The Romanov Prophecy: A Novel
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Ekaterinburg, Russia: July 16, 1918. Ten months have passed since Nicholas II’s reign was cut short by revolutionaries. Tonight, the White Army advances on the town where the Tsar and his family are being held captive by the Bolsheviks. Nicholas dares to hope for salvation. Instead, the Romanovs are coldly and methodically executed.
Moscow: Present Day. Atlanta lawyer Miles Lord, fluent in Russian and well versed in the country’s history, is thrilled to be in Moscow on the eve of such a momentous event. After the fall of Communism and a succession of weak governments, the Russian people have voted to bring back the monarchy. The new tsar will be chosen from the distant relatives of Nicholas II by a specially appointed commission, and Miles’ job is to perform a background check on the Tsarist candidate favored by a powerful group of Western businessmen. But research quickly becomes the least of Miles’ concerns when he is nearly killed by gunmen on a city plaza.
Suddenly Miles is racing across continents, shadowed by nefarious henchmen. At first, his only question is why people are pursuing him. But after a strange conversation with a mysterious Russian, who steers Miles toward the writings of Rasputin, he becomes desperate to know more–most important, what really happened to the family of Russia’s last tsar?
His only companion is Akilina Petrov, a Russian circus performer sympathetic to his struggle, and his only guide is a cryptic message from Rasputin that implies that the bloody night of so long ago is not the last chapter in the Romanovs’ story . . . and that someone might even have survived the massacre. The prophecy’s implications are earth-shattering–not only for the future of the tsar and mother Russia, but also for Miles himself.
Steve Berry, national bestselling author of the phenomenal thriller The Amber Room, once again delves into rich historical fact to produce an explosive page-turner. In The Romanov Prophecy, the authentic and the speculative meld into a fascinating and exceptionally suspenseful work of fiction.
From the Hardcover edition.
never thought I would ever see that bell or hear those words. I kept the clapper safe for decades, knowing what I had to do if ever presented with the opportunity. My father warned me the day would come. He waited sixty years and never got his chance. Before he died he told me that it would happen in my lifetime. I didn’t believe him.” Lord was still stunned, but he motioned to the bell and asked, “Why is it called Hell’s Bell?” Thorn stepped to the window and gazed out. “It’s from Radishchev.”
neighborhood of older homes with forested lots and deep lawns. Ranch style was the description he recalled appended to the design, most of the houses single-story brick structures with gabled roofs and chimneys. They’d driven over so Thorn could tend to his dogs. The lawyer’s wooded backyard was dotted with pens and Lord immediately recognized the breed. The males were noticeably larger and all of the animals, about a dozen, varied in color from sable red to tan and black. The heads were long
the other side of the car. Two shots cracked in the night. One bullet ricocheted off the hood. The other shattered the windshield. “Come on, and stay down,” he said. They clung to their bags and crawled forward down the alley, using the parked cars for protection. A trail of bullets followed them, but the fourth-floor window did not afford the best firing angle. Glass shattered and metal screamed as bullets raked past. The end of the alley was just ahead and he wondered if more policemen
and grabbed the shovel. “Stand back.” He pounded the point of the blade into the lock. It took three jabs to crack the hasp free. He was about to reach down and open the lid when a swirl of light streaked across the tree line. His head whirled around and he saw four dots in the distance—the headlights of two cars approaching fast down the lane where they’d parked. The car lights extinguished at about the point where they’d parked. “Kill the light,” he said. “And come on.” He left the shovels
“I’m an acrobat, not an actress.” He gently clasped her hands and threw her an understanding look. He kept his face animated and said in Russian, “Try. It’ll help.” Akilina glanced over at the woman and for a moment showed concern. “Look,” the woman said, handing the key back to him. “Why don’t you try the Commerce and Merchants Bank. It’s down the street about three blocks.” “Did it work?” Akilina asked. “What’s she saying?” the woman wanted to know. “She wants me to explain what you