The Romanov Prophecy

PART THREE
FORTY

Hayes watched as Orleg and Droopy exited the zoo's main gate and hustled for the car. He and Khrushchev had been waiting patiently in the parking lot for the past ten minutes. The tracking device Hayes had placed on Lord had worked, a tiny dot no larger than a button. The consulate possessed a quantity of such equipment, holdovers from the Cold War when San Francisco was central to Soviet intelligence gathering in the important computer- and defense-oriented California region.

They'd allowed Lord to escape as a means of finding Akilina Petrovna, whom Hayes believed possessed whatever it was Lord found in Kolya Maks's grave and in the safe-deposit box. The ability to covertly track their prey had allowed them to stay back a discreet distance as Lord wove his way through evening traffic. He thought the meeting place odd, but reasoned that Lord had wanted a public locale. Public attention was one thing Hayes did not need.

"I don't like the looks on their faces," Khrushchev said.

Hayes didn't, either, but said nothing. He was still comforted by the fact the LCD screen before them beeped, signifying a lock on Lord. He pushed a button and the rear window of the Lincoln whined down. Orleg and Droopy stopped outside.

"He jumped into the gorilla pit," Orleg said. "We tried to follow, but one of the fucking beasts stopped us. I didn't think you wanted a lot of show, so we came out. We'll just track him again."

"That was wise," he said. "We still have a strong signal." He turned to Zubarev. "Shall we?" He opened the door and they climbed out into the night. Orleg grabbed the handheld LCD display and they all moved forward. In the distance, sirens could be heard approaching.

"Someone has called the police. We need to end this fast," he said. "This is not Moscow. The police here ask lots of questions."

The zoo's front gate was unattended and they quickly darted inside. A crowd had gathered at the gorilla expo. The tracking device Orleg carried continued to signify Lord's presence nearby. "Put that thing under your jacket," he said to Orleg, not wanting any questions from the curious.

They approached the primate exhibit and Hayes asked what was going on. A woman told him that a black man and a white woman had jumped over the moat and the gorillas had gone after them. They eventually slipped into an open gate in the rock wall and disappeared. He moved back to Orleg and learned the signal was still active. But when he focused out into the lit habitat he immediately saw what a large silver-back gorilla held in his clenched hand.

A dark green sweater.

The same sweater into which the tracking device had been sewn. He shook his head and suddenly recalled what Rasputin had predicted to Alexandra. The innocence of beasts will guard and lead the way, being the final arbitor of success.

"The ape has the sweater," he told Zubarev, who moved close to the retaining wall and saw for himself.

The look on the wiry Russian's face conveyed that he, too, remembered the starets's prediction. "The beast certainly guarded the way. I wonder if he led it, as well."

"Good question," Hayes said.

Lord peeled back the golden edges of the egg. Diamonds popped off like drops of juice from a split orange. A small golden lump fell to the damp grass. Akilina reached down and lifted the object.

A bell.

The exterior shone bright in the glow from the lamp above, surely the first time that this gold had touched fresh air in decades. She stepped closer to the light and he spied tiny words etched on the bell's exterior.

"It's written in Cyrillic," she said, the bell close to her eyes.

"Can you read it?"

" 'To where the Princess tree grows and Genesis, a Thorn awaits. Use the words that brought you here. Success comes if your names are spoken and the bell is formed.' "

He was tiring of riddles. "What does that mean?

He grabbed the bell and studied it in detail. It was no more than three inches high and a couple of inches wide. No clapper hung inside. Its weight suggested that it was solid gold. Other than the etched letters encircling the outside, there were no words or symbols. Apparently, this was Yussoupov's last message.

He retreated to the bench and sat down.

Akilina followed.

He looked at the destroyed Faberge egg. For the better part of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first, descendants of Nicholas II had apparently survived. While communist premiers dominated the Russian people, heirs to the Romanov throne lived on, in obscurity, where the Princess tree grows-wherever that was. He wanted to find those descendants. Actually, he needed to find them. Stefan Baklanov was not the rightful heir to the Russian throne, and perhaps the reemergence of a direct Romanov might galvanize the Russian people in a way nothing else could. But at the moment he was too tired to do any more. He'd originally planned to leave town tonight, but now he decided against that. "Let's go back to the hotel you found and get some sleep. Maybe this will be clearer in the morning."

"Could we get something to eat along the way? I have not eaten since breakfast."

He looked at her, then reached up and lightly caressed her cheek. "You did good today," he said in Russian.

"I was wondering if I'd ever see you again."

"You weren't the only one."

Her hand came up to his. "I did not like the thought of that."

