“Alexei,” said Pekkala, as he tried to catch his breath.

Alexei turned. Nestled in his hands was a Russian army revolver.

“Where did you get that?”

“Do you think I would go about unarmed?”

“Please put it down,” said Pekkala.

“It appears I have run out of options.”

“I know where it is,” said Pekkala. Seeing Alexei alone like this, Pekkala wondered if the Tsarevich was contemplating suicide.

“Where what is?”

“The treasure. You were right. Your father did tell me.”

Alexei narrowed his eyes. “You mean you lied to me?”

“He left a message in this book. The message was hidden. I didn’t realize it was there until now.”

Slowly, Alexei rose to his feet. He put the gun in his pocket. “Well, where is it?”

“Close. I will take you straight to it.”

“Just tell me,” said Alexei. “That’s all I need.”

“It’s important that I take you there myself. I will explain on the way.”

“All right,” said Alexei, “but let’s not waste any more time.”

“We will go at once,” said Pekkala.

They met Kirov at the bottom of the stairs.

Pekkala explained what they were doing.

“It was in the book all along?” asked Kirov.

“I never would have found it if you hadn’t spotted the holes.”

Kirov looked bewildered. “And you say it is close by?” Pekkala nodded.

“I’ll get the car ready,” said Kirov.

“No,” Alexei told him. “Pekkala is the only one I trust. I promise that as soon as we get back, I will drive with you to Moscow.”

“Are you sure about this?” asked Kirov.

“Yes,” replied Pekkala. “Someone should stay here in case the doctor calls about Anton. We’ll be back in an hour or so.” He handed the book to Kirov. “Look after this,” he said.

46

“WHY WON’T YOU TELL ME WHERE WE ARE GOING?” ASKED ALEXEI, as the Emka raced beyond the outskirts of Sverdlovsk.

“I will when we get there,” replied Pekkala.

Alexei smiled. “All right, Pekkala. You just lead the way. I have waited a long time for this. I can wait a few minutes more. Of course, you will not go away empty-handed. There will be something in it for you, too.”

“You can keep it, Excellency,” Pekkala replied. “As far as I’m concerned, your father’s treasure stands for everything that got him killed.”

Alexei held up his hands and laughed. “Whatever you say, Pekkala!”

The Emka turned off the Moscow Highway, and headed down a potholed dirt track, tires splashing through muddy water. A minute later, Pekkala swung the car off the dirt track and into a field of tall grass. The clearing was surrounded by dense woods. At the far end, a crooked chimney rose from a dilapidated building. The Emka rolled across the field. At last, they came to a stop and Pekkala cut the engine. “We’re here,” he said. “We’ll need to walk the last-”

“But that’s the old mine over there,” said Alexei. “That’s where the bodies were dumped.”

Pekkala left the car. “Come with me,” he said.

Alexei got out and slammed the Emka’s door. “This is no joke, Pekkala! You promised me that gold.”

Pekkala walked to the edge of the mine shaft and stared down into the darkness. “The treasure is not gold.”

“What?” Alexei stood back from the mouth of the pit, unwilling to get near the edge.

“It’s diamonds,” said Pekkala, “and rubies and pearls. The Tsar had them sewn into specially made clothes. I couldn’t tell from the message how much there is or who was wearing them. Probably your parents and your elder sisters. Obviously, with your sickness, he would not have expected you to carry such an extra weight, and the less you knew about it, the safer you would be. I am telling you this now, Alexei, because I did not want to upset you. The bodies are still here. That is where we’ll find the treasure.”

“Gems?” Alexei appeared to be in shock.

“Yes,” replied Pekkala, “more than most people could even imagine.”

Alexei nodded. “All right, Pekkala, I believe you. But I’m afraid to go down in that mine.”

“I understand,” said Pekkala. “I’ll go by myself.” He brought out the towing rope, and fastened one end to the bumper of the Emka. Then he threw the heavy coil into the darkness. The rope shushed through the air as it uncoiled. Far below, there was a slap as it struck the ground. Then he fetched Anton’s flashlight from the glove compartment and the leather satchel he had brought with him from the forest of Krasnagolyana. “I’ll put the treasure in here,” he explained. “I may need to send parts of it up to you separately. I’m not sure I can climb this rope and carry it all at the same time.” He turned on the flashlight, unsure if it would even work. As light splashed down into the mine shaft, Pekkala sighed with relief that Kirov had remembered to replace the batteries.

Standing at the edge of the pit, Pekkala hesitated. Fear spread like wings inside his chest. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Alexei.

“You’ll need to lift the rope from the ground. Otherwise, it will drag against the edge of the mine shaft and I won’t be able to get a grip on it as I go over the side. Once I’m on the way down, I can handle it myself.”

Alexei took up the rope. “Like this?” he asked.

“The rope is still too low.”

Alexei closed the gap between them, his hands tight on the rough brown hemp, lifting it as he moved.

“You’ll have to come closer,” said Pekkala, “just until I can get my feet against the wall of the mine shaft. Then I’ll be fine.”

Now they were only an arm’s length apart, their hands almost touching.

Pekkala glanced into Alexei’s face. “Almost there,” he said.

Alexei smiled. His face had turned red from the effort of lifting the heavy rope. “I won’t forget this,” he promised.

Just as Pekkala was ready to lower himself over the side, he noticed the jagged white line of an old scar on Alexei’s forehead. He stared at it in confusion. A wound like that would probably have killed a hemophiliac. And then, like a ghostly image sliding over the features of Alexei, Pekkala glimpsed a different person. He was transported back many years, to a frigid day in Petrograd. He was on a bridge, overlooking the Neva River. Standing before him was Grodek, his face filled with terror at the thought of jumping from the bridge. As Grodek tried to dash past, Pekkala brought the barrel of the Webley down on his head. Grodek sprawled on the slush-covered ground, his forehead gashed by the front sight of the pistol. It was that same wound, the purple centipede crawling up into his hairline, which he had refused to cover up with bandages throughout the trial. The scar had faded so that it was almost invisible. Only now, as the skin around it flushed from exertion, did the old wound reappear.

“Grodek,” whispered Pekkala.

“It’s too late, Pekkala. You should have listened to your friends. But you wanted too much to believe.”

“What have you done with him?” stammered Pekkala. “What have you done with Alexei?”

“The same thing I did to the others,” Grodek replied. Then he let go of the rope.

Still attached to the bumper, the hemp cord snapped down. The shock almost tore it from Pekkala’s hands. He staggered backwards, desperate to keep his balance. But he was already too far out over the mine shaft. He toppled backwards. With the rope still in his grasp, he slid down, palms burning, kicking with his feet at the walls of the mine shaft, air rushing past him. Then his foot caught against a lip of stone. He clenched his hands around the rope. The skin of his palms had torn open, cauterized by the heat of holding on, but his grip held. With a jarring twist of his spine, everything stopped. Pekkala swung out and then back, his body slamming against the stone. He struggled to catch his breath. Wheezing, he lifted his knee, trying to gain a secure foothold. Just when he thought he had done this, his shoe came off. As he began to fall again, the weight of his body tore into his shoulder blades. He cried out in pain. His hands felt as if they had been held against a flame. This time he let go of the rope. He tumbled into the darkness, legs kicking. Then the blackness took shape, rushing up to meet him. He landed heavily, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Unable to breathe, he rolled, hands clawing in the dirt, mouth open and gasping for the air that would not come. As his consciousness faded, he curled over, forehead touching the ground, and in that arching of his body, his lungs released. He sucked in a mouthful of air filled with the stench of decay.