Iris Johansen - Deadlock

Yes, no one knew that better than she did. "It would probably have to belong to the royal family. Maybe Anastasia?"

He shook his head. "I'm bowing out of the guesswork. I need more leads before I take a leap like that." He sat back in his chair. "Even if we've got the right Zelov. We can't be sure."

"I think we have." She was trying to put it together. "You said Dardon looked for a long time before he came up with this Zelov. The farm tools Staunton was interested in at the museum in Afghanistan came from Russia. Zelov was in a position to acquire treasures of all descriptions at the palace. I think it's Mikhail Zelov. Now we have to find out more about him. This was just a teaser."

He smiled. "And you want to call Dardon."

"Of course, I do." She finished her salad. "And I want you to send that concierge for a laptop for me. I feel naked without mine."

"You didn't have it when you were with Irana."

And she hadn't missed it at all. She hadn't wanted to touch or be touched, and the Internet could be terribly invasive. "It's different now."

He nodded. "Yes, you're different now." He pushed back his chair.

"Let's get to work. I'll call the concierge, and you get on the phone to Dardon."

"ZELOV?" DARDON REPEATED. "You think I did good? It's pretty weird, but I thought maybe I'd struck gold."

"Pure gold," Emily said. "But there's not enough information about Zelov in this. Just hints, and there's no way to make judgments from this little. When can you give me more?"

"There's not much more to give you that's public record."

"What about that Book of Living Zelov wrote, which Rasputin spoke about?"

"I can't find any record of its actually existing. Hell, I can't find much evidence that Zelov existed. There are all kinds of stories about Rasputin, but I only found this one that made reference to Zelov. If this is true, then Zelov definitely liked to keep to himself. Sort of a shadow figure."

Shadows. Yes, that was the impression Emily was getting of Zelov. A man who lived in shadows, only moving out to grasp power and manipulate the people around him. "There has to be some informa¬tion. What happened to him after Rasputin was murdered? Was he killed, too?"

"I checked death records for ten years following Rasputin's death, and there was no record of a death of a Mikhail Zelov. Of course Rus¬sia was in turmoil at that time. The massacre of the royal family, the revolution. There might not be a record, or it might have been de¬stroyed in the wars and upheaval of the last hundred years."

"That's encouraging."

"I know you're disappointed. I'm still working on it. There are a couple more sites I can check."

"Then check them." She remembered something else. "You said that we might want to go to the U.S. Why?"

"I couldn't find a death record of Mikhail Zelov, so I started check¬ing possible descendants. Now I would have run like hell if I'd thought I might be linked to Rasputin after his murder. So I checked immigra¬tion records and found that an Alexander Mikhail Zelov left St. Peters¬burg for New York City about the time of Rasputin's death. If that's the right Zelov, he lived to prosper and have children of his own. His great-grandson Nicholas Zelov visited Moscow only five months ago." "Why?"

"He listed tourism as the purpose of his visit." "Dammit, why didn't you tell us about this before?" "I wasn't sure that this was the right Zelov. I thought I'd try to ver¬ify it."

"What's to verify? Mikhail Zelov panicked and took off when he thought he was next in line to be murdered."

"Reasonable. There's only one hitch. Alexander Mikhail Zelov left St. Petersburg several days before Rasputin was assassinated."

She stiffened. "Before he died?"

"Coincidence? Or was he part of the assassination plot and wanted to be sure he didn't take the fall?" He paused. "Or maybe this wasn't our Zelov, and we're on the wrong track. Are you going to go to New York and see this Nicholas Zelov and try to find out?"

She didn't even have to think about it. "Yes. Do you have his ad¬dress?"

"I'll text it to Garrett's phone. It's an estate in Connecticut, not far from New York City. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find out any¬thing else."

"Good. We need all the help we can get."

"You'll get it." He paused. "You sound much better. Irana will be glad to hear that." "How is she?"

"Being Irana. That's pretty good."

Yes, that was very good. "Give her my best. Call me if you find out anything else." Emily hung up.

"So we go to the U.S.?" Garrett asked from his chair across the room. "New York?"

She nodded. "The plot thickens. Zelov may have been involved in the assassination of Rasputin. He left Russia days before it happened." She frowned thoughtfully. "And one of his descendants paid a visit to Moscow five months ago. Nicholas Zelov. But Dardon doesn't know much beyond that."

"Give him a chance. We've all been a little busy lately."

"I know. It's time I stopped relying on you and Dardon and worked this out for myself."

"No, it's not time for you to stop relying on us. But I'm glad to see you rallying to the effort," he said. "I'll call and make reservations for tomorrow morning for New York."

"Why not tonight?"

"My, you are eager." He smiled. "But the concierge still has to send up the clothes and the laptop. I don't believe the airlines would appreci¬ate us going on board barefoot and in robes. The skies aren't that friendly. Besides, a night's rest won't hurt either one of us."

She nodded and got to her feet. "Tomorrow. Early." She headed for the door. "At least, I feel as if we're making some progress. Though it's not enough. We're moving too slow."

"Yes, much too slow."

There was a curious note in his voice that made her turn at the door to look at him. His face was without expression, but there was something… She opened the door. "Good night, Garrett."

He didn't answer, and she closed the door behind her. That last interchange had disturbed her. He was evidently as discouraged as she about the lack of information they'd gotten on Zelov. Perhaps even more disappointed. At least she felt as if they'd gotten a tiny insight into Zelov and what might be in the hammer. That insight was clearly not enough to satisfy Garrett. How could she blame him? Today he had learned one of his best friends had been killed, Irana was in dan¬ger, and his home on Mykala had been burned to the ground.

And it was all because he had linked himself to Emily and her search for Staunton. Of course, he was impatient. He wanted it over.

And Emily wanted it over, too. They had barely started, and she was already on edge and frustrated. The information about Zelov had given her a sense of overwhelming darkness and foreboding. Evil seemed to surround both the origin of Zelov's hammer and the horror it had spread down to this day.

But she couldn't be frustrated or impatient. She had to think clearly and without emotion. Tomorrow they would get on the plane, and soon they'd be able to take action, find answers that would lead her to Staunton.

Dear God, she hoped that was true.

GARRETT HUNG UP AFTER MAKING their flight reservations and sat looking down at the phone. Everything was moving. Irana was as safe as he could make her. Soon they would be on that plane to New York. Maybe he should just accept the status quo. God knows it was what he wanted to do.

But he couldn't do it. That was one of the mistakes he had made, and Karif had died.

God, Karif…

He blocked the wave of sorrow and regret that thought brought. Memories were the enemy. He had no time to grieve now. He had to be hard as a diamond to cut through the web in which Emily was en¬folding him. That shouldn't be such a stretch. When had he been any¬thing else?