King's Ransom by Jan Beazely

Author:Jan Beazely [Beazely, Jan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-55185-6
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2010-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

Pavel Grouev slumped at his desk, barely able to hold himself upright. He had not slept a minute the night before, as far as he could tell. The Simonievs were back at his apartment, wild with fear. Like apparently every Jew in Sofia, they had heard about the deportation orders. Zizi was inconsolable; all night long Pavel had heard the sound of her sobbing through the closed door to Radka’s room. Betty Simonieva had carried with her a leather valise and an electric lamp. Mikhail told Pavel that the lamp was the first thing he had ever bought for Betty after their wedding, and she would not leave it in the apartment, no matter how much he tried to persuade her. This morning, before he had dragged himself to the palace chancery, Pavel’s wife had told him that she had glimpsed the open valise. It contained no clothing or valuables—only pictures of the Simonievs. “It was like she was trying to pack all her memories,” Dafina said, “and forgot about everything else.” Pavel told Radka she could stay home from school that day. It was the first time in family history such a thing had taken place, but what else could he do? Sending her away under such circumstances seemed useless at best, cruel at worst. When he left, his daughter was sitting beside her friend on the couch, holding her and rocking her, like a mother comforting a child.

Tsar Boris sat in the corner of the office, in his favorite overstuffed leather armchair. If anything, he looked worse than Pavel felt. He had some papers in his hand that he sifted through, but Pavel didn’t think he was actually reading them. He had been here when Pavel arrived. Naturally, the king had shaved and was wearing fresh clothes, but his face, his eyes, told the tale.

It wasn’t unusual for Tsar Boris to come into Pavel’s office several times each day from the adjoining room where he often worked; he liked to chat about the reports he read, the current situations in the government, or the progress of the war. Actually, the “chats” usually consisted of Tsar Boris speaking to Pavel, who responded “Oui” or “Non” at what seemed the appropriate moments.

But today the king sat motionless in the corner, pretending to read, making no attempt at conversation. At this moment, Pavel guessed, Tsar Boris was the loneliest human in Bulgaria.

Pavel’s phone jangled in its cradle, jarring the silence of the office. He picked it up. “Grouev.”

“Mr. Grouev, it’s the prime minister. He says it’s a matter of greatest urgency and asks to speak with the king.”

Pavel thought for a few seconds. “Very well. Put him through.”

“Mr. Grouev, I must speak to His Majesty at the soonest possible moment,” Filov said as soon as the palace operator connected him. “Is His Majesty in residence today? And if he isn’t, I must know his location. We have a crisis on our hands.”

Pavel’s eyes widened. Filov sounded as if the barbarians were pummeling at his office door.

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