Crash Dive: An Alex Hawke Story by Ted Bell Page B

favorite battle swords in the Great Northern War. The last time he carried it was at the decisive Battle of Poltava in 1709. Peter won a victory over those damn Swedes and sent them hurrying out of Russia, never to return. It was the beginning of our taking our place as the leading nation of northern Europe.”
    “I am deeply honored, General. I will treasure this always.” He replaced it carefully inside the red-velvet-lined case and closed the lid.
    Kuragin put an avuncular arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the door.
    “You are always welcome in this house, Alex. As long as I’m alive at any rate. But I do want you to be careful inside Russia. Mind yourself every moment. There are many assassins carrying your picture next to their hearts. And despite our vast intelligence and military resources, the prime minister and I cannot be everywhere at once.”
    “I will keep my eyes open. I always do. But thank you for the warning.”
    T he brilliant gold-and-blue troika was waiting at the foot of the broad marble steps. Three magnificent white stallions stood in their traces, stamping their hooves and spouting great jets of breath from their black nostrils. It was the most beautiful sleigh Hawke had ever seen, a gift to Anastasia’s forebears from Peter the Great. He’d ridden in it before, when Anastasia had brought him to Jasna Polana for the very first time.
    Hawke had not spoken to Anastasia since leaving her alone at the skating pond the prior morning. He found her already in the sleigh, speaking quietly to the nurse who was holding little Alexei in her arms. The child, like his mother, was swaddled in white fur and looked like a rather large bunny sneaking peeks at his father over his nurse’s shoulder. Hawke walked around the rear of the troika, leaned down, and peered unblinking into his son’s face until the boy broke into a wide smile, a torrent of tiny bubbles erupting from his cupid’s bow of a mouth.
    He recognizes me, Hawke thought, his emotions churning.
    “G’morning, Alexei,” Hawke said, leaning in to kiss his chubby cheek and inhale the indescribable warm, precious baby scent. The love he felt literally almost killed him where he stood. But he looked over at Anastasia and did his best to smile.
    “Good morning,” he said, almost pulling off a convincing smile.
    “It’s a beautiful day.”
    “Yes.”
    She smiled bravely and said, “I thought we’d bring Alexei with us to the station. He adores riding in sleighs.”
    “The love of speed,” Hawke said, tossing his leather bag behind the curved leather bench seat and climbing up and inside. “Takes after his father. May I hold him during the trip?”
    Anastasia whispered to the nurse and she took the child around to Hawke’s side of the troika. Hawke held out his arms to receive his son, his heart beating with gratitude that at least he’d have a few precious hours to spend with him. The nurse spread the fur throw of white sable over Alex and the baby and wished them all a safe journey.
    “There’s a word the cowboys in America say,” Hawke whispered to his son. “You’ll learn what it means some day. Giddyup!”
    Anastasia flicked the reins and gave a shout to her three white chargers. The horses were arranged like a fan with one in the lead. Anastasia needed no whip to launch them into a breakneck speed down the lane toward the stand of birch trees and the great forests beyond; she spoke to them continuously, urging them on with either cheery encouragement or harsh invective.
    “You still have the same horses,” Hawke said, looking over at her lovely profile. “The noble white steeds.”
    “Yes. How kind of you to notice. Do you remember their names?”
    “I do. Storm, Lightning, and Smoke.”
    “My three gallant heroes.”
    “How lucky you are with heroes, Anastasia.”
    They were silent then. Hawke squeezed his sleeping son to his breast and held him tightly for the duration of the journey. The golden sleigh flew