Nor did he.

He gently kissed her lips, then took her in his arms. They sat for a few minutes in the darkness, savoring the solitude. Finally he stuffed what was left of the egg back into its velvet sack, along with the bell. He shouldered the travel bag and they walked from the park to the boulevard beyond.

Ten minutes later a cab appeared and he told the driver the name of the hotel Akilina had selected. They sat together in the backseat as the cab made its way into the city. He was thinking about what was inscribed on Hell's Bell.

To where the Princess tree grows and Genesis, a Thorn awaits. Use the words that brought you here. Success comes if your names are spoken and the bell is formed.

Apparently another cryptic direction-enough to lead the way if you knew what to look for, but not enough to be a divining rod for intruders. Trouble was, he didn't know what they were looking for. Those words had been scripted sometime after 1918, when the imperial family was murdered, and before 1924, when Faberge himself had died. Perhaps their meaning was clearer then, time clouding what was once an unambiguous message. Through the cab's dingy windows he studied the parade of cafes and restaurants that rolled by. He recalled Akilina's request for food and, though he did not want to be exposed for long, he, too, was hungry.

A thought occurred to him.

He told the driver what he wanted and the man nodded in recognition, finding the appropriate establishment a few minutes later.

He led Akilina inside a building marked CYBERHOUSE, one of many places that combined Internet access with food and drink. Right now he needed both food and information.

The interior was half full and lined with shiny stainless-steel walls and lots of smoky glass panels with local scenes etched into them. A large-screen TV with a small crowd gathered around dominated one corner. Hefty draft beers seemed the specialty, along with thick deli sandwiches.

He darted into the bathroom, doused his face with cold water, and tried to make the bruises appear less threatening.

He and Akilina then grabbed a booth with a terminal and ordered, the waitress explaining how to use the keyboard and providing them a password. While they waited for the food, he found a search engine and typed: PRINCESS TREE. Some three thousand findings appeared. Many dealt with a jewelry line being peddled and known as the Princess Tree Collection. Others dealt with the rain forest, forestry, horticulture, and medicinal herbs. One, though, instantly drew his attention with the summary:

Paulownia Tomentosa -Princess Tree, Karri Tree-fragrant violet flowers. Aug./Sept.

He clicked on the site and the screen exploded with a narrative explaining that the princess tree originated in the Far East, but was imported to America in the 1830s. The species had spread all along the eastern United States thanks to seedpods used for packing material in crates shipped from China. Its wood was light and water-resistant, used by the Japanese for rice bowls, utensils, and coffins. The growth rate was fast-five to seven years to maturity-and its blooms were quite striking, with an elongated lavender flower that was mildly fragrant. A mention was made of utilizing the species in the timber and pulp industries due to its fast growth and low production cost. It was particularly prominent in the mountains of western North Carolina, where attempts at cultivation had occurred repeatedly through the years. But it was the explanation of the name that caught his attention. The text noted that the tree was named for Princess Anna Paulownia, daughter of Tsar Paul I, who ruled Russia from 1797 to 1801. Paul I was Nicholas II's great-great-grandfather.

He told Akilina what he read.

She was amazed. "To learn so much. So fast."

He realized Internet access was something only just beginning in Russia. Some of Pridgen amp; Woodworth's clients were working feverishly to better connect the country to the World Wide Web. Problem was, a single computer cost more than most Russians made in two years.

He scrolled down and checked a couple more sites. None provided any useful information. The waitress arrived with their food and two Pepsis. They ate and, for a few minutes, he forgot about their dire situation. He was finishing up the last of his baked chips when another thought hit him. He backtracked to the search engine. There he typed NORTH CAROLINA and found a site that contained a detailed state map. He focused on the mountainous western region and called up an enlarged portion.

"What is that?" Akilina asked.

"A hunch I'm playing," he said, eyes not leaving the screen.

In the center of the screen was Asheville, a cross of dark red lines emanating in four directions, signifying Interstates 40 and 26. To the north were towns like Boone, Green Mountain, and Bald Creek. To the south were Hendersonville and the South Carolina-Georgia border. Maggie Valley and Tennessee lay to the west, and Charlotte loomed off to the east. He studied the Blue Ridge Parkway snaking a path to the northeast from Asheville to the Virginia line. The towns carried interesting names. Sioux, Bay Book, Chimney Rock, Cedar Mountain. Then, just north of Asheville, south of Boone, near Grandfather Mountain, he saw it.

Genesis. On State Route 81.

To where the Princess tree grows and Genesis, a Thorn awaits.

He turned to Akilina and smiled.