Deadlock

EIGHT

"I'LL BE WITH YOU IN A MINUTE," Irana said as she strode down the hospital hall beside an old man on a gurney. She was hold¬ing his hand and smiling down at him. "As soon as I get Andros set¬tled. Strange places are always a little scary, aren't they, Andros?"

Not with Irana beside you, Emily thought as she watched Irana disappear into a room at the end of the corridor. The woman's hair was tousled, her clothing rumpled, but she still exuded the energy and confidence that made everyone sure that everything was going to be okay. "She seems to have taken charge."

"Yes, what did you expect?" Dardon asked as he came out of the admittance room. "Irana is a law unto herself. The hospital didn't want to take in her patients, but Irana wouldn't hear of them turning her down. She said she knew they'd get the best care here." He looked at Garrett. "And it may be hard to pry her away from them."

"Hard or easy. She can't stay here. She'd be a weapon in Staunton's hands. I won't tolerate that." His gaze went to the door through which Irana had disappeared. "Find a place that's safe for her. I want her so sur¬rounded by guards that she'll stumble over them if she turns around."

"Anything else?"

"Zelov. Earlier tonight you said you had something on him."

He nodded. "I'll give you the report as soon as I get to a printer." His eyes were shining. "Things have started to escalate, haven't they?"

"You might say that," Garrett said dryly. "That should please you."

Dardon grimaced. "I don't mean to be insensitive. It's just that I have a low boredom threshold."

"I know. So does Ferguson. He almost nailed you because of it. Bored or not, you stay close to Irana until you get her secured."

"Will Emily be with her?"

"No way." Emily shook her head. "I won't be sent away with Irana. No more hiding."

"Moderate hiding," Garrett said. "Unless you want the paparazzi to camp on our doorstep." He watched Irana walking toward them down the hall. "Now let's see how Irana is going to react. The explosion at the hospital might be minor in comparison." He raised his voice as Irana approached. "Everyone all settled?"

"As well as could be expected. The sick don't take well to change," Irana said. "Their bodies are already in turmoil. But the sisters here will take good care of them."

"Really?" Garrett's eyes narrowed. "That sounds… permanent."

"What did you expect? I'm not a fool. This Staunton wants to hurt you. He blew up my hospital. I'm much more valuable than brick and mortar. I'm sure he would like to blow me up, too. I will have to go away somewhere safe to keep you safe."

"I'm relieved that you're being reasonable."

"I'm usually reasonable. My patients will receive good care. They aren't in danger. You're the one I have to worry about. I have to make sure you're safe. There must be a reason why God linked us together." She gazed at Emily. "You are well?"

"Yes."

"Would you come with me if I ask you? I'll find good work for you to do."

Emily shook her head.

"I didn't think so." She reached out and gave her a quick hug. "Take care of yourself. If you need me, I'll come to you." She glanced at Gar¬rett. "And take care of Garrett, too. He thinks he doesn't need it, but don't pay any attention to him." "Like you?" Garrett asked.

She smiled. "Exactly like me." She turned to Dardon. "Garrett will ask you to stash me someplace. Right? I will tell you what I require. I don't care where it is, but I want to be able to work. I was thinking of per¬haps a medical facility in Africa or South America for the next month or so. They always need help. I'll look into possibilities, and we'll discuss it."

"You'll have to leave right away," Garrett said. "Discuss it while you're getting away from here."

She nodded. "After I give my notes on the patients to the Sisters." She turned away. "I've already sent my nurses back to their homes and told them to keep a low profile." She smiled back over her shoulder. "I told them I'd put them back to work when you build me a bigger and better hospital. I'll probably have to hire a larger staff for the diagnos¬tic clinic."

"I'm sure you will," Garrett said dryly. "And the clinic will proba¬bly rival the one at Johns Hopkins."

"Possibly. It's good for your soul to spend your money on such worthwhile things. It only follows that the more you spend, the better I'm treating you." She strode down the corridor toward the nurses' station.

Dardon chuckled. "What a philosophy. I hope she doesn't better your soul to the point of bankruptcy." He started after Irana. "I'll keep an eye on her and see if I can borrow the nurses' printer for your printout."

"Be quick. We'll wait at the elevator."

Emily frowned as she saw Irana smiling at the Sister behind the desk. That radiant smile that had drawn Emily to her from the mo¬ment she had met her. "She will be safe?"

"From Staunton," Garrett said as he took her elbow. "I can't prom¬ise anything else. Particularly if she decides to go to the wilds of Africa.

She'll have to handle AIDS, lions, and tigers herself. She wouldn't have it any other way."

