Free Rasputin's Revenge by John Lescroart Page A

business. This is not to say he is a bad man. To the contrary, he is simple goodness personified.”
    “But they call him ‘Bloody Nicholas.’”
    “He has had bad luck.” Perhaps realizing how apologetic that sounded, the diplomat covered himself. “Not that he hasn’t made mistakes, Giraud. He has. But they almost always have been out of naiveté, out of wanting to do the right thing and simply lacking the sensitivity to see what it is.
    “It began,” he continued, “on the day of his coronation. The peasants showed up in such numbers for the celebration that they couldn’t fit intothe area arranged for them. Then the word went out that they were running out of beer. You know how that is. Well, hundreds of people were killed in the ensuing crush.”
    I started to interrupt, but he stopped me. “No, that wasn’t all. What made our Czar ‘Bloody Nicholas’ is that he was advised to attend the Coronation Ball that night. The smart move, of course, would have been to have canceled it in sympathy for the dead, but Nicholas’ uncles persuaded him that it was essential that he not disappoint the visiting foreign guests who were looking forward to the ball. Needless to say, the peasantry took his attendance there as the utmost callousness on his part. Hence, Bloody Nick.”
    “And that, I take it, isn’t an isolated case.”
    “Not at all. The man just moves along from crisis to crisis, always seeking to do what is right. But the nature of government is that it needs a guiding policy, and he has none, other than belief in the autocratic principle that he can do no wrong and, astoundingly, that he doesn’t want his wife mad at him.”
    “You must be exaggerating.”
    “How else do you explain Rasputin?”
    I thought about it and conceded that he might have a point. “But where does that leave me and my offer?”
    Maurice went back around his desk and sat down. “I think it makes us very vulnerable. He might very well refuse.”
    “But why?”
    “Because, Giraud, he is sick of this war. He is losing in the North and he knows it. And now his friends are being killed. Remember what I just told you—his family life, his intimate circle, is his reality. And now the War is encroaching on that.
    “This latest murder—though any of the previous ones might as well have done it—might be the nudge he needs to sue for a separate peace. Once that is concluded, then at least he could concentrate on his family again and, to a lesser extent, on the reforms this country needs so badly. It is ticklish. I’m not sure he’ll react that way, but I think it’s possible that if we urge him too strongly in the one direction, he’ll feel like he’s being manipulated and go the other way out of contrariness, or, as he’d put it, out of exercise of the Royal Will. But I’d bet my last franc that pro-German forces are behind these killings.” He paused. “And it seems to me they know their man.”
    I considered mentioning Lupa’s presence to Maurice, but decided to hold my tongue. My knowledge of the moods and intrigues of the court is still extremely limited. Even Paleologue, in spite of his official position, isuntested. He might have known the Czar’s chess partner or hunted with the Lord of the Hunt. No, until I had a little more background, I would keep Lupa to myself.
    Suddenly Maurice swore violently and pounded his small pudgy fist on his desk. “Damn Sukhomlinov and his meddling! If you’d presented our case to Nicholas only yesterday you might be on your way home today.”
    “And now?”
    “Now it seems we’re forced to take his advice and wait. We can’t push Nicholas. Maybe in a week or so he’ll be receptive again, but now I can’t permit it.”
    It may have been good policy, but hearing his decision, I was struck with a disturbing sense of déjà vu. “Excuse me, Maurice,” I said, “but that, nearly word for word, was exactly what Sukhomlinov recommended. And last night you violently opposed