Prologue: Russia, Saint Petersburg, February 1918: Alexander Newsky Monastery
Metropolit Kyril stood under the central cupola of the Holy Trinity Cathedral, the main Church of the Monastery. The vast building was empty. From outside shots could be heard, shouted commandos. Wooden battering rams were hauled against the massive doors of the main entrance.
Still the massive gates held against the onslaught. Kyril turned to the young monk standing before him “Go now my son it is about time, your task is of the utmost importance, may the lord bless you and keep you, do your sacred duty to god and the Tsar. You must not fail!”
“I will not Eminence!” The young dark haired monk, kissed his superiors ring, bowed a final time and vanished into the darkness of the vast church. Kyril strode down the nave. In the same time the massive gates gave way, and were blown out of her hinges. Red Army Soldiers stormed into the Cathedral, led by a tall thin man, wearing the uniform of a Political Commissar, his dark eyes burning fiercely with the zeal of the zealot.
“Stop this, this is a house of worship!” the imperial sounding baritone of the Metropolit gave the pillaging soldiers pause, so great was its authority “Out of my way pope!” Political Commissar Vladimir Samsonov bellowed, his Makarov directly aiming between the priest´s brown eyes. Sansonov was surprised. He saw no fear there, instead the Metropolit projected calmness and authority.
Sansonow mastered his surprise “Where is the treasure of the Romanovs and above all the Cross of Romanov?” he demanded. With an air of regret Kyril shook his head “My son I cannot tell you that. My loyalty belongs to God, the Holy Mother Church and the most noble and ancient House of Romanov” The two men locked eyes. And it was not the Metropolit who broke eye contact first.
The Polit Commissar pulled the trigger. The projectile hit the priest between the eyes, the power of its impact hurled him backwards, his lifeless body crashed to the floor. With unseeing eyes he stared at the vaulted ceiling. Samsonov turned to his men: “I want this monastery searched from the cellars to the attics. Turn every stone!”
“It will be done!” the soldier saluted. The search was long, it was thorough. No proverbial stone was left unturned.
But the treasure of the Romanov and the Cross were never found - to this day.
Parking Garage, Neuer Jungfernstieg 12:
1000 hours:
Chris von der Marwitz, CEO of Art. Incorporated stepped out of her red metallic Mercedes CLA Coupe, locked it and strode to the Elevator. Somehow was wrong with the lights. Normally the parking garage was brightly lit, now certain areas where hidden in shadows. Her blue Gianvito 105 High Heels clicked on the floor.
On her right the blonde spotted a dark van, partly shrouded in shadow. Her neck hairs rose – and so the sudden attack did not met her totally with surprise. A pair of strong arms pressed her arms against her sides, the second one pressed a sweetly smelling cloth on her nose.
Chris stamped one attacker with her left heel forcefully on the foot. A grunt of pain and the grip of her attacker loosened. Her well-aimed head butt hit him fully on the nose the cracking of bones told the blonde his nose was broken. With her left knee she hit the second assailant fully between the legs he crumbled to the floor like a jackknife.
Chris head felt dizzy and so she reacted slower than usual “Watch your back, always!” the blonde admonished herself She wheeled around, a tad too slow. A fist hit her with devastating force right under her left eye, Chris saw stars. She stumbled, still trying to regain her bearings. As she felt a sharp prick between the breasts, everything went black, she crumbled to the floor. On the floor she laid sprawled like a large doll, during the fight she had lost her heels.
Her four attackers stood around her. One of them pressed his hand against his nose, his companion groaned in pain “The bitch hit me fully between the balls” “Stop whining! You two were careless!” The leader obviously a woman chided them “Wait till I have my way with her!” the man, who had been hit right in the balls hissed “If you do that, your balls will be the least of your problems. The boss´ orders were clear. She is not to be touched – not by you anyway! Now stop whining and get her into the van, we are on a tight schedule!” The woman brushed him off.
Five Minutes later the van left the parking garage. Chris had been hogtied with zip ties, ball gagged and blindfolded: Her arms had been welded together at wrists and elbows, her nylon clad legs at the ankles and under the knees. For good measure her big toes had been zipped together too. Chris captors had pulled a dust mask doused with chloroform over her lower face and nose, forcing her to inhale more of the drug.
45 Minutes later, a private jet took off from a small airfield outside Hamburg City.
Russia, Saint Petersburg, Newsky Avenue around 1200:
Grand Duchesse Anna Alexandrovna Romanova strode along the Newsky Avenue. It was a cold sunny day – and Anna glad for her brown fur cap, the thick matching coat – and her warm gloves. Uncle Fyodor had been mysterious at the phone, which was untypical for him.
