Steve Berry - The Romanov Prophecy

"This is not Russia," he said.

"True. But that is where she will be when all that occurs. A plane is waiting at the airport to return her. She is wanted for questioning and we have already cleared that with your customs authorities. Your FBI has even offered to assist in locating both you and her. International cooperation is such a wonderful thing, is it not?"

He knew what he had to do. He could only hope that after he failed to show at the zoo, Akilina would leave town. He was sad he would never see her again. "I'm not going to tell you a damn thing."

Zubarev stood. "Have it your way."

As the older man left the room, Orleg slapped another strip of tape over his mouth.

Droopy stepped close and smiled.

He hoped the end would be quick, but knew that it wouldn't.

Hayes looked up from the speaker as Maxim Zubarev entered the room. He'd listened to the entire exchange with Lord from down the hall, courtesy of a room microphone.

He, Khrushchev, Droopy, and Orleg had left Moscow the previous night within hours after the call verifying Lord's location. An eleven-hour time difference had allowed them to travel nine thousand miles and arrive by the time Lord was having lunch in San Francisco. Thanks to Zubarev's government connections, police visas had been arranged for Orleg and Droopy. What Khrushchev had just told Lord was true. A call had secured the help of the FBI and customs in locating Lord and Akilina Petrovna if needed, but Hayes had declined American intervention, hoping to keep the situation confined. An easy exit from California and back to Russia for Lord and Petrovna was arranged through the State Department, few questions to be asked by Immigration at the San Francisco airport, a Russian warrant for murder the means of securing unquestioned American assistance. The idea was to contain exposure and stop whatever it was Lord was intent on finding. The problem was they still did not really know what that was, beyond some incredible assertion that perhaps somewhere in the United States was a direct descendant of Nicholas II.

"Your Mr. Lord is a defiant man," Khrushshev said, as he closed the door.

"But why?"

Khrushchev sat. "That is the question of the day. When I left, Orleg was stripping two wires from one of the lamps. Some electricity surging through his body might loosen his tongue before we kill him."

Through the speaker Hayes heard Droopy's voice as he told Orleg to cram the plug back in the wall socket. An amplified scream that lasted fifteen seconds pierced the room.

"Maybe you might reconsider telling us what we want to know," Orleg's voice said.

There was no reply.

Another scream. This one longer.

Khrushchev reached across the desk to a candy dish and fingered a chocolate ball. He unwrapped the gold foil and popped the morsel into his mouth. "They will continue lengthening the amount of electricity until his heart gives out. It will be a painful death."

The tone was cold, but Hayes had little sympathy for Lord. The fool had placed him in a difficult situation, his irrational actions jeopardizing a lot of planning and millions of dollars. He now wanted to know everything as badly as these Russians.

Another scream rattled the speaker.

The phone on the desk buzzed and he lifted the receiver. A voice on the other end informed him that a call had come in through the switchboard downstairs for Miles Lord. The receptionist thought it important and decided to see if Mr. Lord was available to take the call.

"No," Hayes said. "Mr. Lord is in a conference right now. Put the call through to here." He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. "Shut that speaker off."

A click in his ear and a female voice asked through the phone, "Miles. Are you all right?" She spoke Russian.

"Mr. Lord is not available at the moment. He asked me to speak with you," he said.

"Where is Miles? Who are you?"

"You must be Akilina Petrovna."

"How do you know that?"

"Miss Petrovna. It is important we speak."

"I've got nothing to say."

He motioned to switch the speaker back on. A crackled scream instantly blared.

"Did you hear that, Miss Petrovna? That is Miles Lord. He's being questioned at the moment by a determined Moscow militsya. You could end his pain by simply telling us where you are and waiting there."

Silence on the other end.

Another scream.

"Electricity is being passed through his body. I doubt his heart can take much more."

The phone clicked dead.

He stared at the receiver.

The screaming stopped.

"The bitch hung up." He looked at Khrushchev. "Determined people, aren't they?"

"Very. We must learn what they know. Your idea of tricking Lord was a good one, but it failed."

"I'm betting these two are more coordinated than we think. Lord was smart to hide her. But they had to have a way to reconnect, if this wasn't a trap."

Zubarev sighed. "I'm afraid there's no way to find her now."

He smiled. "I wouldn't say that."

4:30 PM

Akilina was forcing back tears. ShE stood at a pay phone, the surrounding sidewalk busy with shoppers and pedestrians. She could still hear Lord's scream. What was she going to do? Lord had expressly forbidden her to call the police. He'd also made it clear that she was not to go to the Russian consulate. Instead, she was to find a new hotel, check in, and go to the zoo at six PM. Only when he failed to show was she to go to the American authorities, preferably somebody with the U.S. State Department.

Her heart ached. What had the man on the phone said? Electricity is being passed through his body. I doubt his heart can take much more. The words were delivered as if killing meant nothing to him. His Russian was good but she detected an American twist, which was curious. Were American authorities likewise compromised? Were they working with the same Russians who seemed intent on discovering what she and Lord were doing?

Her hand continued to grasp the phone, her gaze down to the sidewalk, and she failed to notice anyone until a hand touched her right shoulder. She turned and an elderly woman said something. The only words she caught were you and over. Tears were now dripping from her eyes. The woman noticed the crying and her face softened. She caught herself and quickly swiped the moisture from her eyes and mouthed a spasibo, hoping the woman understood Russian for "thank you."

She stepped from the phone and merged into the sidewalk rush. She'd already checked into another hotel using the money Lord had provided. She'd not stashed the egg, gold bars, and newspaper in the hotel's safe-deposit box, though, as he recommended. Instead, she carried them in one of the bags that had originally held Lord's toiletries and change of clothes. She did not want to trust their safety to anyone or anything.

She'd wandered the sidewalks the past two hours, darting in and out of cafes and shops, making sure no one was following. She was fairly sure she was alone. But where was she? Definitely west of the Commerce amp; Merchants Bank, beyond the city's main financial district. Antiques stores, art galleries, jewelers, gift shops, bookstores, and restaurants abounded. Her drifting had led her in no particular direction. The only thing important was to know the way back to her new hotel, but she'd brought one of the brochures and could always show it to a taxi driver.

What had drawn her to this spot was the bell tower she'd noticed a few blocks back. The architecture was Russian with gilded crosses and a distinctive dome. The design was a breath of home, but there were clearly foreign influences in the pedimented main door, rusticated surfaces, and a balustrade she'd never seen on any Orthodox church. She could read the sign out front, thanks to a Cyrillic translation beneath the English-HOLY TRINITY CATHEDRAL-and concluded this was a local Russian Orthodox church. The structure harked of safety, and she quickly crossed the street and entered.