Deadlock

EIGHTEEN

"HERE IT IS." PAULEY HANDED them two neatly bound blue books as soon as they entered his room. "Not only accurate content, but a fine presentation. Aren't I wonderful?"

"Exceptional," Garrett said. He flipped through it and gave a low whistle. "Really exceptional, Pauley."

"I'm the one who had to compile all those pages," Dardon said sourly. "Lord, he's nitpicking."

"No use being sloppy," Pauley said. "It reflects on the essential work. But I read bits and pieces of this book, and it's damn ugly. It doesn't de¬serve my effort, but I had to do my best anyway." He turned to Emily. "See? I'm not just a pretty face."

"I never thought you were."

"A woman of judgment. Will you marry me?"

"No."

"Will you go to bed with me?" "No," Garrett said.

"I wasn't asking you to-" Pauley glanced warily at Garrett. "I don't believe I'll pursue that subject." He waved his hand. "You've got what you want. All of you. Get out of my room so that I can get some sleep."

"Delighted," Dardon said. "See you in the morning." He looked at his watch as he moved toward the door. "Which isn't that far away."

"He's right," Garrett said, as he and Emily stopped outside in the hall. "Do you want to do this in the morning?"

"No." But she didn't want to be alone either while she read what even Pauley termed ugly. "Can we go to your room and work on them? I thought we'd split it up. We'll scan through the first part that has the philosophy that so appealed to Rasputin. That shouldn't take long. Then we hit the notes that he said he wanted only in his Book of Living."

He nodded. "That sounds like a plan. I'll order coffee, and we'll see what Mikhail Zelov has to say for himself."

WHAT ZELOV HAD TO SAY FOR himself was twisted enough to make Emily feel ill. After scanning his doctrines for the best part of an hour, she looked up at Garrett, who was sitting across the room. "No wonder Rasputin embraced him as a brother. This allows every de¬bauchery known to man. It recommends everything from sexual abuse of children, to rape, to destroying the icons of the Church. There's even a section describing the methods of torture and murder of the enemies who oppose Zelov that's worse than anything I've read about the Inqui¬sition."

Garrett nodded. "He wanted to start his own church, with him¬self as high priest. He spent fifteen years in Jerusalem and tried to es¬tablish his own temple there, but he gave up and came back to Russia to write this book. But there's so much venom in this doctrine that I can't even tell who he'd worship, God or the devil."

"Himself." Emily shivered. "If he could have taken the throne away from the Tsar, he would have done it. Now let's see how he ap¬plied that doctrine to the royal court."

She flipped to the last section of the book that was merely la¬beled Notes.

September 15, 1916

Rasputin is becoming uncontrollable. I have given him everything, but he is beginning to think he is all that I have made the world be¬lieve he is. I am losing my influence over him.

October 1, 1916

Rasputin tells me that he no longer believes my doctrines. He thinks I lied about the temple in Jerusalem. He thinks I lied about the sorcery of the hammer. He loves his position as the Tsarinas advisor and is going to cling to her skirts and that of her Church. I think he fears me too much to betray me, but I cannot be certain.

October 10, 1916

I stand alone. Rasputin shunned me when I called on him today. I must destroy him. What a fool he is.

November 19, 1916

Rasputin may be influencing the Tsar against me through the Tsa¬rina. The Tsar and I have talked many times about the hammer, and I thought we were in agreement. Lately he avoids the subject, and I sense coolness. Does he not realize that chaos surrounds him? I could hold out my hand and save him as I did his son when the boy was bleeding to death. But he must first give me what I want.

December 5, 1916

I board my ship for America tomorrow evening. I have long thought of America. It is a country where a peasant could become a king if he has the money to buy the throne. I will have the money. I thought that I might stay here to gain my destiny, but it isn't wise. What I have to sell has no value for those Communist vultures who are soon going to devour the court and everything else around them. I can see it coming. Even the Tsar should see it coming.

