Chapter 76: The Huntress

Chapter 76: Chapter 76: The Huntress

POV: Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova

Imperial Security Directorate Headquarters, Shpalernaya Street, St. Petersburg

Tatiana did not believe in intuitions. She considered them a mental shortcut for people who lacked the patience to analyze data. But she had spent three days entering that room and feeling that something was wrong, and it was not a feeling she could simply dismiss.

She sat down at her desk, the one she occupied at the far end from the door, next to the window overlooking the inner courtyard. The desk was a fundamental piece of her daily life, made of unadorned oak, with three drawers and a surface she kept immaculate. On the table were three folders, a crystal inkwell, a fountain pen, and a black-covered notebook where she wrote down the instructions she did not want to leave in writing in any official record.

She opened the notebook. She turned the pages to the last entry. It was a list of the files she had requested in the last ten days. Twenty-three in total. Seventeen had been delivered within the expected time. Five had been delayed between two and four days. One had never arrived.

The one that had never arrived was Kirill Vladimirovich’s file.

Tatiana remembered having requested it the same day Koshko had handed her the blue folder with the evidence of the railway sabotage. She had wanted to cross-reference the data on the Belgian company with the aristocratic contacts who might have facilitated access to the track section.

Kirill’s file was relevant because Kirill had investments in railway companies, and because his letters with correspondents mentioned the transport sector.

She had requested it from the archive section. They had told her it would be ready in forty-eight hours. Seven days had passed.

Tatiana had not insisted. She had assumed the archive was overloaded, that the staff had other priorities, that the file would arrive when it arrived. But now, sitting before her notebook, with the list of delays before her eyes, she asked herself whether the delay was a coincidence.

She stood up. She walked to the north wall of the room, where the map of the city hung with the colored pins. Red pins were active targets. Blue were contacts under surveillance. Green were informants. Yellow were logistical points of interest.

Tatiana studied the map for a moment. Then she returned to her desk. She opened the top drawer. She took out a blank sheet of paper. And she began to write.

She wrote a list of names. The names of the people who had access to the archive. The names of the people who had been in the analysis room in the last ten days. The names of the people who could have removed Kirill’s file without leaving a record.

The list had eleven names. Tatiana read them twice. Then she marked three with a small circle. The three were analysts. The three had access to the archive. The three had been in the room on the days when the file should have been delivered.

One of them was Nikolai Vasilievich Tikhonov.

Tatiana stared at the name. It was not a name that was especially familiar to her. Tikhonov was one of the analysts in the documents section, a discreet man who had been with the ISD for a year and had never drawn attention. His record was clean. His work was competent. There was nothing in his history to suggest he could be a problem.

But something about the name made her uncomfortable. She could not point to what. She could not justify it. But it was there, like a stone in her shoe, like a background noise that would not quite disappear.

Tatiana closed the notebook. She put the sheet with the list in the inside pocket of her jacket. And she left the room.

Koshko’s office was on the second floor, at the end of a narrow corridor that smelled of pipe tobacco and damp paper. Tatiana knocked on the door with two sharp raps. Koshko’s voice answered from inside.

"Come in".

Tatiana entered. Koshko’s office was small and cluttered, with stacks of folders on every horizontal surface and a map of St. Petersburg pinned to the wall with colored thumbtacks. Koshko was sitting behind his desk, glasses on the tip of his nose and a pencil in his hand. He looked up when she entered.

"Your Highness". Koshko stood. "I was not expecting you".

"Sit down, Arkady". Tatiana took the only free chair, the one by the window. "I need your help".

Koshko sat back down. He set the pencil on the table. "What is it?"

"Kirill Vladimirovich’s file. I requested it seven days ago. It never arrived".

Koshko frowned. "It never arrived?"

"The archive section says they delivered it. The exit register is signed. But the file is not in my office. It is not in the analysis room. It is not anywhere it should be".

Koshko removed his glasses. He cleaned them with a handkerchief he took from his pocket. He put them back on. "That means someone removed it after it left the archive. Someone with access to the restricted areas".

"Exactly".

Koshko was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, in a lower voice. "Do you have suspects?"

"I have a list. Eleven people with access to the archive. Three of them were in the analysis room on the days the file should have arrived. One of them is an analyst named Tikhonov. Nikolai Vasilievich Tikhonov".

