Steve Berry: The Romanov Prophecy

"First time we've ever had a deputy killed in this county."

He ignored the information. "Are state officials being involved?"

"You're goddamn right."

He realized that if he played the situation right, these folks might permanently rid him of the problem. "Sheriff, I don't think Inspector Orleg cares if Lord leaves here in a body bag."

Another deputy rushed up.

"Sheriff, Mrs. Thorn's here."

Hayes and his two associates followed the sheriff inside. A middle-age woman sat in one of the offices crying. She was being consoled by another woman, younger, who was also upset. Hayes listened to the conversation and quickly learned the older of the two was Thorn's wife, the other his secretary. Mrs. Thorn had been away most of the day in Asheville and had arrived back home to find a swarm of patrol cars in front of the house and a dead body being carted off by the coroner. Some of her husband's prized borzois littered the family kitchen. One dog was missing completely. Only four had escaped the carnage. Their cages had not been opened. The dead dogs were causing the deputies some concern. Why had they been released in the first place? was the question they kept repeating.

"Obviously to stop Inspector Orleg," Hayes said. "Lord is smart. He knows how to handle himself. After all, they've been chasing him across the globe with little success."

The explanation seemed to make sense and no one questioned any further. The sheriff turned his attention back to Mrs. Thorn and assured her everything would be done to find her husband.

"I have to call our sons," she said.

Hayes did not like that. If this woman was indeed the Tsarina of All Russia, he certainly did not want a further containment problem by involving the tsarevich and a grand duke. Lord could not be allowed to pass on what he knew beyond Michael Thorn, so he stepped forward and introduced himself. "Mrs. Thorn, I think it might be better to see if this matter plays itself out over the next few hours. It might be resolved and there'd be no need to worry your children."

"Why are you here?" she asked in a blunt tone.

"I'm assisting the Russian government in trying to find a fugitive."

"How did a Russian fugitive manage to get into my home?"

"I have no idea. It was only through luck we were able to trace him to this point."

"Actually," the sheriff said, interrupting, "you never explained how you did trace Lord here."

The man's tone had now shifted to suspicion but, before Hayes could respond, a female deputy burst into the room.

"Sheriff, we got a spot on that Jeep. Damn thing drove right past Larry on Highway 46, about thirty miles north of town."

Lord passed a roadside stand where locals peddled apples and saw the patrol car. The brown-and-white sedan was parked on the shoulder, an officer out talking to a man in overalls beside a flatbed truck. He watched in his rearview mirror as the policeman hustled into his car and roared onto the highway.

"We have company," he said.

Akilina turned back. Thorn's head also turned, and the dog in the rear compartment shifted back and forth. Thorn gave a command and the dog disappeared down.

Lord worked the accelerator, but the engine was only a six-cylinder and the rolling terrain was taxing their horsepower. Even so, he was doing nearly seventy-five on a narrow highway with forested embankments on either side. Ahead, the trunk of another car rapidly approached. He cut the steering wheel left and darted past just as a car in the opposite lane appeared around a curve. He hoped the turn in the road would prevent the deputy from duplicating his feat, but in the rearview mirror he saw a blue glow appear in the opposite lane, then cut back in hot pursuit.

"That cruiser's got more power than us," he said. "Only a matter of time before he catches up. Not to mention his radio."

"Why are we running?" Akilina asked.

She was right. There was no need to flee the deputy. Orleg and Droopy were forty miles to the south, back in Genesis. He should stop and explain the situation. The search was over. Secrecy was no longer required. The sheriff's department could probably help.

He slowed the Jeep, then braked and veered onto the shoulder. In seconds the patrol car had likewise halted. Lord opened the door. The deputy was already out using the driver's-side door as a shield, gun drawn.

"To the ground. Now," the policeman screamed.

Cars whizzed by in a whirlwind.

"I said on the ground."

"Look, I need to speak with you."

"If your ass ain't pointin' to the sky in three seconds, I'm goin' shoot you."

Akilina was now out of the car.

"Down, lady," the deputy screamed.

"She doesn't understand you," he said. "We need your help, Officer."

"Where's Thorn?"

The rear door opened and the lawyer climbed out.

"Come toward me, Mr. Thorn," the deputy yelled over the traffic, gun still leveled.

"What's happening?" Thorn whispered.

"I don't know," said Lord. "You know him?"

"Face isn't familiar."

"Mr. Thorn, please come here," the officer said again.

Lord took a step. The gun jutted forward. Thorn stepped in front of him.

"Down, Mr. Thorn. Get down. That bastard killed a deputy. Get down."

Had Lord heard right? Killed a deputy?

Thorn did not move. The gun continued to waggle, the officer trying to find a clear shot.

"Down," the deputy said again.

"Alexie. Out," Thorn softly said.

The borzoi snapped to attention and leaped from the car. The deputy had moved from behind the door and was approaching with his gun leveled.

"There," Thorn said to the animal. "Move. Jump."

The animal braced his hind legs, then charged and pawed the air as his muscular body slammed into the deputy. They both crumpled to the graveled shoulder, the deputy screaming. The gun went off twice. Lord rushed over and managed to kick the pistol away.

The dog growled and writhed.

In the distance, more sirens could be heard.

"I suggest we get out of here," Thorn said. "Something is wrong. He said you killed a deputy."

Lord didn't need to be told twice. "I agree. Let's go."

Thorn commanded the dog to the car. They all three climbed in as the deputy tried to scramble to his feet.

"He'll be okay," Thorn said. "There were no bites. I didn't give that command."

Lord slammed the transmission into drive.

Hayes waited at the sheriff's department with Orleg and Droopy. He'd almost gone with the sheriff and his men as they raced northward. The radio call had come twenty minutes earlier. A gray Jeep Cherokee was spotted on Highway 46, heading north toward the next county and Tennessee. A cruiser was in pursuit and the last report was that the Jeep was slowing to a stop. The officer had requested backup, but was ready to handle the situation alone.

He could only hope emotions were running high enough that one of the pursuers would get trigger-happy. He'd made it clear the Russians cared nothing about a warm body, only a body, so perhaps someone would end this nightmare with a well-placed shot. Yet even if Lord and the woman were killed, or just Lord, there was still the problem of Michael Thorn. The police would do what they could to save him, and God knows Lord wasn't going to hurt him. If indeed he was a direct descendant of Nicholas II, as Lord insisted, DNA testing would lay to rest any lingering doubts.

And that would be a problem.

He was standing in a dispatch room, an array of communications equipment banked before him. A female deputy was working the console. Static gristled from an overhead speaker.

"Central. Dillsboro One. We're at the scene."

The voice was the sheriff's and Hayes waited for the report. While he did, he stepped close to Orleg, who stood in the corner near the exit door. Droopy was outside, smoking. He whispered in Russian, "I'm going to have to call Moscow. Our friends will not be happy."