I left a fond message of farewell for Rasputin.

He ignored it.

Good-bye, Rasputin.

January 12, 1918

I am back in St. Petersburg. I got off the ship in Liverpool as I planned, crossed to Marseilles, and made my way back to St. Peters¬burg by land. I traveled slowly, and more than a year has gone by since I left Russia. I had to make sure no suspicion fell on me, and the passage of time makes everyone forget what I want them to for¬get. Rasputin's murder was not as clean as I would have done it. Fe¬lix Yusupov and those other conspirators tried everything from poison, to shooting, to drowning before he managed to get the deed done. Perhaps Rasputin acquired some of my power over the years that made him resistant to death. Not enough. He is dead and no longer a problem for me. I understand the royal family grieves bit¬terly for him. That is good. But they should grieve for themselves. The Tsar has been forced to abdicate, but he still has hopes that all will be well. What will it take to show him he should flee the coun¬try? I will wait a while longer in this small hamlet and not ap¬proach the Tsar at all for a time so that my appearance does not seem too suspicious. Then I'll go to them and tell them I heard of Rasputin's death and came back to comfort them in their sorrow. Then when the Tsar is convinced of my sincerity, we will once again talk of the hammer. I dare not move too fast, but he may have little time.

May 15, 1918

I waited too long! The Tsar and his family have been moved from St. Petersburg to Ekaterinaburg under house arrest. I must follow them. I will have no trouble blending in with the people holding him. They are peasants, and I am also a peasant. Though a thousand times more clever than they will ever be. I can still get what I need. The Tsar may be more inclined to listen to me now that he knows his only hope is es¬cape.

June 18, 1918

The Tsar is a fool. He says he has no need of my hammer or its sor¬cery. He has coded the directions to the map in the four amulets worn around the necks of his daughters and his wife. He said that the amulets will be placed on a map according to the ages of his daugh¬ters. Olga will be the first, her amulet covering St. Petersburg and the scrollwork showing the first route out of the city, Marias andAnas-tasia's will follow. The last amulet, the one worn by the Tsarina, shows the final route to the destination and also has the final direc¬tions to the treasure engraved on the gold beneath the painting. It is ironic that the amulets are paintings of Rasputin and the messages hidden in the wrought-gold framing of one of his prayers. Put them together, and they can lead a man to paradise or at least to the map that points the way.

I tried to persuade him to tell me a few details as to the place he found to store such a vast treasure. He would only say that it was in Austria and hidden so well that it would not be foundfor a thousand years without the amulets. When he escapes, he will use the amulets to guide him to the cave in the Alps where the treasure was placed years ago. I must be with him every step of the way if I cannot get him to cooperate.

The Tsar said he would have no trouble getting the girls to wear the amulets to show their love for Rasputin, but his wife wished to make sure her pearls were safe and had asked him to have their son carry the final amulet. That was my opportunity! I told him that it would endanger his heir and offered him the hammer to hide the fi¬nal amulet. I was very eloquent, and told him that Rasputin had blessed the hammer, and it was sure to bring him additional good fortune. He said he would think about it.

June 21, 1918

The Tsar sent for me and told me he would accept the hammer to hide the final amulet.

Accept? Arrogant bastard. I wanted to bludgeon him with it. But I smiled and bowed and told him how grateful I was that he would let me help.

July 5, 1918

I think the Tsar is planning his escape. He is being very cooperative with all of his captors and is even planning on visiting the new Peo¬ple's Museum that was built across the street from the residence. He must be trying to avert suspicion for he loathes those Communists who hold his life in their hands.

July 13, 1918

I gave the Tsar the hammer tonight. How I hated to let it out of my hands. The bastard would not even tell me where he intended to hide the hammer until they escaped the country. Never mind. I will find it. Sometimes I feel as if the hammer knows me, calls to me.

The amulets on the necks of the grand duchesses are a more diffi¬cult matter. How to get them away from them? How to do it…

July 17, 1918

It is so simple.

