by Steve Berry
"Wait," Thorn yelled.
Lord hesitated before slamming his foot onto the accelerator. Thorn popped open the back door. The dog leaped inside, panting hard.
"Go," Thorn screamed.
Tires peeled off the asphalt as the Jeep lurched forward.
FORTY-SEVEN
"Why was it necessary to kill that deputy?" Hayes tried to keep his low voice calm. "Are you two complete idiots?"
He'd waited for them at the sheriff's department after convincing local officials of Orleg's credentials and using a fabricated warrant faxed from Moscow. Khrushchev had arranged the document in San Francisco, similar to the one used there to enlist FBI and customs assistance, and few questions were asked when Hayes explained that his firm often represented the Russian government in its American affairs.
They were standing outside in the cool evening, away from a door where deputies streamed in and out. The place was abuzz after what had happened an hour earlier. Hayes was trying keep his composure and not draw any attention, but it was damn difficult.
"Where are the guns?" he whispered.
"Under our jackets," Orleg said.
"What did you tell them happened?"
"That the deputy went inside and we heard shots. We rushed in and the man was on the floor. We chased after Lord and the woman, but the dogs attacked. Last we saw, Lord was driving off with Thorn at gunpoint."
"They accepted it?"
Droopy smiled. "Completely."
But he wondered for how long. "You told them about the dogs?"
Orleg nodded. "That we shot them? There was no choice."
"Which one of you geniuses shot the deputy?"
"I did," Orleg said. The fool sounded proud.
"And who shot the dogs?"
Droopy admitted he had, since Orleg had been attacked. "They were aggressive."
He realized he needed to replace Orleg's pistol before somebody decided to confiscate both as evidence. He couldn't just dispose of it, thanks to Orleg's admission, and he certainly couldn't leave the damn thing around since the slugs in the deputy would be a conclusive match. He reached under his jacket and found the Glock.
"Give me yours."
He switched guns with Orleg. "Hopefully, no one will notice the full magazine. If they do, say you changed out and lost the other one in all the excitement."
The sheriff exited the building and walked over to where they stood. He watched the little man's approach. "We have an alert out on the car. It's a Jeep Cherokee and the description y'all provided was helpful."
Orleg and Droopy acknowledged the compliment.
The sheriff looked at Hayes. "Why didn't you tell us Lord was dangerous?"
"We told you he was wanted for murder."
"That deputy had a wife and four kids. If I'd thought for one moment this lawyer was capable of gunnin' a man down in cold blood, I'd have sent the whole fuckin' department over there."
"I realize emotions are running high here--"
"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."
Orleg seemed unfazed. "We had our own orders."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was told to make sure the woman, Lord, and anyone Lord thought important does not return to Russia."
He wondered if that included him. "You'd like to kill me. Wouldn't you, Orleg?"
"It would be a pleasure."
"Then why haven't you?"
The inspector said nothing.
"It's because they still need me."
More silence.
"You don't scare me," he said, his mouth close to Orleg's face. "Just remember. I know it all, too. Let them know that. There are two sons who possess Romanov genes. They will have to be dealt with. Whoever sent Lord and the woman will send others. Assure our friends that my death will result in the world learning the truth faster than that problem can be solved. Sorry to deny you the pleasure, Orleg."
"Don't overestimate your importance, lawyer."
"Don't underestimate my resilience."
He stepped away before there could be any response. As he did, the speaker crackled to life.
"Central. Dillsboro One. Suspect fled with captive. Deputy down, but okay. Attacked by a dog the suspect has in his possession. Cars in pursuit. But suspect has a lead, probably still heading north on Highway 46. Alert who you can up ahead."
The dispatcher acknowledged the report and Hayes heaved a silent sigh of relief. Where a few minutes before he'd hoped Lord would be found, now he realized that would further complicate matters. He needed to be the one to find him and apparently Lord was not trusting the locals. These fools thought Lord had a hostage and was fleeing. Only he knew Lord, Thorn, and the woman were all on the run.
And they'd have to get off the road fast.
Lord would most likely assume Orleg and Droopy were working in conjunction with the sheriff, so he wouldn't contact local law enforcement again. He would probably find a place to hide, with the others, at least until he could think the situation through.
But where?
