They travelled a few miles on the Rublovka highway, and as they drew near the village of Razdory, Fyodor began to point out palaces, mansions, and country residences dotting the landscape. Only dim lights in the distance betrayed their presence, as they were mostly hidden away from the highway, surrounded by forests and high walls, according to Fyodor’s explanations. Many of Moscow’s elite lived around this area, and Fyodor said that villagers who refused to sell their lands had received death threats.
“Hey, check that out,” Fyodor said. “A Lambo—”
His words were muted by the vroom of a Lamborghini passing them at an insane speed. The yellow glow of the supercar vanished in the night just as quick as it had appeared.
“Wow,” was the only word that came out of Justin’s mouth.
“I think it was an Aventador Roadster. I’ve never seen one before,” said Fyodor.
A Maserati convertible passed them, and Justin’s eyes followed it.
“The closer we get, the more expensive cars we’ll see,” Fyodor said. “Romanov’s palace is in Zhukovka, home of the richest of the rich.”
Justin nodded. “Let’s check with your partner.”
Fyodor called his partner, Nikolai, on his cellphone. Nikolai was driving about one hundred yards behind them, to make sure they were not being followed. His Porsche SUV would also serve as their backup gateway car in case things did not go according to plan.
“He’s good,” Fyodor said. “I told him we’re making a right turn about here.”
Fyodor turned the steering wheel, and the Audi glided into a narrow road, barely wide enough for two cars. A thick wall of pines sheltered from their view everything on both sides of the road. The pavement was new, resulting in a smooth ride. The Audi’s headlights shone on a silver Bentley cruising along at about forty miles.
“He’s probably going to the same place.” Justin pointed at the Bentley.
“Most likely,” Fyodor said.
The Bentley slowed down, then cut to the left.
“Yes, he’s going to Romanov’s,” Justin said.
He glanced at the rearview mirror. Nikolai’s Porsche had fallen behind. He was going to hide in the woods until it was time to call him or until he saw them drive away.
The Audi made the turn, and they saw the Bentley again. It had stopped in front of a large wrought-iron gate. A man in a navy blue uniform and a cap was checking the car with a small flashlight. He had a notepad in his left hand. The guest list? Another man stood in a small watch post by the gate, observing the operation. He held a submachine gun in his hands.
Justin’s stomach tightened, but his face was relaxed. It was a simple checkpoint.
“There should be no problem,” Fyodor said.
Carrie nodded, then leaned over Justin’s shoulder. “I’ve got the man with the sub,” she whispered.
Her left hand held a MP-443 pistol. She flashed it to Justin for a second, then hid it under her seat.
Justin nodded.
The guard finished with the Bentley and gestured to Fyodor to move forward.
“Here we go,” Fyodor said.
He spoke softly to the guard and showed them the two passports of Justin and Carrie. The guard flashed his light in their faces and kept it a bit longer than necessary on Carrie’s. Then he checked their names against his notepad. He nodded to the man inside the watch post. The gate began to swing open toward the inside. The guard handed the passports back to Fyodor and gestured for them to move forward.
Justin’s breathing relaxed. He exchanged a glance with Carrie. After they had left the gate behind, she handed Fyodor her pistol.
Fyodor said, “Hopefully, we won’t need guns.”
He put her pistol in the glove compartment.
Justin doubted his words, but did not say anything. “Here’s mine,” he handed Fyodor his MP-443.
They were not sure if Romanov had guards who would search every guest or if he had installed metal detectors at his palace entrances, but they were not willing to risk it. After all, Justin was here to simply have a talk with Romanov.
The Audi rounded a couple of curves, and the splendor of a medieval-style palace opened up before their eyes. It was built of rustic-looking stones, with numerous towers, balconies and turrets, and it had two long, stretched out wings. A lot of work had gone into creating elaborate decorations on the walls and along the arched windows. Large sconces lit up most of the windows and the two large entrances.
“Wow, the pictures didn’t show half its beauty,” said Carrie.
“Which entrance?” asked Justin.
“That one,” replied Fyodor.
He pointed to the one closer to them. Seven or eight supercars were parked along the wide driveway that circled a large, brightly-lit water fountain. Fyodor parked next to a Ferrari Enzo, which made their Audi look like a poor man’s car.
“There’s the welcome team,” Fyodor said, arranging his rearview mirror. “Four guards at the entrance.”
“If they don’t recognize me, the hardest part is over,” Justin replied.
He stepped out and fixed his tie. Carrie came over to him and hung on to his left arm.
“Good luck,” said Fyodor.
“Thanks. OK, wife, let’s go enjoy some champagne,” Justin said with a grin.
The temperature had dropped to freezing, and their breath formed small clouds in front of their faces. They crossed the distance in measured steps and walked on the red carpet leading up the stairs. The guards nodded at Justin, but he did not return their greeting. Servants were invisible to a snob billionaire. Less face time also meant they were less likely to recognize him if they had ever seen him or his photo.
A couple of steps inside the entrance, two gorgeous brunettes in elegant red dresses offered to take their coats. Justin and Carrie obliged, then walked through a huge rotunda. About twenty people were chatting with one another in hushed voices. Justin quickly scanned their faces. Romanov was not in the crowd. A grand piano was to the left, where someone was playing a famous classic piece Justin recognized, but could not remember its name. A waitress with a pretty face and long golden hair offered them champagne, and they picked up glasses, but did not drink from them.
“All right, Romanov’s office should be on the second floor.” Justin pointed casually with his hand toward his left. “Maybe he’s there.” He gestured with his head toward a set of grand stairs.
“I’ll be here on guard,” she replied with a smile. Then she reached over and whispered in his ear, “A man at my two o’clock is checking us out very thoroughly. One of Romanov’s men.”
Justin nodded. “Good to know. He’s the one right by the stairs?”
Carrie burst into a quiet laughter and tapped Justin on his arm. “Yes, that one. I’ll distract him.”
“Great.”
They split up. Justin struck a conversation with a couple who looked like they were in their mid-fifties. He introduced himself as an oil businessman from Australia and an old friend of Romanov. They were real estate moguls who had sold most of the properties in Zhukovka and the surrounding areas. Justin feigned interest in their stories, while following Carrie out of the corner of his eye.
She took a sip from her champagne glass and began to look for a waitress. One was right by the piano, but she overlooked her. She strutted toward the guard and began talking to him. Justin could not hear her words, but she was moving her arms and body, indicating something was wrong about the champagne and making a disapproving face. The guard tried to get the waitress’s attention with hand gestures and calm Carrie at the same time. It was not working, so he walked along with Carrie, away from his position.
Justin seized the moment. He quickly excused himself, and climbed up the stairs. The palace blueprints were vivid in his memory. He turned left, moving toward the west wing. Impressive paintings covered the walls. Magnificent marble replicas of famous Roman and Greek statues stood on equally stunning pedestals. A plush red carpet covered the middle of the marble floor, silencing his rapid footsteps.