I have been working on influencing Yurovsky, the head of the Tsar's captors, and it will happen tonight. I will not let the Tsar see my face until the last minute. He must know who is responsible after all the annoyance he has caused me.

July 18, 1918

They are dead. The Tsar and all his family shot to death and blud¬geoned in the cellar of Ipatiev House. I convinced Yurovsky they all had to die. He was only going to kill the Tsar and his son. I stayed in the background as I planned and only steppedforward as they were killing the Tsar. But I had to help with the killing of the grand duchesses. No matter how many bullets we sprayed them with, they would not die. I found out why once we stripped them down. They had sewn diamonds into their corsets, and the bullets were bouncing off! I started to laugh, but then I realized everyone was grabbing at the amulets as well as the diamonds. No! They were mine.

They tossed all the jewels into a sack and onto the wagon with the bodies. I had to go with them. It was most annoying. I was going to slip away, but I have to get my hands on those amulets.

They threw the bodies down into a mineshaft, but I had no op¬portunity to grab the sack with the amulets. Some bastard had al¬ready taken it. I willfind them. I must find them.

"Had enough?" Garrett asked.

Emily looked up and saw that Garrett was studying her face. "I'll finish it and tell you about it," he said. "You look as if you're about to throw up."

She did feel sick. It was as if all of Zelov's evil was reaching out to her, smothering her. She smiled faintly. "You're being protective again."

"Yeah. I guess I am."

"He reminds me of Staunton." She moistened her lips. "Did you get to the part where he laughed because the diamonds in the corsets were deflecting the bullets?"

"Yes."

"Those poor young girls. What a nightmare for them. What a horror he was. Like Staunton." She added, "But now at least we know why that map was with the amulets. The Tsar had to have a particular map that he could fashion to work with the scroll on the amulets. It's not as if you could place the amulets over just any map and expect it to lead anywhere."

"You didn't answer me. Do you want me to finish it and tell you the rest? I'll make it brief."

She shook her head. "I just needed a break for a few moments. There doesn't seem to be much more. And it can't be any more terri¬ble than-"

Garrett's cell phone rang. He glanced down at it. "Ferguson." He answered it. "What's the story?" He listened for a few moments, then said, "Let me know."

As he hung up, he said, "Nicholas Zelov was not at his house in Connecticut. The servants don't know where he is. He drove off about noon to go to his tailor, then to a cocktail party in Manhattan. He was a little drunk, but they said he was always at least a little drunk."

"Then he could have had an accident," Emily said. She wished she could believe that was true. But she had read about too much blood and murder tonight.

"Yes, Ferguson is checking to see if he can get the state police to try to spot his car. It shouldn't be difficult. It's a red Lamborghini."

WHAT A SHAME TO DESTROY a sweet car like that, Borg thought. It was almost a crime.

Borg smiled at the thought as he watched the tail end of the Lam¬borghini slowly sink into the marsh. Actually, the crime was not the killing of the car. With any luck, Zelov would not be found for a very long time.

And Borg felt lucky. Everything had been going off very well. He dialed Staunton. "I've earned my bonus. What next?" "Come to Moscow. It's time we finished the job." "Garrett and Hudson?" "Not Hudson. Emily Hudson is mine."

July 17, 1918

I have three of the amulets. I found out which of the peasants who had been at the mine had taken the sack and waited until they took the jewels to the flea market and sold them. The stupid oafs got a pittance for the diamonds, but they only wanted to get rid of them. I followed behind them, and when the amulets were sold, I bought them back.

But dammit, there are only three. Where is the hammer that has the fourth? It is the most important of all of them, for it has the en¬graved directions beneath the painting. I went back to Ipatiev House, but I couldn't find it. Maybe the Tsar persuaded his wife to wear the amulet after all. No, the Tsarina had been stripped and robbed like the girls.

