The Romanov Prophecy

TEN

2:30 PM

Hayes entered the tiny conference room on the seventh floor. The office building rose in central Moscow, a strikingly modern rectangle with a gray-tinted glass facade. He always appreciated the choice of meeting locations. His benefactors seemed to revel in luxury.

Stalin sat at the coffin-shaped conference table.

Dmitry Yakovlev was the mafiya's representative in the Secret Chancellory. In his midforties, with a shock of corn-colored hair spilling over a tanned brow, the man radiated charm and control. For once, the three hundred or so gangs that occupied western Russia had all agreed on a single envoy to represent their mutual interests. Too much was at stake to argue over protocol. The criminal element apparently understood survival, and well knew what an absolute monarch with the full support of the people could do for them. Or to them.

In many ways, Hayes realized, Stalin was the center of everything. Gang influence reached deep into the government, business, and the military. Russians even had a name for it: Vori v Zakone-Thieves in Law-a description Hayes liked. But their threat of violence was real since a contract killing was a far cheaper and faster way to settle a dispute than the courts.

"How was the opening session?" Stalin asked in perfect English.

"The commissioners organized themselves, as expected. They'll get down to business tomorrow. The timetable is six days to a first vote."

The Russian seemed impressed. "Less than a week was what you predicted."

"I told you I know what I'm doing. Was the transfer made?"

There was a hesitation that signaled irritation. "I am unaccustomed to such directness."

What was not said, but nonetheless clear, was that he was unaccustomed to such directness from a foreigner. Hayes decided to employ tact, though he, too, was irritated. "No disrespect intended. It's only that the payments have not been made, as agreed, and I'm accustomed to arrangements being honored."

On the table was a sheet of paper. Stalin slid it across to him. "That's the new Swiss account in Zurich you requested. Same bank as before. Five million, U.S., went in this morning. That's all the payments due to date."

Hayes was pleased. For a decade he'd represented the mafiya in their American diversifications. Millions of dollars had been laundered through North American financial institutions, most funneled into legitimate businesses seeking capital, more used to purchase stocks, securities, gold, and art. Pridgen amp; Woodworth had earned millions in legal fees through his representation, all made thanks to a combination of friendly American laws and even friendlier bureaucrats. No one knew the money source and, to date, the activity had not attracted any official attention. Hayes had used his representation to expand his influence in the firm and attract a huge array of foreign clients that turned to him simply because he understood how business was done in the new Russia-how to use fear and anxiety-how uncertainty could be a friend if one knew precisely how to alleviate it. Which he did.

Stalin smirked. "This is becoming quite profitable for you, Taylor."

"I told you I wasn't going to take the risks for my health."

"Apparently not."

"What was all that about yesterday? What you said about expanding my role in this whole affair."

"Just as I said. We may need certain matters handled and you come with a measure of deniability."

"I want to know what you're not telling me."

"It is truly not important at the moment. There is no need for concern; we are simply being cautious."

Hayes reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew the card Stalin had given him the day before. "Will I need to make the call?"

Stalin chuckled. "Does the notion of such loyalty-that on your order men would submerge themselves in the river-appeal to you?"

"I want to know why I might need them."

"Let us hope you won't. Now tell me about the power concentration. What was mentioned today at the session?"

He decided to let the matter drop. "Power will be concentrated in the tsar. But there will still be a council of ministers and a Duma that will have to be dealt with."

Stalin pondered the information. "It seems our nature to be volatile. Monarchy, republic, democracy, communism… none of it really works here." He paused, then added with a smile, "Thank goodness."

Hayes asked what he really wanted to know, "What of Stefan Baklanov? Will he cooperate?"

Stalin glanced at his watch. "I assume you will have the answer to that question shortly."