Normally jolly and warm, he had sounded a bit guarded and insisted that Anna would come over for lunch at 1200. He had called her three days ago out of the blue – and basically summoned her from Hamburg to the City of Peter the Great.
Finally she had reached a three story Palais. She entered the entry code and chose to take the imposing stairwell and not the elevator. The heels of her brown boots clicked eerily on the polished marble stairs.
The violinist had walked these stairs more often than she could remember. Among her relatives Uncle Fyodor had been her favourite. He had been always kind and supported her musical career since her earliest days – he had a heart, contrary to her mother …
Anna pressed the doorbell. A deep gong verberated through the air: Steps came nearer from the other side, the imposing wooden door swung open “Your Grace!” Ivan Mikhailovich greeted her warmly. Ivan Mikhailovich was Butler, Private Secretary – and friend of her Uncle.
He took Anna´s cap, her coat, her shawl and her gloves. The thick carpets swallowed the sounds of her high heeled boots. Ivan bade her into the spacious living room. On the threshold she stopped dead in her tracks, as if she had run in an invisible barrier.
“What is she doing here!” she demanded furiously. Anna confronted her uncle: “If I had known, she would be here, I would not have come!” her eyes were blazing now. “That´s why I did not tell you Anouchka” her uncle smiled warmly “Come, sit down – there is a reason why your mother is here. It is important, that we talk”
Anna stood a moment on the threshold, different emotions crossed her face. Revulsion, Anger, hate? “I am a Romanova!” she told herself, pulled herself together, crossed the distance to her uncle who rose from the chair hugged her tightly and kissed her on the cheeks “Take a seat” he bade her.
Anna acknowledged the presence of her mother with a curt nod “Mother” – then she sat down as far from her mother as possible.
“Tea, Fyodor Alexandrovich?” Boris Mikhailovich inquired politely “Of course Boris” Anna´s uncle nodded. When tea had been served, his Private Secretary retreated. The dark haired violinist took a sip of the hot brew, before she sat her delicate china cup down and looked first at her uncle then at her mother. Elizabetha Romanova, now in her early seventies looked like an older version of her daughter. Anna´s uncle and her mother exchanged a look. Uncle Fyodor nodded subtly.
“Anna, I know, you have good reason to mistrust me” Anna snorted “Mistrust? That is one way to put it “Anna” her mother continued calmly “I will come directly to the point “You remember the story about lost treasure of our family – and the Cross of Romanovs?”
The violinist nodded guardedly “It vanished in February 1918 and has been lost ever since – what has changed?”
“Something quite important” her Uncle added evenly “Credible evidence has come to light that it does still exist” Anna´s eyebrows rose “Certain parties have a keen interest in retrieving the treasure” Elizabetha Romanova continued “That must not happen - it belongs to the family”
“I know that tune” Anna made no effort to hide her sarcasm “Above all the family” “Anouchka” her uncle laid gently a hand on her arm “This is different “This treasure belongs to the Russian People – not to some rich Oligarch who hides in some vault” Grudgingly his niece nodded “Right – and you want me to find it?” “That´s the general idea” her mother nodded – “finding and retrieving lost art is some kind of your speciality” Anna bit down another sarcastic commentary – this was the first time her mother had acknowledged her other line of work.
Her career as a violinist had been one thing, her work as a detective and investigator something entirely different. While the first had been acceptable, the second had been conduct unbecoming for a Grand Grand Niece of Tsar Nicolaus II. At least if Elizabetha Petrovna Romanova was concerned.
Anna fixated her uncle with a long look “I will have to talk with Chris about this – and I need you to get me a historian” Fyodor smiled “You have an appointment with Doctor Anastasia Organossova at 1000 at the Institute of History tomorrow – you will like her” Anna wagged a finger at him “So you assumed I would heed the call of family?” she accused her Uncle almost half in jest.
“Let me put it this way” her Uncle smiled warmly “I assumed you would do the right thing” A polite knock at the door interrupted them, Boris stood on the Threshold “Dinner is served Sir!” Fyodor clapped into his hands “Come Anna, come Elizabetha – let us have Dinner!”
Russia, unknown Location, a cell underground, 1500:
Chris felt as if someone hammered with a sledgehammer between her temples. Her eyes felt like glued shut. She drifted back into unconsciousness again. When she awoke the next time the hammering in her head had receded to a dull throbbing. Her throat felt dry like sandpaper.
With some effort she opened her eyes and stared at a white ceiling. Groaning she sat up – and waited till her head stopped spinning. She laid on a mattress. The Room, more a suite was windowless: Obviously she was underground. Only in this moment the blonde realized that she had been undressed:
She wore a down filled blue suit with built in feet “I wear at least my own underwear still” Chris surmised, after a closer inspection “How did I land here?” Obviously her mind was working in slow motion still. There had been the attack in the parking garage, she had fended off two attackers, the third had landed at hit under her left eye, then she had been shot, then darkness. The blonde touch her skin under left eye and winced.
