Iris Johansen - Deadlock

"They can't stop what they can't see behind closed doors. They're taking baby steps."

"So there's a reason why your friend is willing to risk his neck for you."

"I wouldn't ask it if I could help it. He knows that." "You seem to have a lot of friends who are willing to go to the wall for you." "Yes."

There was a note in his voice that caused her to glance at him. Then it hit home to her what she had said. "That was thoughtless. Your friend, Karif… I didn't mean-" She shook her head. "I didn't intend to hurt you. I guess I'm not thinking about what I'm saying."

"Never apologize for speaking the truth. Karif died because I asked him to help." His lips twisted. "This won't be as dangerous for Fatin. I'll tell them I broke into the shop if we're caught here." He sat down in the chair opposite her. "But I don't believe there's any danger of that. I'm just being careful, Emily."

She nodded. "I guess I'm just… shaken." She laughed ruefully at the understatement. "I'm not accustomed to dead bodies and chases and having to make deals to keep from being thrown into jail."

"I'd never know it." He smiled. "You take to it like a duck to water."

"I don't want to take to it." She shivered. "It's terrible. Death and blood and…"

"The death of a man who didn't care if you and your whole team died."

"I know that." She tried to think of something besides Nemid with his head half blown off. "I felt too helpless back there. I want you to get me a gun."

He nodded. "I'll make sure that we pick one up for you in New York. It would be a little difficult here. Any preference?"

"I usually like the.40-caliber Glock."

His brows lifted. "Usually?"

"Usually," she repeated emphatically. She hadn't liked the way he had assumed that she was to stay safely in the background at Nemid's. She had to set the record straight before they went any further. "You persist in thinking that I'm helpless and unable to protect myself. That's not true. I traveled with my father to some pretty wild places, and he would never have let me go if he hadn't thought I'd be able to take care of myself. I learned to shoot when I was eight. By the time I was twelve, I was pretty damn good. When I was sixteen, my father and I fought off a truckload of ivory poachers at an elephant reserve in Africa. Since then I've had to deal with thieves and guerrillas who thought museums were only for plundering. I don't need you because I'm helpless. I need you because you're more familiar with this kind of battleground, and I have to be sure I'm going to get Staunton."

He smiled. "The Glock will do very well for Staunton."

"That's what I thought," Emily said. "And why was Nemid killed? What's in the box that was in the wall?"

"Let's see." He drew the box out of his jacket pocket. It was ap¬proximately four inches by eight inches and intricately carved. "Beau¬tiful box. Very ornate. It might say that he regarded what was inside to be just as important." He opened the box and carefully took out the folded sheet of paper covering a velvet-wrapped object and studied it. "It's a map of Russia and central Europe. Pretty old but nothing spe¬cial. It's just the kind of commercial map you'd pick up in any shop or train station." He handed it to her. "But according to the script on the top it was published in St. Petersburg in 1913."

She shook her head. "Russian script? Does it say anything else?"

He nodded. "No. I can read Russian. As I said, it appears to be just an ordinary commercial map." He took back the paper and un¬folded the cloth. He gave a low whistle. "Well, what do we have here?"

It was a hand-painted amulet of a man with a full black beard and burning dark eyes. Emily had seen that face in too many history books not to recognize it. "Rasputin."

Garrett nodded. "You can't say that face isn't memorable. Those words under his picture are a prayer and blessings on the wearer. And it's much smaller and more delicate than the usual amulet." With one finger he traced the delicate gold frame and intricate scrollwork sur¬rounding it. "But who was the wearer?"

"There's no inscription?"

Garrett shook his head. "It's pretty generic. I wonder if Rasputin gave them out to his fans like the Pope does rosaries. From what I've read, Rasputin had that kind of ego."

"Rasputin was in power just before the Russian Revolution when Nicholas II and his entire family were assassinated. But even if it be¬longed to someone in the royal family, it couldn't be that valuable. It has no jewels, and it's not inscribed to anyone. Or maybe it's the map that's important."

"I'll check it out and put it through a few tests, but it looks pretty common."

"I suppose I'm reaching for answers." She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I was hoping for more."

"You mean Zelov's hammer handed to us tied up in ribbons?"

"It wouldn't hurt." She watched him put the amulet and map carefully back in the box. "Staunton wanted that amulet. He killed Nemid to get it."

"Or he didn't want us to have it. If he knew Nemid had it, why didn't he go after it before? Unless it wasn't that important to him."

Emily frowned. "Why wouldn't it be important? Nemid believed it was important, or he wouldn't have hidden it."

"You're right. Maybe Staunton made a deal with Nemid, and the amulet was a payoff. It could be he was biding his time before he took it back."

"But what did this amulet have to do with anything? It's obvious that this isn't the artifact that was supposed to be in the hammer. Staunton thought the hammer was probably at that museum, or he wouldn't have gotten Nemid to send us there." She rubbed her temple. "It's all crazy. Nothing makes sense."

"It will all come together." He leaned back in his chair. "We'll make it come together. But you can't force it. Close your eyes and rest. Try to sleep. I'll wake you as soon as I know if Ferguson is lying or playing straight."

"I won't be able to sleep." But she closed her eyes anyway. It had been a rough night, and she could still see the bloody bodies of Nemid and his bodyguard. Totally unexpected. Totally shocking. Not only their deaths but the fact that Garrett was right, and Nemid had delib¬erately sent her into that hell. What could have meant enough to make anyone-?

"He deserved to die," Garrett said as if reading her thoughts. "If Staunton hadn't killed him, I would have done it myself."

She didn't open her eyes because she didn't want to see the darkness in his expression. She knew it was there. She shouldn't mind. She was accustomed to it now.

She did mind. She didn't want the darkness there because of her. It hurt her in some way. She wanted to push it away, push him away.

No, she only wanted to push away the darkness.

Her eyes were still closed as she reached out her hand to him.

She could sense his sudden stillness.

Then he leaned forward and took her hand. "What's this for?" She shook her head. What could she answer when she didn't know herself?

"Okay. That's fine. I won't push it." His grasp tightened. His hand was warm and strong holding her own.

And even though her eyes were still closed, she knew the darkness was no longer there.

"SHE SLEEPS?" FATIN ASKED several hours later as he came back into the room. "I brought you food. I thought you might need it before you left me."

Emily opened her eyes. "I'm not sleeping." She looked at Garrett, who was leaning against the wall. "When can we leave?"

Garrett gazed at Fatin. "Yes, when can we leave? Have you heard anything?"

He smiled. "According to the radio, it seems our honorable council¬man has been butchered by thieves or the Taliban. His body was discov¬ered by his secretary, who came early to help him with a speech he was to give before the council." He set the tray on the inlaid table in front of Emily. "Such a pity. It's a terrible, brutal world, isn't it?" He turned to Garrett. "But sometimes we can skip away from the brutality with the help of friends." He turned and moved back toward the door. "It is only bread, cheese, and pastry. I will bring tea."