Koshko nodded slowly. "I know him. He worked on the analysis of the railway sabotage. Good work. Discreet. No ambitions".

"That is what worries me. People without ambitions do not usually steal files".

Koshko stood up. He walked to the window. He looked at the inner courtyard of the building, where snow covered the cobblestones in a uniform layer. "Do you want me to investigate?"

"Yes. But with discretion. If Tikhonov is the mole, I do not want him to know we are looking for him. If he is not, I do not want to ruin the career of a competent analyst over an unfounded suspicion".

Koshko nodded. "Understood. I will start with the archive exit register. If someone tampered with the file, they left a trace in the books".

"I hope so". Tatiana stood up. "There is something else".

"What?"

"Kirill’s file is not the only one that has disappeared. I have reviewed the records of the last three months. Five files on the nobility have been requested and never returned. All of them related to aristocrats who have connections with foreign companies. All of them missing after leaving the archive".

Koshko looked at her fixedly. "That is not a theft. That is a systematic operation".

"That is what I fear. Someone inside the ISD is extracting information about the nobility. And passing it to someone outside the ISD".

Koshko was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, in a voice that tried to remain neutral but betrayed a genuine concern. "Do you think there is a mole?"

"I think there is something. I do not know if it is a mole. I do not know if it is a disgruntled employee. I do not know if it is someone being blackmailed. But there is something inside this building that should not be here. And we have to find it".

Koshko nodded. "I will find it".

Tatiana left Koshko’s office and walked to her own. The corridor was empty at that hour. The analysts had finished their shift. The field agents were on their missions. Only the night guards remained, and they had no access to the restricted areas.

She entered her office. She closed the door. She sat in her chair. She looked at the map on the wall with the colored pins.

She thought of Tikhonov. Of his clean record. Of his competent work. Of his discretion. Of his lack of ambitions.

She thought of Kirill’s file. Of the letters with London. Of the Monte Carlo debts. Of the bank transactions. Of everything the ISD knew about the Grand Duke and that was now in someone else’s hands.

She thought of the aristocratic resistance. Of the filibuster Kirill had set in motion. Of the officials who fell ill. Of the judges who found procedural defects. Of the police who found no one.

She thought of the Church. Of Pitirim. Of the rumors arriving from the provinces. Of the priests who preached against the reforms without mentioning them. Of the pamphlets printed in print shops that did not exist.

She thought of H&A Holdings. Of the railway sabotage. Of the Belgian company. Of the maintenance contracts. Of the money flowing from London to St. Petersburg through accounts no one could trace.

All those pieces were connected. Tatiana knew it. She could feel it. But she could not see the complete picture. Not yet.

She stood up. She walked to the wall. She took a red pin from the box on the side table. She held it between her fingers. Then she pinned it to the map, over Tikhonov’s name.

It was not an accusation. It was a mark. A reminder. A promise.

Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova had not reached where she was by being compassionate. She had reached it by being meticulous. By being patient. By being relentless.

And now she had a target.

She left her office. She locked the door. She walked to the staircase. She went down the steps two at a time, with the energy of someone who has made a decision.

On the ground floor, the night guard opened the door for her. Tatiana stepped out onto Shpalernaya Street. The February cold hit her face. The snow kept falling. The Neva remained frozen.

Tatiana climbed into the carriage waiting for her. The coachman, a Cossack from the personal escort, looked at her with the usual silent question. "To the Palace, Your Highness?"

"To the Palace".

The carriage started. Tatiana looked out the window. The lights of St. Petersburg passed at full speed. The electric trams. The horse carts. The pedestrians wrapped in dark coats. The city her brother was building. The city her enemies wanted to destroy.

Tatiana closed her eyes. She thought of Alexei. Of the boy who had read more science books than theology. Of the boy who had expelled Rasputin. Of the boy who was changing the world with decrees and machines and a patience that sometimes frightened her.

She thought of what she would do when she found the mole. Of what she would do when she discovered who was passing information to the Church. Of what she would do when she had the complete picture.

She did not know. Not yet.

But she would find out.

The carriage stopped in front of the Winter Palace. Tatiana got out. She climbed the stairs. She walked through the corridors. She reached her room.

She sat on the bed. She took off her shoes. She remained staring at the wall.

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