Free Rasputin's Shadow by Raymond Khoury

had been reputed to be one of the most beautiful women in Europe. In the room, they found a coffin containing the rotting bones of a man who turned out to be a lover of hers, a revolutionary she had helped escape from prison. She’d kept him hidden in her palace for years, even after his death. Sokolov had heard stories about how secret chambers filled with chests of jewelry and all kinds of valuables were discovered in the homes and palaces of the aristocracy after the revolution, chambers they had hastily covered up with plaster and paint before fleeing the uprising. He would often sneak into the old manor house and look for such secret rooms, imagining what it would be like to find a hidden treasure of his own.
    As it happened, what he found wasn’t a treasure, and neither was it in the manor house.
    It was in a small, hidden alcove buried deep in the cellar of his family’s cottage. An alcove that looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in decades. He’d stumbled upon it by accident while hiding from his brothers, and at first it didn’t seem like much: not gold, silver, or anything like that. Just three rotting old journals, each bound in soft leather, the bundle wrapped tightly with a piece of string.
    Sokolov had no idea that what he’d found would be far more valuable—and far-reaching—than any treasure.
    He didn’t share his discovery with anyone. Had his mother still been alive, he would have told her about it, without a doubt. But she was long gone, and his drunkard, cynical father wasn’t worthy of it. He didn’t tell his brothers about it either. Not until he knew what it was. It was his secret, and Sokolov knew he had something very special when, on the second page, a notorious name jumped out at him:
    Rasputin.
    He couldn’t read it fast enough.

9

    H ey.”
    It was, I don’t know, three or four in the morning. Really late, in any case. I was lying in, with Tess next to me, asleep, or so I thought, her head still buried in her pillow, her voice no more than a whisper.
    “Why are you still up?” Her tone was all warm and dreamy.
    I didn’t say anything. I just leaned over and kissed her on the shoulder.
    “You worried about something?” she asked.
    I gave her another kiss, softly. “Go back to sleep.”
    She moaned, equally softly. “I can’t. Not if I know you’re awake.” She sat up a little, propping herself on one elbow. “You thinking about Alex?”
    I didn’t answer.
    She sighed. “He’s doing better, Sean. But it’s like Stacey says. It’s going to take time.”
    I shrugged. “More time since we don’t know what they did exactly.” I turned to face her. “He only gets one childhood. He shouldn’t have to have it ruined like this.”
    “It’s not ruined. He’s got you now. And me. And Kim. He’s settling in well at school. He’s going to be fine.” She reached out and stroked my cheek. “I hate seeing you like this. Every week, it’s like our visits to Stacey just bring it all out in you again. You’ve done all you can.”
    I just nodded. The plan was still creeping around in my head, feeding on ideas. Growing.
    Which Tess spotted.
    We’d lived through enough wild adventures together for her to know how my brain worked. It made her sit up a little more and give me that inquisitor’s look.
    “Sean. What are you planning?”
    If I was going to go ahead with it, I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Tess in on it. Or Aparo, for that matter. In both cases, I didn’t have a choice. Not knowing would protect them, given that I was about to break the law.
    With Tess, it was an easy decision. I didn’t tell her everything about the job, and she didn’t necessarily want me to. I didn’t exactly work at Willy Wonka’s, and there was no need to bring that ugliness into our private lives. We’d already had more than our fair share of that. In fact, Tess, who’s an archaeologist, had also recently become a bestselling novelist whose first books were based on some of