She took a closer look at her surroundings: In one corner was a round table with to chairs. On it stood a bottle with mineral water and two glasses: this reminded Chris how thirsty she was, she got up, winced and crossed the distance to the table. The carpet felt soft under her feet. The blonde did not bother to fill a glass, took the bottle and drained it with several large gulps.
Now she felt better, her head was clearer now. She tapped into the tilted bathroom and splashed some water first in her face. The bruise under her left eye looked ugly. Chris used the toilet – that she was under surveillance was a safe assumption.
The blonde walked back into the main room and sat in the lotus seat on the bed, here mind spinning “Where am I? What am I doing here?” were the most pressing questions. How late was it? Her inner clock told her that it had to be afternoon. “For all other questions I have to wait” Chris concluded – and sighed
Her stomach reminded her, that it did want sustenance. For a while she sat on the bed. Eventually Chris jumped from the bed, and made some stretching movements, she felt restless. A soft click interrupted her: The massive door swung open. Four men entered, clad in some sort of combat dresses.
“Military” the blonde assumed automatically. Their bearing, their looks: Two men took positions left and right from the door. The other two rolled a wheelchair in, with leather straps in strategic places. On its seat lay a couple of manacles – and a panel gag, with a large thick foam ball in its centre.
The four covered each other, but if they thought they could intimidate her by this show of force they were wrong “Wow guys, you are really brave, four against one?” She looked the guard at the left side of the door in the eye “I know you, you hit me in the face – in for a rematch?” Chris provoked him “You will follow orders – or we will make you” the man told her in heavily accented English “Then make me” the blonde whispered “you girl!” Chris had obviously struck a nerve, the guard made a move at her – and blocked the line of fire of his comrades.
The blonde attacked with a quick combination, always keeping her attacker between her and the other guards. Chris kick against his chest send him flying against the wall. She felt another prick between her breasts. She crumbled to the floor. The blonde was not unconscious just paralyzed.
Her handlers acted quickly: Not overly gently, one mitted her hands, the other ones shackled her wrists and ankles, gagged her with the large panel gag and hauled her into the wheel chair – and strapped her in, while the man she had bested rose to his feet – and glared at her. A heavily padded sleep mask and ear buds robbed her of most of her senses.
She was wheeled out of her cell. Obviously the rolled her down a floor. Then an elevator: Chris sensed the physical presence of her guards. Her body was still paralyzed, but the effects of the dart where wearing off. Chris felt the elevator moving up, five, 10 seconds? As she was rolled along further, the atmosphere had changed. Deprived of most of her senses she could still feel: A long corridor, the air was cooler. Chris counted. 120 seconds. They stopped. She was wheeled into another room. Here the air was warmer.
Someone fumbled at her mask, while another pair of hands removed her ear buds. It took Chris some seconds till her senses had adjusted: The room she was in reminded her off a movie about Catherine the Great she had seen once.
Her chair stood before a large, impressive writing desk, made of polished red wood: Mahogany? Behind the desk sat a man. His cool grey eyes were gliding over her body, keen intense – for a moment they rested on her full bossom “Men!” He was in his fifties? Chris estimated: Sharp chiselled features, short cropped grey hair. A small smile curled his lips – which did not reach his eyes. Chris did not know his name, but was sure to have seen his face somewhere. The news?
He stood and walked around the desk: He was very tall, probably almost seven feet. He closed the distance till he loomed over Chris forcing her to crane her neck, to look up at him “It is a pleasure to meet you Miss von der Marwitz!” he addressed her, his baritone rich and resonating.
Gently he stroked above the bruise under her left eye “You are real wildcat, you broke Igor´s nose and Piotr´s balls are green and blue I heard” he chuckled “I forgot my manners Miss von der Marwitz, my name is Boris Oblomov” Obviously he saw some recognition in Chris´ bright green eyes.
“What do you think? We all behave like civilized people and have a cup of tea together” Oblomov stressed civilized “Hypocrite” Chris fumed – but she nodded. At a curt nod of her host her guards loosened the straps holding her to the chair. With difficulties, she stood and shuffled along after Oblomov. As she shuffled along Chris registered for the first time the presence of a woman standing in the shadows near the large fireplace. She could not see her clearly though.
The Oligarch bade Chris to take a seat, and at another nod of him, her guards removed the gag and the mittens. She flexed her fingers – and licked her lips. The tea was steaming hot – and strong, but Chris enjoyed it nevertheless. The blonde sat her cup down and looked the Russian directly in the eye “Why am I here?” she addressed him as calmly as she could she was so sick of this mind games. She had been drugged abducted and abused.
