Etched onto the lid of the trunk in large gold lettering was Lord Frederick Roberts.
Nika almost leapt for joy. Ordering the heavy trunk to be hauled up to her father’s tent without delay, Nika spun about, climbed as fast as she could out of the hole, and then sprinted to tell her father the good news. She could have screamed when she saw Jen and her mother sitting at a table with her father, drinking lemonade and eating some sandwiches as if they were enjoying a pleasant picnic together. She had grown to loathe the two women and could not wait to deal with them herself.
Two sweat-covered soldiers placed the trunk beside the table and then left.
Romanov stood; his heart began to race in his chest. He almost could not believe that they had actually done it, that he was actually going to lay his hands on the Romanov crown jewels.
Nika, seeing the look on her father’s face, bent down and flipped open the trunk.
Anticipation filled the air. Even Jen and her mother stood and stared inside the blackened trunk.
Carefully, almost reverently, Nika emptied the contents of the trunk onto the table. She placed several items of clothing and smaller jewelry boxes, and then stood up holding a small crown encrusted with sparkling diamonds that looked as new as the day it had been made.
“The consort’s crown,” said Romanov as he took the crown from his daughter’s hands and held it aloft, the sun glittering through the diamonds that covered its surface.
“My God, the stories are true,” said Jen, shaking her head as she watched Romanov stare intently at the glistening crown on his hands. She was surprised to see a tear well up in his eye and then fall slowly down his face.
Nika reached down into the trunk and then placed a massive crown carefully upon the table, closely followed by an imperial scepter and orb.
Romanov delicately placed the consort’s crown down, reached over, and picked up the sovereign’s crown last worn by Czar Nicholas II. His hands were shaking as he held it. He felt something race through his body; it was unlike anything he had ever experienced throughout his life. He thought about it for a moment and realized that it felt like absolute power.
Jen saw the new look in Romanov’s eyes and felt her stomach turn. He had what he wanted and now their lives were his to take. Turning to look over at her mother, Jen felt sad that she was going to die because of her. She had not told her mother about talking to Mitchell last night in case some of Romanov’s thugs had decided to interrogate them. The shooting had gone on for some time and Jen feared that Mitchell had been hurt, but after seeing how pissed Teplov had become, she knew that he had gotten away.
Romanov took a deep breath and then respectfully placed the crown back onto the table. Looking over at Nika, he gave orders for them all to leave within the hour. Instantly, the camp turned into a beehive of activity as equipment was stowed away and preparations were made to depart. The site was going to be abandoned to the Mauritanian army as it was of no further use to Dmitry Romanov. He had in his possession the instruments that he needed to bring his family to the throne and there was nothing and no one to stop him now.
28
A young barefoot boy with black curly hair walked beside a couple of gaunt-looking goats, gently steering them with a narrow stick while singing softly to himself as he headed home. He paid no heed to the world around him as the sun started to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with a pinkish hue. An odd sound in the distance made the boy stop in his tracks. Raising a hand to his eyes, he peered up into the sky. Looking around, the boy saw nothing, when suddenly the noise seemed to fill the very air around him. Yelling in fright, the boy threw himself to the sandy ground, covering his head with his hands, just as a helicopter seemed to appear out of the sun. It flew straight over him, missing him by mere meters. The startled goats bleated and darted for their lives back out into the desert, fleeing from the terrifying noise.
Yuri Uvarov checked his hand-held GPS one last time. He then banked the helicopter over and aimed it towards a long-abandoned military airstrip a few kilometers north of the Romanov oil refinery, where he expected Mitchell and the rest of the team to rendezvous with him. A minute later, Yuri saw a couple of parked vehicles with people milling about outside of a derelict hangar. Landing the helicopter on the open tarmac, Yuri switched off the engines and then jumped out. He was surprised to see Fahimah, Sam, and Cardinal standing there without Jackson and Mitchell.
A horn sounded from behind one of the battered old hangars. A few seconds later, Mitchell and Jackson turned the corner in a decrepit-looking sand-colored Toyota truck that looked like it had four mismatched tires on it while a cloud of steam poured from its over-heated engine. With a loud squeal from its worn brakes, the truck came to a shuddering halt beside the helicopter.
“Anybody order a pizza?” said Jackson as he got out of the driver’s-side door.
With a grin on his face, Mitchell climbed out the window on his side, as the door had long since stopped working. Jumping down to the hot tarmac, Mitchell walked over and filled in his compatriots how he and Jackson had eluded several army patrols until they came across a grizzled old farmer trying to fix a flat on his truck. Bartering with the man, they traded away the borrowed AKs and some US currency for the jeep, a deal the man seemed to think was in his favor. Driving mainly cross-country to avoid the police and the army, Mitchell was amazed that their ride had made it this far.
Seeing Yuri standing there with his greasy black hair tied in a ponytail and a cigar hanging from his mouth, Mitchell walked over and shook his hand. With a smile, Yuri opened the passenger door of the helicopter and pulled out several long wooden boxes and a dirty green duffle bag full of the equipment that Mitchell had earlier asked him to get his hands on.
“I hope whoever is paying for all of this has deep pockets. This stuff cost me a fortune. I had to cash in several favors to get everything,” complained Yuri, as he placed another duffle bag, this one full of clothing, onto the hot, dusty ground.
“Don’t worry, Yuri. You’ll get your precious money back,” said Mitchell. “Besides, just think about it as money well spent.”
The unhappy look on Yuri’s unshaven face said he did not agree, but he knew he could trust his friends and would see his substantial investment returned with interest.
Yuri dug around inside the chopper until he found a map of Romanov’s refinery. He handed it to Mitchell, who studied it for a few seconds before laying it out on the hood of Sam’s jeep. Calling his friends over, Mitchell quickly outlined his plan and then, as he always did, he asked his team for feedback. Aside from Jackson saying he would send flowers to Mitchell’s funeral, no one offered any changes. Everyone knew it was a plan made in haste, but sometimes simple was better when dealing with the unknown.
Yuri’s sat-phone rang. Answering it, he chatted away in Russian for a few seconds before hanging up. “My contact says that Romanov is on his way back to the refinery. Just so you know, my dear Ryan, that call just cost me ten grand in hard US currency,” whined Yuri.
“Yuri, for God’s sake will you give it a rest,” said Cardinal. “My great-grandfather’s family emigrated from Scotland. I’m supposed to be the cheap one, not you.”
“You are cheap,” threw in Sam. “I’ve had many a dinner with you, and I can say without a doubt that you are tight with your money.”
A chuckle spread through the group at Cardinal’s expense.
“Ok, folks, it’ll be dark soon. Stay alert out there and let’s all RV back here safely in a couple of hours’ time,” said Mitchell with a determined look on his face, as he slapped a fresh magazine into his 9mm Berretta and then placed it into his shoulder holster.