But a worthless amulet might not have been noticed. It could have still been around her neck when she was thrown into the mine. Worthless? The fools. The stupid, careless fools. I'll have to go back to the mine tonight.

July 17, 1918 11:40 p.m.

I went back to the mine, but it was guarded. Yurovsky does not want anyone to know where the bodies were thrown. I had to wait until later to kill the guard and go down into the mine. The water was icy cold and the bodies starting to stink. There was no amulet around that royal bitch's neck. It has to be in the hammer.

I climbed out of the mine, and my anger was so hot I did not feel the cold. Think, I told myself. Where had the Tsar hidden the ham¬mer? If it wasn't at the house, where could he have-

Then it came to me. The People's Museum. What better place to hide the hammer? Across the street from Ipatiev House and easy to re¬trieve. He had visited the museum to pay his respects the day after I gave him the hammer. I had thought he was trying to pacify his cap¬tors and save his neck. It had even amused me.

It did not amuse me now. It filled me with exhilaration.

I tried to break into the museum that night, but there were guards all over the street. The next day I went into the museum with a crowd ofpeasants who wanted to gawk at the few exhibits the new government had set up to glorify themselves.

The hammer is there! I saw it.

But I cannot touch it! I can tell they suspect me of the murder of the guard at the mine. And someone might have seen me at the flea market when I bought the amulets. I'm sure I was followed today.

I must not panic. I must control myself. I cannot stay here any longer. My position is too dangerous. And too many people may re¬member I was at court with the royal family. This country is in tur¬moil, and I will not let myself be swept away in the bloodbath. I will go to America as I planned. But I will not go as a pauper. I do not have all the keys to the Tsar's fortune, but I can come back for the hammer later. I can still be a king.

I will go to Nartova. The political situation may be just what I need to pressure him. The Bolsheviks are howling for blood, but it will not be mine.

Emily thought it was the last entry, but she flipped the pages and found two more. Both were decades from the time of the massacre.

July 25, 1932

It is no use. I've gone back many times, but I cannot Jind a way to get that hammer out of the museum. I've tried everything from bribery to hiring thugs to help me attack the guards who watch over the mu¬seum. No one will take my bribes, and it's ridiculous how heavily the museum is guarded. I've been foiled twice when I made the attempt to kill them and get into the exhibition hall. It's just a poor, unim¬portant historical museum. Why should it be so well guarded? I sus¬pect Nartova. He is clever enough to find ways to manipulate the government even if he has little power. He is standing guard over the hammer like a giant gargoyle.

It is of no matter. I still have my grand palace and I'm almost as rich as if I'd found the Tsar's billions. Nartova still pays into my cof¬fers regularly. I may up the payments to punish him for thwarting me.

May 24, 1942

I have started to dream of Rasputin. Are they death dreams? I will not permit it. I will live a long time, and if I meet Rasputin in hell, I will still be his master. I will hold the hammer over his head, and he will cringe and kneel before me.

Emily closed the book. "He died in 1943. Maybe he was being haunted by Rasputin during those last years." Her lips twisted. "I won't believe it was conscience. I don't think he had one."

"Neither do I." Garrett got up and poured a cup of coffee. "But he died a rich man and years after the massacre, this Nartova was still funneling money to him." He brought the cup to her. "The question is who was Nartova? And how did Zelov convince him that he'd man¬aged to hide the amulet in the hammer? Or was it blackmail that Nar¬tova was paying Zelov?"

Emily rubbed her temple, then took the cup. "I have no clue. I was hoping that we'd be able to put a period to Zelov's part in this. Lord, I want to get away from Mikhail Zelov."

He shook his head. "We're not going to do it. He's the center, like the eye of the hurricane."

"And Nicholas Zelov must have known who this Nartova was be¬fore he came to Russia. That has to be why Joslyn paid him off." She shook her head. "But why in hell would hush money still be paid in this day and age for something that happened in 1918?"

