidding in every particular.

‘Let’s get moving.’ Brad pulled out his gun again. ‘Fetch the car, Gennady. Reverse it up to the door and pop the trunk.’ Gennady nodded and lumbered out through the wicket-door, leaving it open behind him. ‘Put the letters back in the case, Vlad.’ As Vladimir started on that, a car engine coughed into life outside. The rear of a silver Mercedes saloon eased into view. The boot sprang open. ‘You’re travelling in the trunk, sport. Can’t risk your Mjollnir buddies spotting you. Climb aboard.’

Eusden had only the briefest glimpse of the industrial wasteland Lund had dumped him in before the pressure of Vladimir’s hand on the back of his head told him to clamber into the boot of the thrumbling Mercedes.

‘Carpet and loads of leg room,’ said Brad, meeting his backward gaze with a smirk. ‘Gennady grew up in Kiev with four brothers in less comfortable and capacious surroundings.’

‘When do I get out of here?’

‘When we need you. Don’t worry. We’ll know where to find you.’ He reached up to close the boot, then stopped. His phone was ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and read out the number of the caller. ‘Means nothing to me. You, sport?’

‘Regina.’

‘You’d better take it.’ He handed Eusden the phone.

‘Regina?’

‘Hi, Richard.’ She sounded breathless. ‘I’ve got to make this quick. I’m on my way to the gate. I’m booked on a flight from Copenhagen to Helsinki that gets in at seven twenty. Finnair six six four.’

‘Six six four at seven twenty. Got it. I’ll see you then.’

‘Likewise. ’Bye.’

Eusden passed the phone meekly back to Brad. ‘Would it do any good to tell you I suffer from claustrophobia?’