the Romanov Prophecy (2004) (41 page)

Hayes looked at Thorn. “And you must be the object of that journey.”

“Apparently so.”

Lord introduced the two, then said, “Maybe now we can get something done. Taylor, the local police think I killed a deputy.”

“They’re quite intent on that.”

“Did you speak with the sheriff?”

“I decided to find you first.”

For the next forty-five minutes, they talked. Lord related everything that had happened in detail. He even showed Hayes the shattered egg and gold-leaf messages brought inside from the Jeep. He explained about the gold bars and where they were stored, and all about Semyon Pashenko and the Holy Band that had kept Felix Yussoupov’s secret safe.

“Then you are Romanov?” Hayes asked Thorn.

“You never explained how you found us,” Thorn said.

Lord noticed the suspicion in the lawyer’s voice. Hayes seemed unfazed by the abruptness.

“Your secretary gave me the idea. She and your wife were at the sheriff’s department. I knew that Miles hadn’t kidnapped you, so I figured a hiding place would have to be found. Who would ever look here? No kidnapper would use the victim’s own house. So I took a chance and drove up.”

“How is my wife?”

“Upset.”

“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff the truth?” Thorn asked.

“This is a delicate situation. International relations are involved. Literally, the future of Russia. If indeed you are a direct descendant of Nicholas II, the throne of Russia would belong to you. Needless to say, your reemergence will create a shock. I don’t want to trust all that to the sheriff of Dillsboro County, North Carolina. No offense to the area.”

“None taken,” Thorn said, his voice still carrying an edge. “What do you suggest we do?”

Hayes stood and moved toward windows that fronted the house. “That’s a good question.” He peered out past the curtains.

The borzoi came alert again.

Hayes opened the front door.

Feliks Orleg and Droopy walked inside. Both men cradled rifles. The dog came to his feet and started to growl.

Akilina let out a gasp.

Hayes said, “Mr. Thorn, your animal is quite beautiful. I’ve always been partial to borzois. I would hate to order one of these gentlemen to shoot it. So would you direct the dog to leave through the front door, please?”

“I sensed something about you,” Thorn said.

“I could tell.” Hayes motioned at the still-growling dog. “Do I shoot it?”

“Alexie. Gone.” Thorn pointed to the door and the dog bolted out into the night.

Hayes closed the door. “Alexie. Interesting name.”

Lord was in shock. “It was you all along?”

Hayes motioned to his two associates who fanned across the room. Orleg took up a position at the door leading to the kitchen, Droopy at the bedroom door.

“Miles, I have some associates in Moscow who became quite upset with you. Hell, I sent you into the archives to find out if Baklanov had any problems, and you come out with the heir to the Russian throne. What did you expect?”

“You sonovabitch. I trusted you.” He rushed toward Hayes. Orleg stopped his advance with a leveling of his rifle.

“
Trust
is such a relative term, Miles. Especially in Russia. I’ll give you credit, though. You’re a tough man to kill. Lucky as hell, too.” Hayes reached under his jacket and withdrew a pistol. “Sit down, Miles.”

“Fuck you, Taylor.”

Hayes fired the gun. The bullet ripped across Lord’s right shoulder. Akilina screamed and lunged toward him as he fell back in the chair.

“I told you to sit,” Hayes said. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Lord saw the concern in her face. But he was okay. The bullet had only grazed him, enough to draw blood and hurt like hell. “I’m all right.”

“Miss Petrovna, sit down,” Hayes said.

“Do it,” Lord urged.

She retreated to a chair.

Hayes moved close to the hearth. “If I wanted to kill you, Miles, I would have. Lucky for you I’m a good shot.”

Lord’s hand clamped onto the wound and he used his shirt to stem the bleeding. His gaze drifted to Michael Thorn. The lawyer sat perfectly still. He’d said nothing and had not reacted when Hayes fired the gun.

“I think you are Russian,” Hayes said to Thorn. “The look in your eye. I’ve seen it many times over there. Heartless, every damn one of you.”

“I am no Stefan Baklanov.” The words came in a near whisper.

Hayes chuckled. “I should say not. I think you might actually be able to govern those idiots. It’ll take somebody with nerve. The best tsars all had it. So I’m sure you understand why you cannot leave here alive.”

