Iris Johansen - Deadlock

"Considering how Rasputin turned out, it doesn't say much for Zelov's philosophy."

"I'll tell you when I finish reading it." She opened the folder again. "It's not a very big file. It shouldn't take long."

"You might skip to the end and see why Dardon thought we might be heading for the U.S."

"Well, we certainly won't be flying this helicopter there. Just set down somewhere we can change to a plane if we need to do it."

He nodded. "We need some time to talk and make sure Dardon managed to get Irana to safety." He thought about it. "Rome?"

"It works for me," she said absently, already absorbed in the pages.

It was working for her, Garrett thought. She was concentrating, moving, mentally alive, and in gear. She had tasks to do, and that was the best thing for her right now. Just as Irana had given her mindless physical labor to start healing, this mental exercise, the sense of pur¬pose, was right for her now.

He turned toward the west. "Then Rome it is."

AFTER THEY LANDED IN ROME, Garrett rented a car, and they checked into a small gracious hotel on the edge of the city.

"You've been very quiet," Garrett said as he handed her a room key. "You've hardly said a word since you finished those pages. Give you something to think about?"

"Yes. But it's not enough. I need to talk to Dardon."

"We'll call him as soon as we get settled. I was going to do it any¬way." He closed the door of the antique open elevator and pressed the button. "I'm right next door. Shower. Catch your breath. I'll order room service. I'll call you when it comes." He opened the elevator door and gestured to a room down the hall. "Thirty minutes. Okay?"

She nodded as she headed down the corridor. "Thirty minutes."

She paused for a moment after she closed the door behind her. Catch your breath, he had said, and it was a damn good idea. It seemed as if she had been running nonstop since Garrett had pulled her out of bed. She'd been on not only a physical but an emotional roller coaster. And that report she'd been reading had not helped. Her mind wouldn't stop trying to see beyond the sketchy references to what lay beneath.

Stop thinking. Relax. Catch your breath.

She headed for the bathroom. Shower. Shampoo.

She had nothing to wear afterward, but she could always wrap in a towel or a sheet. She'd see about getting clothes later.

It turned out that she didn't have to resort to the towel sarong. There was a unisex white terry robe in the closet. But it was still closer to forty-five minutes than thirty when she heard her cell phone ring.

"Ready?" Garrett asked. "Dinner is only coffee, a sandwich, and pasta salad. It can wait if you need more time."

"No, I'll be right there." She looked down at her bare feet peeping from the oversized robe and shrugged. No shoes. It was only Garrett, and he had seen more than her feet naked.

Garrett's feet were also bare and he was dressed in the same type of terry robe she was wearing when he answered the door. Only he looked good in it, she thought sourly. Like a Roman god in one of those mythology books. He grimaced. "I forgot about clothes. I called the concierge and asked her to pick up a couple outfits and a suitcase for us. She said she'd try to get it to us tonight. But we could have stopped on the way from the airport. Sorry."

"It doesn't matter. The robe's okay for now. But it fits you better than it does me." She came into the room. "I need to call Dardon."

"I've already called him." He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. "We'll call him again after we eat. I just wanted to make sure they were both safe, and I didn't want to wait." He smiled faintly. "I told you I wasn't a patient man."

"And are they safe?"

"Yes. They're on their way to Morocco." "What?"

"It's a good launching pad for Irana. She can look the situation over and see where she's most needed. Frankly, I'd bet she chooses Ethiopia." He held out the chair at the room-service table. "As I told you, chicken sandwich, pasta salad, and some kind of apple pastry for dessert. It's filling anyway."

And Emily was hungry, she realized with surprise. "That will be fine." She sat down at the table. "But coffee, first."

He filled her cup. "Cream?"

She shook her head. "Black. I used to drink it with cream, but I've been in so many hot spots where I couldn't get my hands on it that I learned to like it without. It's all what you become accustomed to. How do you drink your coffee?"

"Black with a shot of vodka."

Her brows lifted. "Well, that's unusual."

"That's how my father drank his coffee. He used to let me take sips of it from the time I was about seven. I didn't realize anyone drank it differently until I was ten." He smiled as he poured himself a cup of black coffee. "I was very disappointed. You can't get vodka with your coffee just anywhere."

"It's a wonder you didn't turn into an alcoholic yourself."

He shook his head. "I pick and choose my vices, and I always know the consequences."

"Your father knew the consequences and still thought it was funny to let you drink."

"Exactly. Sometimes you learn more from example." He sipped his coffee. "Talk to me. Tell me about the Zelov notes."

"As I said, Zelov was just a thread in the Rasputin tapestry." She looked down into her cup. "But I have an idea there was more than what's in this report. He seemed to be mentioned at crucial times in Rasputin's life. Whenever something happened, Zelov was in the back¬ground."

"Interesting. For instance?"

"I told you that Zelov was supposed to be his idol when Rasputin discovered the Khlysty religion. According to several sources, the sect preached that a person could only be forgiven sins if they indulged in numerous and heavy sexual encounters and could only be close to God if they immersed themselves in sin. It was a doctrine that suited Rasputin to a T, and he made it his own. He studied mysticism with Zelov and included that as part of his religion." She took a sip of cof¬fee. "When Rasputin went on his journey to Greece and Jerusalem as a young man, Zelov was said to be with him. Rasputin was a consum¬mate actor and got the reputation for being a holy man. When he re¬turned to St. Petersburg, he became the rage in Russian society and later the confidant of the Tsarina. He persuaded her to accept Zelov into the royal household as an advisor." She took a bite of her sand¬wich. "There's a little more. You can read it yourself."

"I intend to do that."

"And if you read it casually, you might even overlook the inferences of Zelov's place in Rasputin's life. Rasputin seemed the dominating force." She took another sip of coffee. "But what if he wasn't? We know for sure that when they started out together, Zelov was in control. What if he continued to be top gun? Maybe he wanted to remain in the back¬ground. It was certainly safer when they were trying to manipulate the Russian church and the royal household. Zelov wasn't the one who was murdered because he became too dangerous. Rasputin could have been his puppet."

"Guesswork."

"I have to guess. I don't have enough information to do anything else." She ate the last of her sandwich. "So let's go to the crux of the matter. Zelov's hammer. What could be hidden in the handle of that hammer?"

"Any number of treasures. You said he held a position at the royal palace. Some priceless bit of jewelry that belonged to the Tsarina or the princesses?"

"Perhaps." She frowned in thought. "But would a piece of jewelry be valuable enough to instigate the hiring of someone like Staunton and give him unlimited funds to retrieve it?"

"Possibly. Sometimes the intrinsic value lies in the history and not in the object itself. You know that as well as I do. Alexander the Great's sword would only be priceless if it belonged to Alexander."