“My dear Miss von der Marwitz” Oblomov addressed her, a small smile still curling his lips “You are here, because we have a mutual friend, and I need this friend to do something for me. To ensure she will do what I want from her, you are here.
For the next eight days you will be my guest – and treated as such. If the Grand Duchesse does not accomplish the task I demand of her ….” He let the last sentence hanging in the air. Chris was fuming, being reduced to an object did not sit well with her.
The blonde supressed her anger, took another sip “Your hospitality seems as cold as the weather” The Oligarch chuckled “You have spunk” I must give you that. Believe me Miss von der Marwitz in eight days you will like my hospitality so much you won´t want to leave!” “That” Chris returned calmly “I doubt”
Oblomov looked at his watch “Miss von der Marwitz, as much as I would like to continue our conversations, other matters demand my attention – I will leave you now to Natasha´s most capable hands!” The woman stepped out of the shadows. She was tall. High cheekbones, her dark hair in a severe bun, piercing grey eyes – clad in a black cat suit and high heeled boots “Gag and mitt Miss von der Marwitz!” she ordered Chris´ guards – and the men complied.
Chris winced as the gag was pulled tight, very tight – the mittens too. Her guards pulled her to her feet. Natasha closed the distance. Till her face was only centimetres away from Chris. Green eyes drilled into grey ones.
The hard and precise jab came out of the blue and hit Chris in the stomach, hard and precise. The blonde flinched. But barely so “Impressive” Natasha chuckled “So much self-control” Chris fumed, her nostrils flaring “We will have soo much fun!” her handler grinned “Strap her into the wheelchair and apply blindfold and ear buds!”
Oblomov had followed the scene with much amusement “Miss von der Marwitz I am looking forward to see you again!” This was the last thing Chris heard, before the ear buds robbed her of her hearing and the blindfold of her sight.
She had trouble controlling her emotions. Sensei Nakamura would have reprimanded her sharply. Obviously they took the same way back: The long corridor, the elevator. Chris counted: Not 10 but 15 seconds – obviously another, deeper level. Another corridor, the air felt cooler on her skin.
A short stop – Chris guessed another door was opened – she was rolled forward again, and then they stopped. Blindfold and earbuds were removed: Chris looked around: There was Natasha, obviously enjoying the moment as the blonde was processing what she was seeing:
They were in a large cellar: In a vast furnace raged a fire: Chris saw all the paraphernalia of a torture chamber “Now we will have some fun!” Natasha smiled down at her – and gestured to her guards “Release her of the chair. Soon Chris stood, staring at her handler “We will have to produce a little video Miss von Marwitz, to ensure the cooperation of the Grand Duchess” Natasha told her smiling “You have a choice though: You follow all orders to the letter – or you will be zapped into oblivion – so how will it be?”
Chris was seriously tempted, but what would it get her? She had to conserve her strength. The next eight days would not be a walk in the park, that much was sure “So I will play along” she decided. She nodded her consent. A small smile curled her handler´s lips, as if she had expected that reaction “The guards will release you – and you will strip – all the way!” Chris green eyes conveyed pure hate – but she did comply.
She treated Natasha with a withering glare as she pulled down the zipper of the suit. Without any obvious haste, she pulled first her left then the right arm out the garment and let it with a casual roll of her shoulders glide to the floor.
Chris stepped out of it and on the cold stony floor of the dungeons, arms akimbo. She turned to the guards – and rolled her shoulders “You like what you see?” She teased them, before she unhooked her bra ….
20 Minutes later the blonde found herself balancing on the balls of her feet. Her ankles had been shackled one metre apart. Her arms were shackled high above her head. A large ball gag jacked her jaws apart with glee the Russian had stuffed her panties in her mouth, before she forced the large red ball into Chris´ mouth.
Natasha took in the sight before her “It is incredible hot here” she smiled ominously and took of her uniform jacket and her bra – Chris had to admit that her bossom was impressive she walked to a rack, where all sorts of whips and other instruments of torture laid. She took one, Chris could not see which one till Natasha turned around “You know what a tonfa is right?” The blonde stared just back and steeled herself.
Slowly the Russian strode nearer, till Chris could sense the heat of the other woman. Natasha let the smooth wood glide above her skin, between her breasts, touched her nipples gently, she touched the soft muscular flesh of Chris inner thighs above the knee, glided upwards “You know” Natasha whispered “Tonfa can be pleasure and it can be pain. What will it be?” Her stroke hit the blonde´s inner thigh right under her groin – a sharp pain shot upwards into her brain. Chris steeled herself for the next blow ….