He shrugged. "Why don't we ask Mr. Joslyn?"

"But Nicholas Zelov went to see Bishop Dimitri first. We might get more information by going to him." She shook her head. "We'll talk to Irana in the morning and see what she thinks."

"MIKHAIL ZELOV WAS TRULY from Satan." Irana finished read¬ing the notes and looked up at Emily and Garrett, who were sitting at breakfast at the room-service table across the room. "And I'm sure he's with him now. Is there anything else?"

"Just a translation of his Book of Living," Emily said. "I scanned it, but then went right to the notes." She grimaced. "I don't think you'll want to read it. Total debauchery. Total permissiveness. Whatever you want, you take. Sexual intercourse with small children and any woman who crosses your path. It's no wonder that Rasputin was drawn to it."

"But Rasputin tried to pull away from Zelov toward the end," Irana said. "I think I do want to read it."

"Be my guest," Emily said. "Keep my copy. Garrett has one if we need it."

"By all means," Garrett said. "But what we wanted from you were any ideas you might have as to why Nicholas Zelov went first to a revered bishop of the Church before he went to Joslyn?"

Irana stared down at the book. "I have a few thoughts on the sub¬ject. Let me go over what we know so that I can get it clear in my head. I'm not as familiar with this as you are." She tapped one finger on the book. "Mikhail Zelov was instrumental in the assassination of the royal family for the purpose of stealing the three amulets from the grand duchesses. The fourth amulet was supposedly hidden in the hammer he provided to the Tsar. The Tsar hid the hammer in a Soviet museum near the execution house. Zelov was unable to retrieve it." She frowned. "But Zelov felt confident that he could get money from Nartova and that the hammer would stay safely in that museum so that he might be able to get it later. He was right. In all those years, Nartova didn't try to get the hammer for himself. He obviously wanted that hammer to stay in the museum."

"But why?" Emily asked. "And who the hell is Nartova?"

"I don't know why," Irana said. "But I believe you'll find that the man who was supporting Mikhail Zelov all those years was Bishop Sergai Nartova. The time frame is right."

"Another bishop?" Garrett asked. "Mikhail Zelov hated the Church."

"That doesn't mean that he wouldn't try to use it," Irana said. "In fact, it's more likely that he'd do it."

"You're sure that this Bishop Nartova could be the same man?"

"No," Irana said. "But I've studied the period, and the Russian Church and Sergai Nartova definitely had the power to siphon off enough money to keep Zelov happy. He was regarded with great re¬spect and at one time was in line to be the Patriarch of all Russia. He refused, and said he was not worthy and would prefer to serve in a humbler position." She paused. "And after the Bolsheviks took over, he requested that he serve God and the Church here in Ekaterinaburg. It didn't please the new government since they were trying to make everyone forget what happened here."

"But steal from the Church to make that bastard rich?" Emily asked. "That would make him as bad as Zelov."

"It's definitely criminal. It must have been a very strong motive to keep him paying Zelov all those years. You say the payments stopped in 1943?" When Emily nodded, Irana said, "I'd have to check to be sure, but I think that's about the time that Nartova died. And since Zelov died shortly after the payments ended, no one learned anything about it."

"Until Nicholas Zelov got money hungry over sixty years later and resurrected it," Garrett murmured. "So he went to Bishop Dimitri and either tried to stir up some mud about past criminal practices of the Church or offered the three amulets to him so that the bishop could complete the set with the one in the hammer."

"It's guesswork," Irana said. "And I'd think that Nicholas Zelov might try to get the hammer for himself to try for the Tsar's billions."

"Too difficult," Emily said. "He's an alcoholic, and he obviously likes the easy way. That was why the steady flow of money appealed to him. He gave Babin the Book of Living and the amulets and went his way with his pockets lined." She glanced at Garrett. "But Babin was hired by Joslyn, not this Bishop Dimitri. Joslyn's got to be up to his ears in all this mess."