"THE PATIENTS WERE TAKEN to St. Cecelia," Borg said to Staunton as he came back to the rental car at the dock. "Do you want to go there?"

"Of course I want to go," Staunton said impatiently. "Though I doubt if Garrett and Emily will be there. He'd know I'd check it out." "Irana Povak?"

"She's a possibility." And he needed a lead, dammit. He'd hoped that he'd be able to gather Emily up during the raid on the island. The attack had been a bit too public. It had been made clear to him when he was hired that Staunton had to be both thorough and discreet. The explosion at the hospital could not be termed discreet. He'd made sure that he hadn't left any loose ends. The mercenaries he'd hired wouldn't talk, but he might have been seen. It was annoying to have to worry about trivial¬ities like this. Though he hoped Garrett wouldn't regard it as a triviality. He'd wanted to anger and send a challenge. He'd had to strike at him in some way. Garrett had taken Emily from him, and that couldn't be tol¬erated. "Yes, we'll try for Irana Povak. But there are other ways."

"What?"

"First, you make sure that you remove anyone who might know too much."

"And then?"

He smiled. "Then you throw out a lure and let the fish come to the shark."

"HERE IT IS." DARDON T H R U S T the folder at Garrett. "You'd bet¬ter get going. The man I left at the dock called and said there was someone asking about the patients. You probably have less than forty-five minutes. I'll get Irana out as soon as I pry her away from those nurses."

"Right." Garrett punched the elevator button. "We'll go directly to the helicopter, then on to Rome. Call me if there's a problem."

"Not Rome." Dardon said as he hurried back toward Irana. "After you read that report, I think you might decide on the U.S."

"We'll worry about that once we're airborne and far away from here." Garrett handed the folder to Emily as he nudged her into the el¬evator. "Hold on to this. Skim it while we're in the car on our way to the helicopter."

"Okay." She gazed down at the folder. She was feeling an odd re¬luctance to look at the information inside when she should be eager. Over and over she had told Staunton she knew nothing about Zelov's hammer. Now she was going to find out about it.

No, it wasn't odd at all. Because she hadn't known it had triggered horror, and that horror refused to leave her.

"Why the U.S.?" she murmured, as they got into the car a few min¬utes later.

"You tell me." He started the car. "In fact, as soon as we get to somewhere that we can talk with any semblance of quiet, I'll want you to tell me everything you remember connected with Staunton. I can't care if it disturbs you."

"I'm not arguing." She looked away from him. "You're the one who sent me to stay with Irana. I wanted to go after Staunton right away. You should have asked me before this. I would have told you."

"I was being kind." His lips curved in a sardonic smile. "God knows why. I'm not kind. It would have been better for everyone if I'd just stuck to my usual modus operandi."

"Irana thinks you're kind."

"Sometimes." He pulled onto the road. "And that may get her killed, too."

"You tried to protect-"

"I don't want you to defend anything I do," he interrupted. "Just scan those pages and see if we can find out anything we need to know."

"Fine." His sharp abruptness stung her. She didn't know what had possessed her to try to offer Garrett comfort anyway. She didn't know anyone who needed it less. She opened the folder. "This will take some time. I can barely read by these dash lights. Should I turn on the overhead?"

"No. The overhead would light us like a spotlight."

And if Staunton was on his way here, that spotlight would make them targets, she realized

She leaned closer to the dash lights. "I'll do the best I can." She shook her head. "No, the print is too faded. The nurse's printer must have needed a new ink cartridge." She tilted the page. "This is crazy. It must be a mistake. I don't even see Zelov mentioned yet. There's only one name that jumps out at me." She bent nearer. "Crazy…"

"What name?"

She frowned. "Rasputin."

EMILY WAS ONLY ABLE TO READ bits and pieces of the report on the short drive to the helicopter. She finally shook her head and put it aside as she got out of the car. "I'll have to have more time. Maybe when we get airborne, I can concentrate."

Garrett nodded. "It's all Rasputin? No mention of Zelov?"

"There was a reference on the third page. Something about Zelov and an organization called Christalis. Then it goes back to Rasputin. So far it's essentially a biography of the life of Rasputin, the mad monk." She grimaced. "Who was apparently as mad and ugly as that nickname implies. Thief, charlatan, debaucher. I'd read about him in history courses but nothing in depth. Only that he lived back at the turn of the nineteenth century and had enormous influence over the Tsar and Tsarina before the Russian Revolution." She got into the helicopter as he held the door open for her. "So far this report is only concerning his early life. He was of peasant stock, and when he was eighteen, he be¬came involved with a bizarre religious group, the Khlysty sect, where he met Mikhail Zelov." She glanced at him as he got into the helicopter and started the engine. "He evidently looked upon Zelov as a teacher and role model and mentions a Book of Living written by the master."

