The Romanov Conspiracy: A Thriller
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Since July 1918, no one has been able to solve the mysterious disappearance of Princess Anastasia—until Dr. Laura Pavlov uncovers some haunting clues in this thriller by the acclaimed, bestselling author of The Second Messiah.
SOMETIMES MYSTERIES ARE NEVER SOLVED. SOMETIMES THERE ARE NO ANSWERS.
DR. LAURA PAVLOV, an American forensic archaeologist, is about to unravel a mystery that promises to shed light on one of the twentieth century’s greatest enigmas. Digging on the outskirts of the present-day Russian city of Ekaterinburg, where the Romanov royal family was executed in July 1918, Pavlov discovers a body perfectly preserved in the permafrost of a disused mine shaft.
The remains offer dramatic new clues to the disappearance of the Romanovs, and in particular their famous daughter, Princess Anastasia, whose murder has always been in question. Pavlov’s discovery sets her on an unlikely journey to Ireland, where a carefully hidden account of a years-old covert mission is about to change the accepted course of world history and hurl her back into the past—into a maelstrom of deceit, secrets, and lies.
Drawn from historical fact, The Romanov Conspiracy is a page-turning story of love and friendship tested by war, and a desperate battle between revenge and redemption, set against one of the most bloody and brutal revolutions in world history.
if he were having a seizure. “Time for us to part company, Leonid.” In her compartment, Nina watched Sergey with growing dread. His breathing was shallow, his voice rasping, his coughing harsher with every passing minute. Fraught with worry, she dabbed his sweat-beaded face with a cloth. “Mama, it hurts …” “I know, my love. We’re trying to get you to a hospital soon.” “But it hurts really bad, Mama—” Sergey began coughing again, a terrible hacking sound that shook his entire body. Her
and was immediately sorry for her outburst. There was a time when her heart was large and gentle and kind, but the war, of course, the war with all its ravages and deep valleys of hurt, had made her temper quicker and her heart much smaller and harder. She became aware of something heavy in her right hand—it was the small black Mauser that Ritter gave her. She hitched up her skirt, exposing her legs, and tucked the Mauser into the top of her right ankle boot. Just then the Marie-Ann cleared the
he’s a Russian émigré. I’ve seen him before at our soup kitchen.” The man grinned. “Excellent. Now scour that mind of yours and tell me every little thing you know. Don’t leave out a morsel.” Just after six the following evening the thickset man boarded the overnight train for Edinburgh, leaving King’s Cross. He carried a sailor’s duffel bag and a third-class train ticket. By early next morning the engine crossed the Scottish border and finally chugged into Edinburgh Station. The Russian
There’s a local train that’ll take you to St. Petersburg in an hour.” Lydia looked back at the wood and metal Ilya through the office windows, then wrapped her arms around herself as if to keep out the hangar chill. “Are you certain that thing is safe?” she asked Pozner. “Nothing in life is entirely safe, madame. But I assure you the Ilya’s one of the safest aircraft around, tough as a jockey’s hide.” Pozner looked back at the hangar, pride in his voice. “Only one has ever been lost in battle
me and my men. We’re searching for a wanted spy and our zealousness got the better of us. It seems we owe you an apology.” The nun stared back at him, open-mouthed. Kazan addressed Yakov: “We searched the entire convent and found no sign of the man we’re looking for.” The nun said, “My sisters heard shooting.” Kazan said, “A little overenthusiasm on my part in the cellar morgue. I wanted to make sure the bodies were really dead.” Yakov asked the nun, “Why haven’t the corpses been buried?”