“HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?” HISSED KIROV.
He had walked with Pekkala out into the courtyard, while the man remained behind, guarded by Anton.
“It’s him,” Pekkala said. “I know.”
Kirov took Pekkala by the arm and shook him. “The last time you saw Alexei was more than ten years ago. I’m asking you again-how can you be sure?”
“I spent years with the Romanovs. That’s why the Bureau of Special Operations brought me here, so I could identify them whether they were alive or dead. And I’m telling you that is Alexei. He has his father’s chin, his father’s forehead. Even if you’ve only seen pictures of the family, there’s no mistaking that he is a Romanov!”
Reluctantly, Kirov released his grip. “I think it’s the same person I saw looking in the window that night.”
“And you told me he looked like the Tsar.”
“All right,” Kirov said, “but even if it is Alexei, what the hell is he doing here?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.”
Kirov nodded, satisfied. “If we agree, then I say we leave as soon as possible. Until we can get him to Moscow, none of us are safe in this house.”
“Anton will remain on watch,” said Pekkala. “He almost opened fire down there in the basement. I don’t want him in the room while we are questioning Alexei.”