Iris Johansen - Deadlock

"What have you got?" Garrett reached over and retrieved Emily's tee shirt and handed it to her. "Why don't you go start the coffee and give us a couple minutes?"

"Right." Pauley moved out of the doorway and headed for the house. "And it's almost eight in the morning. It's time you got up any¬way."

"You can go straight to your bedroom and get some clothes on, Emily." Garrett was pulling the tee shirt over her head. "I'll talk to Pauley."

"No. Give me your shirt. You get another one out of your suit¬case." She slipped the shirt over her tee shirt and buttoned it. "That's good enough until I can hit the shower. It should only take a few min¬utes to hear what Pauley has to say." She got up and headed for the door. "Coming?"

"Could you wait until I get some clothes on?" He was already dressing. "I'll be just a minute." He smiled faintly. "You're already in strike mode. It's going to be a harder battle than I thought. It only took Pauley with his computer wizardry to jar you away."

"What are you talking about? Only? Why else are we here in Russia?"

"You're right, of course. Time to focus." He was passing her as he headed for the door. "What could I be thinking?" He gave her a glance as he passed her. "But remember when I said I'd have it all? That didn't only apply to Staunton and his employer. I will have it all, Emily." He didn't wait for an answer but strode toward the house.

She had to run to keep up with him. The rocks were cold and bit¬ing into her bare feet. It was the same as last night. No, not the same. Last night she wouldn't have cared if she were walking on hot coals.

He glanced back at her, then stopped to wait. "Much as I like every part of you bare, I suggest you wear shoes from now on." There was a faint edge to his tone. "You may not be able to keep up with me. I in¬tend to move very fast from now on. I'm beginning to want Staunton out of our lives very badly."

"I've never wanted anything else."

"Yes, you did." He opened the door for her. "Last night you forgot all about Staunton. I made you forget him. I can do it again, but it's not a good idea. You'd end up resenting me. So it's best if I just eliminate the bastard as soon as possible." He followed her into the room. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd put some clothes on as soon as possible. I don't like Pauley gawking at you, and it distracts me."

"Pauley isn't-" She stopped as she saw that Dardon and Pauley were both standing by the stove, and they were staring at her bare legs and feet. "That's not my problem. You all can deal with it. I'm de¬cent." She strode over to the stove and took the cup of coffee Pauley handed her. "Thank you."

"Talk, Pauley," Garrett said curtly.

"I broke through to the database about two this morning." Pauley made a face. "Damn it was hard. I was tempted to go to bed, but I was zinging by that time, so I decided to plow through the records and come up with a name and address."

"And did you?"

"Sure. I told you, I got it." He took a notebook out of his back pocket. "Charles Vorstov-Babin. He used Babin in London but his full name in Russia."

Emily stiffened. "Babin?"

Pauley glanced up. "You've heard of him?"

"Only once."

On that hideous day that had so traumatized her, she hadn't even been able to remember it.

Pauley looked back at his notes. "He's an attorney who moved from London to Moscow at the end of the Cold War. There were a lot of Western industrialists who decided to come to the Soviet Union to do business and make a killing. Babin decided that he'd make a killing of his own by representing them and getting a cut of the gravy train. He's illegitimate, but his mother was Russian and he speaks the language. It came in handy when he moved back to Russia. He fit in with both the Russian government and his new clients from Great Britain and the U.S. He's very successful and not above skidding very close to the edge when it comes to honest business practices."

"And his address?"

"Got that, too. His office is in a little town north of Moscow. Dal-baz. His home is an estate that was confiscated by the Bolsheviks after they killed the royal family. It once belonged to Grand Duke Igor."

"How far north of Moscow?"

"About fifty miles."

"Not very convenient for doing business," Emily said. "And he must have done very well if he could afford to buy that estate."

He shrugged. "Maybe he has a select clientele that can afford to keep him in the style to which he'd like to be accustomed."

"How well is he doing?" Emily asked. She remembered the term Garrett had used when he'd spoken about Staunton's cash flow. "Un¬limited funds?"

"I haven't had time to do an in-depth study, but I don't think so."

Dardon shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have been able to lo¬cate Babin before this, Emily. Hell, I've been checking since before you went after Nemid. It was that damn double name that threw me off."

"It doesn't matter. We have him now. I just don't understand why his profile doesn't agree with what Garrett was told about Staunton. Staunton doesn't have unlimited funds, and now neither does Babin?"

"We'll find out, Emily," Garrett said quietly. He turned to Dardon. "Now you have a full name and address. Call Ferguson and get him to tap every source he has and see if he can find out anything more. See if he has a client named Staunton."

"You're using Ferguson again?" Emily asked.

"Hell yes, I want to see what dirt he can dig up on Babin. Fergu¬son has contacts, and we might as well use them. Let him earn his pay¬off. Tell him to get the information as fast as he can."

"Then you won't need me any longer," Pauley said. "Do I get to go home?"

Garrett stared at him for a moment. "It's tempting. But I think I'll keep you here for a little while. Something may come up." He turned to Emily. "Shower and get dressed. We'll go visit Babin and see if we can get a few answers ourselves."

BABIN'S OFFICE WAS LOCATED in a brick building on a street with other professional offices. The street was clean and well main¬tained, and the town of Dalbaz appeared prosperous.

"Very nice," Garrett said as he held the door open for Emily. "How are you doing? Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I be?"

"No reason. You can never tell how anything is going to hit some¬one. We're getting closer."

And she was feeling nervous. How had he known? Lord, he was per¬ceptive. "Let's get even closer." She moved to the desk, where a blond receptionist was sitting. "We'd like to see Mr. Babin, please."

"You have an appointment?" Her English was faintly accented, and her smile was flashing white in her pretty face.

"No. But we need to see him. My name is Emily Hudson and this

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Babin never sees anyone without an appoint¬ment. Perhaps you can-"

"Perhaps we can see him right now." Garrett took Emily's elbow and whisked her toward the inner door. "It will be fine. Trust me."

"It will not be fine." The receptionist's smile was gone as she jumped to her feet and ran after them. "I told you that-" She stopped and said to the man who had gotten to his feet as they walked into the room. "I'm sorry, Mr. Babin. I told them that you never saw-"

"John Garrett and this is Emily Hudson," Garrett said. "We need to talk to you, Babin."

"It seems to be somewhat important, Nadia," Babin said to the re¬ceptionist. "Perhaps we should make an exception. It will be all right." lr you re sure:

"I'm not sure, but I'm willing to be open." He smiled at Emily as the receptionist left the room. He was a heavyset man in his fifties, with smoothly barbered black hair and a toothy smile as glossy and slick as his hair. "Now what is this all about?"

She drew a deep breath, trying to smother the anger that was be¬ginning to kindle. "Suppose you tell us. Nicholas Zelov called you two nights ago. He was frightened." She paused. "And he mentioned Mikhail Zelov's Book of Living."