“My father said there would be men like you. He warned me. And I thought him paranoid.”

“Who would have thought the Soviet empire so fragile?” Hayes asked. “And who would have ever guessed the Russians would want their tsar back?”

“Felix Yussoupov,” Thorn said.

“Point taken. But all that is meaningless now. Orleg.” Hayes motioned to the inspector, then to the front door. “Take our dear heir and this woman out and do what you do best.”

Orleg smiled and stepped forward, grabbing Akilina. Lord started to rise, but Hayes rammed the pistol into his throat.

“Sit down,” Hayes said.

Droopy yanked Thorn up from the chair and placed the tip of his rifle to the lawyer’s head. Akilina started to resist. Orleg wrapped his right forearm around her neck and clamped hard, yanking her off the ground. She struggled for a second, then her eyes rolled skyward as her breath was blocked.

“Stop,” Lord screamed. Hayes jammed the pistol deeper into his neck. “Tell him to stop, Taylor.”

“Tell her to be a good girl,” Hayes said.

He wondered how he was supposed to tell her to calmly walk outside and be killed. “Stop,” he said to her.

She ceased struggling.

“Not here, Orleg,” Hayes said.

The Russian relaxed his grip and Akilina went weak-kneed to the floor, gasping for breath. Lord wanted to rush to her, but couldn’t. Orleg grabbed her by the hair and brought her to her feet. The pain seemed to wrench her back to life.

“Get up,” Orleg said in Russian.

She staggered to her feet and Orleg shoved her toward the front door. Thorn was already there and exited first, followed by Droopy.

The door closed behind them.

“I do believe you like that woman,” Hayes said, switching to English.

The gun was still pressed to his throat. “What do you care?”

“I don’t.”

The gun moved away and Hayes stepped back. Lord slumped into a chair. The pain in his shoulder amplified, yet the rage surging through him was keeping his reflexes ready. “Did you have the Makses killed in Starodug?”

“You left us no choice. Loose ends and all that.”

“And Baklanov really is a pawn?”

“Russia is like a virgin, Miles. So many sweet pleasures that none have tasted. But to survive you have to play by their rules, and they are some of the toughest anywhere. I adapted. Murder, for them, is an accepted means of achieving an end. In fact, it seems the preferable means.”

“What happened to you, Taylor?”

Hayes sat, gun leveled. “Don’t give me any of that crap. I did what had to be done. Nobody at the firm ever complained about the fees rolling in. Sometimes risks have to be taken to achieve great things. Controlling the tsar of Russia seemed worth it. Actually, the whole thing was nearly perfect. Who would have ever guessed a direct heir was still alive?”

Lord wanted to lunge at him and Hayes seemed to sense the hatred. “Not going to happen, Miles. I’ll shoot you dead before you leave that chair.”

“I hope it’s worth it.”

“Beats the shit out of practicing law.”

He thought he’d try to stall. “How do you plan to contain this? Thorn’s got a family. More heirs. They all know, too.”

Hayes smiled. “Nice try. Thorn’s wife and children know zero. My containment problem is right here.” Hayes motioned with the gun. “Look, you’ve got nobody to blame but yourself. If you’d left this alone, done just what I told you, there’d be no problem. Instead you had to traipse off to St. Petersburg and California and involve yourself in a whole lot of things that simply don’t concern you.”

He asked what he really wanted to know. “You going to kill me, Taylor?” Not a hint of fear entered his voice. He was surprised at himself.

“Nope. But those two out there are. Made me promise not to harm a hair on your head. They don’t like you. And I certainly can’t disappoint the hired help.”

“You’re not the man I knew.”

“How the shit would you know me? You’re a damn associate. We’re not blood brothers. Hell, we’re barely friends. But, if you have to know, I’ve got clients depending on me and I aim to deliver. Along with providing a retirement fund for myself.”

He glanced beyond Hayes, toward outside.

“You worried about your little Russian darling?”

He said nothing. What was there to say?

“I’m sure Orleg’s enjoying her . . . right about now.”

FORTY-NINE

Akilina followed the man Lord called Droopy as they plunged through the woods. A bed of leaves cushioned their steps and moonlight flickered through the branches, strobing the forest in a milky glow. Freezing air slapped her skin, her sweater and jeans offering little warmth. Thorn was in the lead, a rifle to his back. Orleg followed her, gun in hand.