"Because you'd rather he be the bad guy than Bishop Dimitri," Gar¬rett said. "They both may be scum. Money does corrupt, Emily."

"I know that." It was true that she didn't want a man of the cloth to be involved in this ugliness. There were so few holy or pure things to cling to in this world. "You believe that Bishop Dimitri contacted Joslyn and they became partners?"

"It's reasonable," Garrett said. "Joslyn had the money, and I don't see how the Bishop could provide Nicholas Zelov with the cash he wanted. Nartova was able to do it with old Mikhail Zelov because it was a different world, and he wielded power in the Church. These days ac¬countants scrutinize everything." He shook his head. "No, Joslyn had to be involved."

"I'm more interested in what the Church had to do with this." Irana was already glancing through the book. "I think I should get to know more about Zelov and his relationship with it."

"I know all I want to know about him." Emily shuddered. "I keep thinking how much like Staunton Zelov is. It seems strange that two such evil men born in different generations would both be drawn by the same lure."

"Maybe not so strange." Irana didn't look up from the book. "Sometimes I think that if the evil is strong enough, it takes on a life of its own."

"Reincarnation?"

She shrugged. "I think anything is possible in God's world. But that wasn't what I meant."

"Good. I'd hate to think there could be a constant string of Stauntons emerging in every generation." She turned to Garrett. "When are we phoning Joslyn?"

He shook his head. "Soon. But maybe we should do as you sug¬gested and go to see Bishop Dimitri first."

"No, let me," Irana said suddenly. "Isn't that why you brought me here?"

"But I didn't think the bishop was actually a conspirator then," Garrett said.

"It doesn't change anything. I speak the language and I have the background. I want to do it." Garrett shook his head.

"Stop protecting me, Garrett. I will do it," Irana said. "I should do it."

Her tone was totally, almost passionately, determined. Emily re¬membered the chill she had felt when Irana had told her that it was meant that she come here.

Irana glanced at Emily as if she had read her mind. "Stop worry¬ing." She smiled. "After all, isn't it true that I'm the best qualified? I will meet him at his residency in full daylight. Nothing will happen." She got to her feet. "Now I will finish getting dressed and call Bishop Dimitri."

"He may not see you," Emily said.

"I believe he will see me." She headed for the bathroom. "In fact, I'm quite sure he will see me."

"I suppose God told you he would?" Emily asked. "Heavens no. It's just a feeling. We all have these feelings occa¬sionally."

"Why don't I go with you?"

She chuckled. "My feelings say no. It will be fine, Emily." She disappeared into the bathroom.

"I don't want her to go alone," Emily said. "Why won't she lis¬ten?"

"Maybe she objects to you trying to protect her. I've heard inde¬pendent women have a tendency to violently resent it." "That's not amusing."

"I know. It's a big problem." He reached out and took her hand. "I'm not going to let her go see the bishop without protection. She'd object to me going, but I'll have Dardon drive her and stay close."

Relief rushed through her. "I know she's right, and visiting the bishop shouldn't be-I just don't like the idea."

"You have a 'feeling'?"

She nodded. "Dardon won't let her out of his sight?" He nodded. "And I know that won't be enough for you, so we'll be parked in a car two blocks away, just in case."

She didn't speak for a moment. "Irana won't like it." "Will that stop you?" "Hell, no," Emily said.

"Great." He grinned. "It will give me fuel for future discussions on the subject of protective interference." He got up and moved to¬ward the door. "I'll go talk to Dardon."

BISHOP DIMITRI LEANED BACK in his leather chair after he had hung up the phone. Why had he consented to see Irana Povak? She had given him a brief description of herself and her background, but just because she had mentioned Emily Hudson should not have made him halt his objection and agree. Perhaps he should have refused and let his housekeeper turn her away if she appeared on his doorstep. It would have been prudent. It would have been safer.