"Considering how Rasputin turned out, it doesn't say much for Zelov's philosophy."

"I'll tell you when I finish reading it." She opened the folder again. "It's not a very big file. It shouldn't take long."

"You might skip to the end and see why Dardon thought we might be heading for the U.S."

"Well, we certainly won't be flying this helicopter there. Just set down somewhere we can change to a plane if we need to do it."

He nodded. "We need some time to talk and make sure Dardon managed to get Irana to safety." He thought about it. "Rome?"

"It works for me," she said absently, already absorbed in the pages.

It was working for her, Garrett thought. She was concentrating, moving, mentally alive, and in gear. She had tasks to do, and that was the best thing for her right now. Just as Irana had given her mindless physical labor to start healing, this mental exercise, the sense of pur¬pose, was right for her now.

He turned toward the west. "Then Rome it is."

AFTER THEY LANDED IN ROME, Garrett rented a car, and they checked into a small gracious hotel on the edge of the city.

"You've been very quiet," Garrett said as he handed her a room key. "You've hardly said a word since you finished those pages. Give you something to think about?"

"Yes. But it's not enough. I need to talk to Dardon."

"We'll call him as soon as we get settled. I was going to do it any¬way." He closed the door of the antique open elevator and pressed the button. "I'm right next door. Shower. Catch your breath. I'll order room service. I'll call you when it comes." He opened the elevator door and gestured to a room down the hall. "Thirty minutes. Okay?"

She nodded as she headed down the corridor. "Thirty minutes."

She paused for a moment after she closed the door behind her. Catch your breath, he had said, and it was a damn good idea. It seemed as if she had been running nonstop since Garrett had pulled her out of bed. She'd been on not only a physical but an emotional roller coaster. And that report she'd been reading had not helped. Her mind wouldn't stop trying to see beyond the sketchy references to what lay beneath.

Stop thinking. Relax. Catch your breath.

She headed for the bathroom. Shower. Shampoo.

She had nothing to wear afterward, but she could always wrap in a towel or a sheet. She'd see about getting clothes later.

It turned out that she didn't have to resort to the towel sarong. There was a unisex white terry robe in the closet. But it was still closer to forty-five minutes than thirty when she heard her cell phone ring.

"Ready?" Garrett asked. "Dinner is only coffee, a sandwich, and pasta salad. It can wait if you need more time."

"No, I'll be right there." She looked down at her bare feet peeping from the oversized robe and shrugged. No shoes. It was only Garrett, and he had seen more than her feet naked.

Garrett's feet were also bare and he was dressed in the same type of terry robe she was wearing when he answered the door. Only he looked good in it, she thought sourly. Like a Roman god in one of those mythology books. He grimaced. "I forgot about clothes. I called the concierge and asked her to pick up a couple outfits and a suitcase for us. She said she'd try to get it to us tonight. But we could have stopped on the way from the airport. Sorry."

"It doesn't matter. The robe's okay for now. But it fits you better than it does me." She came into the room. "I need to call Dardon."

"I've already called him." He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. "We'll call him again after we eat. I just wanted to make sure they were both safe, and I didn't want to wait." He smiled faintly. "I told you I wasn't a patient man."

"And are they safe?"

"Yes. They're on their way to Morocco." "What?"

"It's a good launching pad for Irana. She can look the situation over and see where she's most needed. Frankly, I'd bet she chooses Ethiopia." He held out the chair at the room-service table. "As I told you, chicken sandwich, pasta salad, and some kind of apple pastry for dessert. It's filling anyway."

And Emily was hungry, she realized with surprise. "That will be fine." She sat down at the table. "But coffee, first."

He filled her cup. "Cream?"

She shook her head. "Black. I used to drink it with cream, but I've been in so many hot spots where I couldn't get my hands on it that I learned to like it without. It's all what you become accustomed to. How do you drink your coffee?"

"Black with a shot of vodka."

Her brows lifted. "Well, that's unusual."

"That's how my father drank his coffee. He used to let me take sips of it from the time I was about seven. I didn't realize anyone drank it differently until I was ten." He smiled as he poured himself a cup of black coffee. "I was very disappointed. You can't get vodka with your coffee just anywhere."

"It's a wonder you didn't turn into an alcoholic yourself."

He shook his head. "I pick and choose my vices, and I always know the consequences."

"Your father knew the consequences and still thought it was funny to let you drink."