He assumed Lord knew nothing of the area. Michael Thorn would know the surroundings intimately. Perhaps there was a way to learn something.
He left the dispatch room and walked to where Mrs. Thorn and the secretary sat. The wife was occupied out in the hall with another female deputy, so he said to the secretary, "Excuse me, ma'am."
The woman looked up.
"I heard you tell the sheriff that Lord and his companion were at Mr. Thorn's office today."
"That's right. They came in yesterday. Then, back today. They actually spent the day with Mr. Thorn."
"Do you know what they were discussing?"
She shook her head. "They stayed in his office with the door closed."
"This is terrible. Inspector Orleg is so upset. One of his men was killed in Moscow. Now a deputy here."
"Lord said he was a lawyer. He didn't look like a killer."
"Who does? Lord was in Moscow on business. No one knows why he shot the policeman. Something was happening. Same is probably true here." He let out a breath, ran a hand through his hair, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "This area is so beautiful. Particularly this time of year. A shame something like this has to spoil it."
He moved toward a coffeepot and poured a cup into a stained mug, offering some to the secretary, who waved the offer off.
"I come up here from Atlanta occasionally to hunt. Rent a house in the woods. Always wanted one myself, but couldn't afford the luxury. Did Mr. Thorn have one? Seems like everybody has a cabin around here." He came back to where she sat.
"His cabin is lovely," she said. "It's been in his family for generations."
"Near here?" he asked, trying to sound disinterested.
"An hour north. He owns about two hundred acres including a mountain. I used to tease him about what he'd do with that mountain."
"What did he say?"
"Just sit and look at it. Watch the trees grow."
Her eyes dampened. This woman had obviously been close to her boss. He sipped his coffee. "That mountain have a name?"
"Windsong Ridge. I always liked it."
He slowly stood. "I'll leave you be. You're upset."
She thanked him and he walked outside. Orleg and Droopy stood puffing cigarettes.
"Come on," he said.
"Where are we going?" Orleg asked.
"To solve this problem."
FORTY-EIGHT
After leaving the downed deputy, Lord quickly abandoned the main highway and steered east on a county road. A few miles later he turned north, following directions to the land Thorn's family had owned for close to a hundred years.
The mile-long dirt road wound through foothills and across two rock-strewn streams. The cabin was a one-story rectangle, built of pine logs bound together with thick mortar in colonial style. The front porch held three rockers with a rope hammock suspended from one end. Cedar shingles on the gabled roof looked new. A flagstone chimney rose from one end.
Thorn explained this was where Alexie and Anastasia first lived after arriving in North Caro
lina in late 1919. Yussoupov had the cabin built on two hundred acres of old-growth forest, with a mountain, that a century before had been christened Windsong Ridge. The idea was to provide a place of solitude for the heirs, far away from anyone who might associate them with the Russian royal family. The hills of Appalachia offered the perfect setting, while providing a climate and scenery not unlike home.
Now, sitting inside the cabin, Lord could almost feel their presence. The sun had set and the air had turned cold. Thorn had started a fire using some of the split logs abutting one of the exterior walls. The interior was about fifteen hundred square feet filled with thick quilts, varnished wood, and a lingering scent of hickory and pine. The kitchen was stocked with canned food and they'd suppered on chili with beans washed down with Cokes from the refrigerator.
Thorn had suggested the cabin. If the police thought he was being held against his will, they would never look on his own property. Most likely, the roads all the way into Tennessee were being watched and a bulletin had been issued on the Jeep Cherokee, which was all the more reason to get off the highway.
"Nobody lives within miles," Thorn said. "Back in the twenties it was a great hiding place."
Lord noticed that nothing in the decor pointed to the cabin's unique heritage. But it was certainly the dwelling of a nature lover--framed prints of skyward birds and grazing deer decorated the walls. No mounted trophies, though.
"I don't hunt," Thorn said. "Except with a camera."
Lord pointed to the framed oil of a black bear that dominated one wall.
"My grandmother painted that," Thorn said. "And the rest, too. She loved to paint. She lived here until the end of her life. Alexie died in the bedroom over there. My father was born in the same bed."
They were gathered before a fire, two lamps illuminating the great room. Akilina sat on the plank floor, a wool quilt around her. Lord and Thorn filled two leather chairs. The dog was curled up in the corner, beyond the heat of the open hearth.