But he didn't want to be safe any longer, he thought wearily. His soul was sick to death of protecting himself when he was not impor¬tant. Who knew what was right or wrong? All his life he had been cer¬tain of his judgment and his creed. Where had that certainty gone? Why had he stepped beyond those borders?

He slowly reached out and dialed Peter Joslyn. "I've agreed to see Irana Povak. She says she is a friend of Emily Hudson."

"I know who she is," Joslyn said. "Staunton told me. It's a mistake to see her, Dimitri."

"I wanted you to tell me that. I wanted an excuse to turn her away." He looked out the window at the red roses blooming in the garden. It was too late for roses, but Joslyn had given him a hardy variety that bloomed several times a year. "And when a man looks for excuses, it usually means he's wrong." He paused. "Are we wrong, Peter?"

Silence. "I don't know. We probably are wrong. But we can't go back."

"No, we can't go back." It was too late. Too much had happened. Too many lives had been lost. "But perhaps we can make peace."

"I don't like the sound of that. Look, I'm on my way over. Don't talk to anyone until I get there."

"Only Irana Povak. I've been sitting here and gazing out at the beautiful roses that you gave me and wondering why I gave her per¬mission to come. Do you know what I decided? Sometimes God sends a messenger, and if we're wise, we don't shut him out. Perhaps I felt that this woman was my messenger."

"Dimitri, you're just tired and discouraged. Let's talk, and we can come-"

"You're right, I'm tired. And I'm feeling very old today." He rose to his feet. "I'm going out to my rose garden and sit in the sunshine and wait for Irana Povak."

"Don't see her," Joslyn said quickly. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Put her off. Don't do anything that-"

"Good-bye, Peter." He hung up, then turned off his phone. He moved toward the French doors that led to the garden. The sun was beckoning and he knew that the heady scent of the roses would sur¬round that bench near the fountain. His housekeeper would show Irana Povak to the garden when she arrived.

Come, messenger. Cleanse my soul.

THE RESIDENCY WAS A LARGE brick building on the outskirts of Ekaterinaburg surrounded by several equally-prestigious-appearing buildings. Irana gazed out the window at the wide arched windows and heavy mahogany door as Dardon pulled over to the curb in front of it. "Very impressive," she murmured as she opened the passenger door. "Okay, Dardon, go away."

"Nope. I have to stay with you. Orders."

"And my orders are for you to either go away or wait here." She moved toward the door. "I don't want you getting in my way."

"What difference does it make if I come with you? I'll keep my mouth shut."

She didn't know why she was being insistent. She was operating on instinct alone. "It will make a difference. Stay here." She climbed the three steps to the front door alcove. "I'm sure that Garrett and Emily will consider that close enough."

"You're wrong, Irana," Emily said as she came around the corner. She held up her hand as Irana opened her lips. "Garrett said that we should wait a block away so that you wouldn't be annoyed with us. I thought about it and decided that I don't care if you're annoyed. You and Garrett have done whatever you thought best for me since the moment we met. Why shouldn't I do the same? I'll give you your space. I'll sit in the anteroom while you have your talk with Bishop Dimitri, but I'm going to be a hell of a lot closer than a block away."

Irana gazed at her a moment, then smiled. "I'd have to knock you out to keep you from coming with me, wouldn't I?"

"If you think you're tough enough."

"I'm tough enough, but it's hard to overcome the power of affec¬tion with force. It gets too complicated." She reached out to ring the doorbell. "And it warms my heart that you care for me. But I truly think that I'll get more information if I'm alone with the bishop. When I spoke to him on the phone, I got the vague impression that he wants to-" She shrugged. She wasn't sure she could describe what she had felt in that moment when she had heard Bishop Dimitri's voice on the phone. "So you may guard me from a very respectable distance. Understand?"

"I didn't expect anything else. I just didn't want you to be alone."

"I'm not alone." She pressed the doorbell. "Ever since I decided to come here, I knew I wasn't alone." Her face lit with her warm smile. "And now I have you, too."