"Exactly. Sometimes you learn more from example." He sipped his coffee. "Talk to me. Tell me about the Zelov notes."

"As I said, Zelov was just a thread in the Rasputin tapestry." She looked down into her cup. "But I have an idea there was more than what's in this report. He seemed to be mentioned at crucial times in Rasputin's life. Whenever something happened, Zelov was in the back¬ground."

"Interesting. For instance?"

"I told you that Zelov was supposed to be his idol when Rasputin discovered the Khlysty religion. According to several sources, the sect preached that a person could only be forgiven sins if they indulged in numerous and heavy sexual encounters and could only be close to God if they immersed themselves in sin. It was a doctrine that suited Rasputin to a T, and he made it his own. He studied mysticism with Zelov and included that as part of his religion." She took a sip of cof¬fee. "When Rasputin went on his journey to Greece and Jerusalem as a young man, Zelov was said to be with him. Rasputin was a consum¬mate actor and got the reputation for being a holy man. When he re¬turned to St. Petersburg, he became the rage in Russian society and later the confidant of the Tsarina. He persuaded her to accept Zelov into the royal household as an advisor." She took a bite of her sand¬wich. "There's a little more. You can read it yourself."

"I intend to do that."

"And if you read it casually, you might even overlook the inferences of Zelov's place in Rasputin's life. Rasputin seemed the dominating force." She took another sip of coffee. "But what if he wasn't? We know for sure that when they started out together, Zelov was in control. What if he continued to be top gun? Maybe he wanted to remain in the back¬ground. It was certainly safer when they were trying to manipulate the Russian church and the royal household. Zelov wasn't the one who was murdered because he became too dangerous. Rasputin could have been his puppet."

"Guesswork."

"I have to guess. I don't have enough information to do anything else." She ate the last of her sandwich. "So let's go to the crux of the matter. Zelov's hammer. What could be hidden in the handle of that hammer?"

"Any number of treasures. You said he held a position at the royal palace. Some priceless bit of jewelry that belonged to the Tsarina or the princesses?"

"Perhaps." She frowned in thought. "But would a piece of jewelry be valuable enough to instigate the hiring of someone like Staunton and give him unlimited funds to retrieve it?"

"Possibly. Sometimes the intrinsic value lies in the history and not in the object itself. You know that as well as I do. Alexander the Great's sword would only be priceless if it belonged to Alexander."

Yes, no one knew that better than she did. "It would probably have to belong to the royal family. Maybe Anastasia?"

He shook his head. "I'm bowing out of the guesswork. I need more leads before I take a leap like that." He sat back in his chair. "Even if we've got the right Zelov. We can't be sure."

"I think we have." She was trying to put it together. "You said Dardon looked for a long time before he came up with this Zelov. The farm tools Staunton was interested in at the museum in Afghanistan came from Russia. Zelov was in a position to acquire treasures of all descriptions at the palace. I think it's Mikhail Zelov. Now we have to find out more about him. This was just a teaser."

He smiled. "And you want to call Dardon."

"Of course, I do." She finished her salad. "And I want you to send that concierge for a laptop for me. I feel naked without mine."

"You didn't have it when you were with Irana."

And she hadn't missed it at all. She hadn't wanted to touch or be touched, and the Internet could be terribly invasive. "It's different now."

He nodded. "Yes, you're different now." He pushed back his chair.

"Let's get to work. I'll call the concierge, and you get on the phone to Dardon."

"ZELOV?" DARDON REPEATED. "You think I did good? It's pretty weird, but I thought maybe I'd struck gold."

"Pure gold," Emily said. "But there's not enough information about Zelov in this. Just hints, and there's no way to make judgments from this little. When can you give me more?"

"There's not much more to give you that's public record."

"What about that Book of Living Zelov wrote, which Rasputin spoke about?"

"I can't find any record of its actually existing. Hell, I can't find much evidence that Zelov existed. There are all kinds of stories about Rasputin, but I only found this one that made reference to Zelov. If this is true, then Zelov definitely liked to keep to himself. Sort of a shadow figure."

Shadows. Yes, that was the impression Emily was getting of Zelov. A man who lived in shadows, only moving out to grasp power and manipulate the people around him. "There has to be some informa¬tion. What happened to him after Rasputin was murdered? Was he killed, too?"

"I checked death records for ten years following Rasputin's death, and there was no record of a death of a Mikhail Zelov. Of course Rus¬sia was in turmoil at that time. The massacre of the royal family, the revolution. There might not be a record, or it might have been de¬stroyed in the wars and upheaval of the last hundred years."