They plowed ahead for ten minutes before entering a clearing. Two shovels stood spiked in the earth. Apparently, some planning had occurred prior to Hayes’s appearance.

“Dig,” Orleg said to Thorn. “Like your ancestors, you’ll die in the woods and be buried in the cold ground. Perhaps in another hundred years somebody will find your bones.”

“And if I refuse?” Thorn calmly asked.

“I’ll shoot you, then enjoy her.”

Thorn’s gaze moved toward Akilina. The lawyer’s breathing was rhythmic and she saw no concern in his eyes.

“Look at it this way,” Orleg said. “A few more precious minutes of life. Every second counts. Anyway, it’s more time than your great-grandfather got. Lucky for you, I’m no Bolshevik.”

Thorn stood rigid and made no attempt to grasp the shovel. Orleg tossed his rifle aside and grabbed Akilina’s sweater. He pulled her close and she started to scream, but his other hand cupped her mouth.

“Enough,” Thorn yelled.

Orleg stopped his assault, but raised his right hand to her neck, not tight enough to strangle, but enough to let her know he was there. Thorn grasped the shovel and started to dig.

Orleg fondled her breast with his free hand. “Nice and firm.” His breath stank.

She reached up and dug her fingers into his left eye. He jerked back, recoiled, and slapped her hard across the face. Then he shoved her to the moist ground.

The inspector retrieved his rifle. He chambered a round and slammed his right foot across her neck, pinning her head to the ground. He wiggled the end of the barrel into the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze darted to where Thorn stood.

She tasted rust and grit. Orleg pressed the end of the barrel deeper and she fought to avoid gagging. Terror built inside her.

“You like that, bitch?”

A black form surged from the woods and slammed into Orleg. The policeman tumbled back and lost his grip on the rifle. In the instant it took Akilina to shove the barrel away, she realized what happened.

The borzoi had returned.

She whirled as the rifle butt found the ground.

“Attack. Kill,” Thorn screamed.

The dog’s head whipped as fangs found flesh.

Orleg shrieked in agony.

Thorn swung the shovel and slammed the blade into Droopy, who seemed momentarily stunned by the animal’s arrival. The Russian moaned as Thorn thrust the shovel again, the point digging into Droopy’s stomach. A third blow across the skull and Droopy pounded the ground. The body twitched for a few seconds, then all movement stopped.

Orleg was still screaming as the dog attacked with a relentless furor.

Akilina grabbed for the rifle.

Thorn rushed over. “Halt.”

The dog withdrew and heeled, panting a cloudy mist. Orleg rolled over, gripping his throat. He started to rise, but Akilina fired one shot into his face.

Orleg’s body lay still.

“Feel better?” Thorn calmly asked her.

She spit the taste of metal from her mouth. “Much.”

Thorn moved toward Droopy and checked for a pulse. “This one’s dead, too.”

She stared at the dog. The animal had saved her life. Words Lord and Semyon Pashenko told her flashed through her mind. Something a supposed holy man had proclaimed a hundred years ago.
The innocence of beasts will guard and lead the way, being the final arbitor of success.

Thorn moved to the dog and caressed the silky mane. “Good boy, Alexie. Good boy.”

The borzoi accepted his master’s affection, pawing gently with sharp claws. Blood framed his mouth.

She said, “We need to see about Miles.”

A distant shot echoed, and Lord used the moment Hayes glanced away to grab a lamp with his uninjured arm and sling the heavy wooden base. He rolled out of the chair as Hayes recovered and fired a shot.

The room was now lit by a single lamp and a glow from the dying fire. He quickly belly-crawled across the floor and sent the other lamp in Hayes’s direction, diving up and over a sofa that faced the fireplace. His right shoulder ached from the effort. Two more bullets tried to find him through the sofa. He scrambled across the floor toward the kitchen and rolled inside just as a another bullet shattered the doorjamb. The wound to his shoulder reopened and started to bleed. He was trying to stem the blood flow with his hand and hoping the transition from light to dark would affect Hayes’s aim—he couldn’t take any more bullets—but he knew it would only be a few moments before the man’s eyes adjusted.