“They knew the crown was more of a curse than a blessing. It was reserved for the frail head of the young boy, Alexander, although it's doubtful he would have lived long enough to take his father's place. He had hemophilia, un- controllable bleeding, you know? A real problem among European royalty - all those intermarriages. Anyway, other relatives would have stepped in to claim the throne.”

“Any idea who built this shrine?”

“I thought it might be Razov at first. I could see him sitting here, imagining that he will someday become the ruler of Russia. But the decadent trappings of the apartment in the main complex puzzle me. Razov is almost ascetic in his convictions. The monk, on the other hand, is said to be debauched. It's odd how much he resembles Rasputin in his depraved lifestyle. My guess is that Boris spent more time here than Razov. Razov would like to bring back the past. In his madness, Boris lives it.”

“That's quite a role reversal.”

“Perhaps, but one thing is certain: They both must be stopped,” Petrov said, his eyes boring into Austin's. “And you must help me.”

Austin was still skeptical. “I'll think about it, Ivan. Right now I need some fresh air.”

Petrov gripped Austin by the arm. “Maybe your own countryman can persuade you. You remember the words of the great American patriot-philosopher Thomas Paine. He said he was not defending a few acres of ground, but a cause.”

Austin knew the dossier Petrov had on him would have mentioned the volumes of philosophy that lined his bookshelves.

“What is your cause, Ivan?”

“Perhaps it's the same as yours.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't see you waving the flag for motherhood, apple pie and the American way.”

“I did my share of waving the hammer and sickle as a Young Pioneer marching in the May Day parades. There are deeper issues here. Don't let our past get in the way. Judge me by the present, so that both our countries will have a future.”

Austin saw a slight softening in Petrov's rock-hard eyes. Maybe the man was human after all. “Guess we're stuck with each other, whether we like it or not.”

“Then you'll work with me?”

“I can't speak for NUMA, but I'll do what I can,” Austin said, extending his hand. “C'mon, partner, I've got something else that will interest you.” He led the way down through the labyrinth to the submarine pen. Petrov recognized the sub immediately.

“It's an India class,” he said. “It was designed to carry submersibles for use by special-operations forces.”

“Any idea how it got here?”

“There's a booming market in the world for Soviet armaments.”

“This isn't exactly a box of AK-47s.”