The Hunters

jawline and high cheekbones. Good, Slavic stock. Impressive mental attitude: deductive, alert to the thoughts of veterans and colleagues, but not necessarily seduced by the collective weight of their opinions. Borovsky was curious to know whether she joined the police because of the reform bill or in spite of it.

He turned toward his old friend. ‘Is Sergeant Rusinko still assigned to this case?’

Vargunin was taken slightly aback. ‘Well, the case hasn’t been officially closed as of yet.’ His emphasis on the word ‘officially’ told both of them that he wanted it to be. ‘So, yes. Technically, she is still assigned to it.’

‘Good,’ Borovsky said with a nod. Then he looked at Anna as if his old friend no longer existed. ‘Show me Marko Kadurik’s body, please.’

31

Once everyone had steadied themselves, Cobb motioned for Jasmine to take the floor. He stepped to the side, leaned against the workstation, and crossed his arms in anticipation. He was pleased to note that even Garcia was looking at Jasmine, not his computer screen.

‘We got what wrong?’ Garcia demanded.

‘Everything,’ she said as she started to pace back and forth in the center of the train compartment. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I mean, it’s so obvious. Who knows? Maybe I was distracted by the violence, or maybe I’ve been worried about Andrei, I’m really not sure now, but this is something I should have focused on much earlier-’

‘Jasmine!’ Cobb blurted to stop her rambling.

She glanced at him, frazzled.

He flashed a warm smile to calm her down. ‘Relax. Just relax. Don’t worry about the past. Just take a deep breath, and tell us what you figured out.’

She did as she was told and took a deep breath.

He gave her a moment. ‘Better?’

She nodded. ‘Better.’

He smiled again. ‘Good. The floor’s still yours.’

She paused for a second to gather her thoughts. ‘As I was saying, we’ve been looking at things all wrong. Instead of focusing on who protected the treasure, we should have been trying to figure out who moved the treasure to begin with. And if you think about it, history tells us that there’s only one person who could have moved that much gold out of Moscow at that time.’

‘Mon Dieu!‘ Papineau gasped. With his knowledge of European history, he got her reference before the rest of the team.

‘Think about it!’ Jasmine commanded in her excited, sincere way. ‘The war was at its most oppressive point, the enemy was at the gates, everyone was starving and freezing. Who was the one person who could lead a train out of Moscow at that time? Who was the one person who could get through every station and every checkpoint with unquestioned authority?’

Garcia, McNutt, and Sarah had no clue. They looked like the Breakfast Club — a geek, a jock, and a prom queen — caught in the headlights of a pop quiz.

Shaking his head, Papineau muttered in French, ‘Stupid Americans.’

The team huddled around Garcia as he brought up historical information about Tsar Nicholas II and the Romanovs on his computer screen.

‘How’d you get this to work? Doesn’t Russia restrict access to the Web?’ Sarah asked.

Garcia chuckled. ‘It’s not like I’m wardriving — connecting to the Web through someone’s Wi-Fi signal. I’ve got a direct link through Papi’s satellites. He’s got two, by the way.’ He shifted his focus to the Frenchman. ‘But you should have three. When they switch over in their orbit, there’s a gap.’

‘We’re working on it,’ Papineau said, scanning the screen.

Jasmine could have described what they needed to know, but Cobb wanted them to discover it on their own. He sensed that they would learn more that way.

‘How long a gap?’ Cobb asked quietly.

Garcia blinked up at him. ‘Two to eight minutes. Why?’

Cobb grimaced. ‘Blackouts are risky.’

‘I know.’

Papineau interrupted them. ‘Here we are.’

They all faced the computer. On the screen was a picture of a Romanov prince with an extremely long title: Prince Felix Felixovich Yusupov, Count Sumarokov-Elston.

Jasmine wasn’t going to wait until they finished reading. She might not be able to shoot a pebble resting on the top of a mountain or steal a coin from a beggar’s cup, but there was one thing she could do. She could narrate.

‘After the prince was accused of being the brains behind Rasputin’s murder, Tsarina Alexandra Fyodorovna — who was the aunt of Felix’s wife — essentially placed the prince under house arrest in his estate outside St Petersburg.’

‘Hold up,’ McNutt said. ‘I’ve heard the name before, but who is Rasputin?’

Jasmine answered. ‘Gregori Rasputin was a Russian mystic and faith healer who greatly influenced the tsar and tsarina in the final years of the Romanov dynasty. Although many viewed him as a charlatan, the tsarina was under his charismatic spell.’

Sarah smiled. ‘You’d have liked him, McNutt. His nickname was the Mad Monk.’

McNutt nodded. ‘You’re right. I like him already.’

‘Well,’ Jasmine said, trying to get them back on track, ‘Prince Felix didn’t, which is why he had Rasputin killed. The tsarina, who viewed herself as Rasputin’s protector, was furious. So much so that she exiled the prince — even though he was a war hero.’

‘And that’s when he took the train,’ McNutt guessed.

‘No,’ Sarah assured him as she continued to read ahead. ‘Three months later, things went from bad to incredibly bad.’

Jasmine stared daggers at the back of Sarah’s head, angry that her turf was being encroached upon. ‘They were worse than “incredibly bad”,’ Jasmine corrected. ‘The tsar’s abdication and the February Revolution were events that shaped the course of our world.’

‘Shh,’ Sarah said, rebuking the rebuke. ‘I’m reading.’

Jasmine ignored her. ‘The prince couldn’t have possibly known he was going to be exiled-’

Sarah interrupted her. ‘But he absolutely knew which way the wind was blowing. After all, he had the stones and foresight to take out Rasputin. He had to realize things were precarious.’

Jasmine didn’t reply. She was far too irritated.

Cobb was curious to see how this would work out, but he didn’t get the chance. McNutt sliced through the tension.

‘How many times did they try to kill him again?’ McNutt asked.

Jasmine was back onstage. ‘About a half-dozen,’ she said. ‘Poison, shooting, beating — supposedly he was nearly disemboweled by a woman three years before, but obviously that didn’t kill him either.’ She looked around at the others, intentionally skipping Sarah. ‘And when they finally tried to burn his body after they found it in the Neva River, witnesses reported that he sat up in the flames.’

‘I’m officially creeped out,’ Garcia said.

‘Most likely his tendons weren’t cut before the funeral pyre,’ Sarah said without inflection, her eyes still intent on the screen. ‘The heat of the fire would make them shrink. Hence the incineration sit-up.’

Cobb smiled, impressed.

Jasmine noted his reaction and took a deep breath. ‘That is what some biographers have said as well, but others have put forth the idea that he was a saint who cheated death.’