Read Online the Romanov Prophecy (2004) by Steve Berry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve Berry
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order by a delegate selected yesterday to act as chair. The man cleared his throat and started reading from a prepared statement.
“On July 16, 1918, our most noble tsar, Nicholas II, and all the heirs of his body were taken from this life. Our mandate is to rectify the ensuing years and restore to this nation its tsar. The people have selected this commission to choose the person who will rule this country. That decision is not without precedent. Another group of men met here, in this same room, in 1613 and chose the first Romanov ruler, Mikhail. His issue ruled this nation until the second decade of the twentieth century. We have gathered here to right the wrong that was done at that time.
“Last evening we took prayer with Adrian, Patriarch of All Russia. He called upon God to guide us in this endeavor. I state to all listening that this commission will be conducted in a fair, open, and courteous manner. Debate will be encouraged, as only with discussion can truth be determined. Now let all who may have business before us draw near and be heard.”
Lord patiently watched the entire morning session. The time was consumed with introductory remarks, parliamentary matters, and agenda setting. The delegates agreed that an initial list of candidates would be presented the next day, with a representative personally offering a candidate for consideration. A period of three days was approved for further nominations and debate. On the fourth day a vote would be taken to narrow the list down to three. Another round of intense debate would occur, and then a final selection would be made two days later. Unanimity would only be required on the last vote, as the national referendum mandated. All other votes would be by simple majority. If no candidate was selected after this six-day process, then the whole procedure would start again. But there seemed a general consensus that, for the sake of national confidence, every effort would be made to select an acceptable person on the first attempt.
Shortly before the noon break, Lord and Hayes retreated from the Great Hall into the Sacred Vestibule. Hayes led him into one of the far portals, where the bushy-headed driver from that morning waited.
“Miles, this is Ilya Zivon. He’ll be your bodyguard when you leave the Kremlin.”
He studied the sphinxlike Russian, an icy glint radiating back from a vacant face. The man’s neck was as broad as his jaw, and Lord was comforted by an apparent hard, athletic physique.
“Ilya will look after you. He comes highly recommended. He’s ex-military and knows his way around this town.”
“I appreciate this, Taylor. I really do.”
Hayes smiled and glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly twelve and you need to get to the briefing. I’ll handle things here. But I’ll be at the hotel before you start.” Hayes turned to Zivon. “You keep an eye on this fellow, just like we discussed.”
NINE
12:30 PM
Lord entered the Volkhov’s conference room. The windowless rectangle was filled with three dozen men and women, all dressed in conservative attire. Waiters were just finishing serving drinks. The warm air, like the rest of the hotel, carried the scent of an ashtray. Ilya Zivon waited outside, just beyond the double doors leading to the hotel lobby. Lord felt better knowing the burly Russian was nearby.
The faces before him were etched with concern. He knew their predicament. They’d been encouraged to invest in the reemerging Russia by an anxious Washington, and the lure of fresh markets had been too tempting to resist. But nearly constant political instability, a daily threat from the
mafiya,
and protection payments that were sapping away profits had turned a rosy investment opportunity into a nightmare. The ones here were the major American players in the new Russia: transportation, construction, soft drinks, mining, oil, communications, computers, fast food, heavy equipment, and banking. Pridgen & Woodworth had been
“On July 16, 1918, our most noble tsar, Nicholas II, and all the heirs of his body were taken from this life. Our mandate is to rectify the ensuing years and restore to this nation its tsar. The people have selected this commission to choose the person who will rule this country. That decision is not without precedent. Another group of men met here, in this same room, in 1613 and chose the first Romanov ruler, Mikhail. His issue ruled this nation until the second decade of the twentieth century. We have gathered here to right the wrong that was done at that time.
“Last evening we took prayer with Adrian, Patriarch of All Russia. He called upon God to guide us in this endeavor. I state to all listening that this commission will be conducted in a fair, open, and courteous manner. Debate will be encouraged, as only with discussion can truth be determined. Now let all who may have business before us draw near and be heard.”
Lord patiently watched the entire morning session. The time was consumed with introductory remarks, parliamentary matters, and agenda setting. The delegates agreed that an initial list of candidates would be presented the next day, with a representative personally offering a candidate for consideration. A period of three days was approved for further nominations and debate. On the fourth day a vote would be taken to narrow the list down to three. Another round of intense debate would occur, and then a final selection would be made two days later. Unanimity would only be required on the last vote, as the national referendum mandated. All other votes would be by simple majority. If no candidate was selected after this six-day process, then the whole procedure would start again. But there seemed a general consensus that, for the sake of national confidence, every effort would be made to select an acceptable person on the first attempt.
Shortly before the noon break, Lord and Hayes retreated from the Great Hall into the Sacred Vestibule. Hayes led him into one of the far portals, where the bushy-headed driver from that morning waited.
“Miles, this is Ilya Zivon. He’ll be your bodyguard when you leave the Kremlin.”
He studied the sphinxlike Russian, an icy glint radiating back from a vacant face. The man’s neck was as broad as his jaw, and Lord was comforted by an apparent hard, athletic physique.
“Ilya will look after you. He comes highly recommended. He’s ex-military and knows his way around this town.”
“I appreciate this, Taylor. I really do.”
Hayes smiled and glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly twelve and you need to get to the briefing. I’ll handle things here. But I’ll be at the hotel before you start.” Hayes turned to Zivon. “You keep an eye on this fellow, just like we discussed.”
NINE
12:30 PM
Lord entered the Volkhov’s conference room. The windowless rectangle was filled with three dozen men and women, all dressed in conservative attire. Waiters were just finishing serving drinks. The warm air, like the rest of the hotel, carried the scent of an ashtray. Ilya Zivon waited outside, just beyond the double doors leading to the hotel lobby. Lord felt better knowing the burly Russian was nearby.
The faces before him were etched with concern. He knew their predicament. They’d been encouraged to invest in the reemerging Russia by an anxious Washington, and the lure of fresh markets had been too tempting to resist. But nearly constant political instability, a daily threat from the
mafiya,
and protection payments that were sapping away profits had turned a rosy investment opportunity into a nightmare. The ones here were the major American players in the new Russia: transportation, construction, soft drinks, mining, oil, communications, computers, fast food, heavy equipment, and banking. Pridgen & Woodworth had been
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