"That's encouraging."

"I know you're disappointed. I'm still working on it. There are a couple more sites I can check."

"Then check them." She remembered something else. "You said that we might want to go to the U.S. Why?"

"I couldn't find a death record of Mikhail Zelov, so I started check¬ing possible descendants. Now I would have run like hell if I'd thought I might be linked to Rasputin after his murder. So I checked immigra¬tion records and found that an Alexander Mikhail Zelov left St. Peters¬burg for New York City about the time of Rasputin's death. If that's the right Zelov, he lived to prosper and have children of his own. His great-grandson Nicholas Zelov visited Moscow only five months ago." "Why?"

"He listed tourism as the purpose of his visit." "Dammit, why didn't you tell us about this before?" "I wasn't sure that this was the right Zelov. I thought I'd try to ver¬ify it."

"What's to verify? Mikhail Zelov panicked and took off when he thought he was next in line to be murdered."

"Reasonable. There's only one hitch. Alexander Mikhail Zelov left St. Petersburg several days before Rasputin was assassinated."

She stiffened. "Before he died?"

"Coincidence? Or was he part of the assassination plot and wanted to be sure he didn't take the fall?" He paused. "Or maybe this wasn't our Zelov, and we're on the wrong track. Are you going to go to New York and see this Nicholas Zelov and try to find out?"

She didn't even have to think about it. "Yes. Do you have his ad¬dress?"

"I'll text it to Garrett's phone. It's an estate in Connecticut, not far from New York City. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find out any¬thing else."

"Good. We need all the help we can get."

"You'll get it." He paused. "You sound much better. Irana will be glad to hear that." "How is she?"

"Being Irana. That's pretty good."

Yes, that was very good. "Give her my best. Call me if you find out anything else." Emily hung up.

"So we go to the U.S.?" Garrett asked from his chair across the room. "New York?"

She nodded. "The plot thickens. Zelov may have been involved in the assassination of Rasputin. He left Russia days before it happened." She frowned thoughtfully. "And one of his descendants paid a visit to Moscow five months ago. Nicholas Zelov. But Dardon doesn't know much beyond that."

"Give him a chance. We've all been a little busy lately."

"I know. It's time I stopped relying on you and Dardon and worked this out for myself."

"No, it's not time for you to stop relying on us. But I'm glad to see you rallying to the effort," he said. "I'll call and make reservations for tomorrow morning for New York."

"Why not tonight?"

"My, you are eager." He smiled. "But the concierge still has to send up the clothes and the laptop. I don't believe the airlines would appreci¬ate us going on board barefoot and in robes. The skies aren't that friendly. Besides, a night's rest won't hurt either one of us."

She nodded and got to her feet. "Tomorrow. Early." She headed for the door. "At least, I feel as if we're making some progress. Though it's not enough. We're moving too slow."

"Yes, much too slow."

There was a curious note in his voice that made her turn at the door to look at him. His face was without expression, but there was something… She opened the door. "Good night, Garrett."

He didn't answer, and she closed the door behind her. That last interchange had disturbed her. He was evidently as discouraged as she about the lack of information they'd gotten on Zelov. Perhaps even more disappointed. At least she felt as if they'd gotten a tiny insight into Zelov and what might be in the hammer. That insight was clearly not enough to satisfy Garrett. How could she blame him? Today he had learned one of his best friends had been killed, Irana was in dan¬ger, and his home on Mykala had been burned to the ground.

And it was all because he had linked himself to Emily and her search for Staunton. Of course, he was impatient. He wanted it over.

And Emily wanted it over, too. They had barely started, and she was already on edge and frustrated. The information about Zelov had given her a sense of overwhelming darkness and foreboding. Evil seemed to surround both the origin of Zelov's hammer and the horror it had spread down to this day.

But she couldn't be frustrated or impatient. She had to think clearly and without emotion. Tomorrow they would get on the plane, and soon they'd be able to take action, find answers that would lead her to Staunton.

Dear God, she hoped that was true.

GARRETT HUNG UP AFTER MAKING their flight reservations and sat looking down at the phone. Everything was moving. Irana was as safe as he could make her. Soon they would be on that plane to New York. Maybe he should just accept the status quo. God knows it was what he wanted to do.

But he couldn't do it. That was one of the mistakes he had made, and Karif had died.

God, Karif…

He blocked the wave of sorrow and regret that thought brought. Memories were the enemy. He had no time to grieve now. He had to be hard as a diamond to cut through the web in which Emily was en¬folding him. That shouldn't be such a stretch. When had he been any¬thing else?

Hard as a diamond.