Free Waking Anastasia by Timothy Reynolds

Professor. I have only just held in my hands the most extraordinary piece of Romanov memorabilia. What would you say to a book belonging to Anastasia herself, which may have actually been in her possession when she died?”
    “I’d say ‘bullshit’. It’s too hard to prove.”
    “Prove conclusively? Of course it is too hard. But the owner claims it was picked up at the House of Special Purpose days after the killings. It has what appears to be a bullet hole, blood stains, and an inscription to Ana from her mother in script which looks too similar to your own collection of Alexandra’s letters to ignore.”
    “Good God! I must see it. I’ll be in Victoria for three days for the New Year’s Gala at The Empress Hotel. I’ll come to the shop to see it on New Year’s Day.”
    “I’m afraid I do not have the piece in my possession, Doctor Professor. It was part of a small insurance appraisal I was doing. But I do have the young man’s name and address. Perhaps you can make him an offer. I told him it was nearly worthless, so maybe the boy will take a few hundred dollars for it. He is young and will most likely just spend it on drugs and alcohol anyway.”
    “He has no idea what it’s worth? You’re sure?”
    “Most positive. He will take it home, shove it on a shelf, and forget about it.”
    “Perfect! Find out as much as you can about him. I like to know my opponents’ weaknesses before I face them.”
    “Would you like me to make a low-ball offer for the book? Perhaps I can have it for you by the time you arrive.”
    “No. I don’t want him thinking that it might be worth something and then try to sell it on eBay or Kijiji.” Petrov heard the academic take a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Mr. Petrov, you’re quite certain about this piece?”
    “As certain as I can be without doing DNA tests on the blood and chemical analysis on what looks like gunpowder residue. I would stake my reputation on it.”
    “Reputations can be reinvented and rebuilt. Would you stake your life on it?”
    “I am an old man. A book belonging to Anastasia is probably worth more than my life and would be a poor exchange.”
    “Maybe so, but I will not be made a fool of like Ramirez and his fake Romanov Fabergé egg.” He hung up abruptly, and the old man sighed at the poor manners.
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    @TheTaoOfJerr: “Most people die with their music still locked up inside them.”
    ~Benjamin Disraeli
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    BY THE TIME Jerry walked to the radio station at noon, he was pushing back another dull thumper of a headache, so the tour, the handshakes, and the welcome-aboards were all a bit of a blur. He remembered some pretty faces, some lopsided smiles, and some very eclectic personalities, but it was all he could do to remember where he was. He smiled and nodded and eventually Manny caught on that something was wrong.
    “You don’t look so good, Jerr. A bit pale, even.”
    “I get headaches. I’m fighting this one and winning, but it’s exhausting.”
    “Then get out of here. Go relax, and enjoy the sea air. I find it’s a cure-all like no other.”
    “You’re the boss, Boss.”
    With the GPS on his iPhone to guide him should he get lost, Jerry just let his feet lead him out of the station and take him wherever they wanted. He eventually found himself strolling along Victoria’s Inner Harbour with only a trace of the headache remaining. Seeing all of the Christmas decorations on shop fronts and vessels in port, Jerry decided he’d better make it up to his new staff. He called Manny.
    “Jerr! Miss us already? Ready to start work?”
    Jerry chuckled. “Yes and almost. There’s one thing I’d like to do first and that’s have everyone over to the loft for a Christmas gathering.”
    “Great idea. When?”
    “Well, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Would that be too short of notice? I just want sort of a drop-in gathering so people can do what they want with their families