Rasputin's Revenge by John Lescroart

Author:John Lescroart [Lescroart, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101554838
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2003-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

12

John Tucker Wilson handed me a note as I exited the Czar’s room. It was from Lupa, who had just finished his own interview with Alexandra.

I didn’t know what Nicholas would do, whether or not he would sue for peace and so end the War on the Eastern Front within hours. I felt I had failed—and if I had, even Lupa’s investigation would be more or less meaningless. In any event, he ought to be aware of the situation. Time was indeed short.

As I hurried toward my meeting with Lupa, I heard the unmistakable sounds of another riot outside. Perhaps word had gotten out that Nicholas and Alexandra were in the Palace. Maybe it was just another outburst over no bread or the cold or another defeat had been announced.

Whatever its cause, the riot could not help but add to the Czar’s worries. He would hear it and see it from his window. Would it stiffen his back, I wondered, or break him down further?

In either case, I had to get to Lupa. If there was any hope left at all, I believed it lay with my friend’s solution to these killings, if he had one. It is all very nice to have suspects, I mused, but at some point the list must begin to narrow. How close, I wondered, was Lupa to that point?

I burst into his office to see him sitting behind his desk, surrounded by flowers, reading and drinking beer! He looked up as soon as the door had opened, and had put the book down by the time I got to his desk.

“Jules,” he said, “satisfactory.”

“No, it is not,” I exploded, venting my pique. “It is not satisfactory at all. You sitting here reading and drinking as though you’re on holiday, while the War is coming to an end. I’ve just seen Nicholas and he’s going to capitulate unless you come up with a suspect in these killings. He may have already done it. What are we going to do?”

The young man glared at me briefly, then grunted in annoyance. “Sit down, Jules, calm yourself. Have a beer.”

“I don’t want a beer. We have to …”

He held up a hand. “Please.”

I sat down, waiting.

He finished his glass, pushed it to the side of the desk—it was the first one there—then took out a clean glass and poured from the pitcher. After the foam had settled properly, he took another sip, smacked his lips, and addressed me. “While I understand your frustration with this, I have done quite a bit today and I resent your implication that I have somehow been remiss. Alexandra and I have just had a very successful meeting, in which she has given me power of subpoena, and now I am awaiting the arrival of our friend General Sukhomlinov.”

“But Auguste, time is running out.”

His nostrils flared as he slammed his palm flat against the desk. “Don’t you think I know that? What am I supposed to do? Pull a murderer out of a hat?”

“It might help,” I said evenly “We have to do something.

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