Deadlock

by Iris Johansen

  "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 dar
kness 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.

  NINE

  "I'LL BE KNOCKING ON YOUR door in two minutes," he said, when Emily picked up the phone over an hour later. "Sorry if I woke you.

  "You didn't wake me. I couldn't sleep. Is something wrong? Why do you want to-" But Garrett had already hung up. Emily had just gotten out of the bed and turned on the light when Garrett knocked. "What is it? Why are you-"

  "Your clothes." He set the suitcase beside the door.

  She felt a rush of relief. "Oh, is that all? I thought you-" She stopped as she saw his expression.

  "We have to talk." He came into the room and shut the door. "Re¬member, I warned you when we were on the helicopter that we had to find a place to talk."

  She remembered, but realized she had subconsciously tried to push that memory away. Now it was staring in her face. She mois¬tened her lips. "This isn't about Zelov."

  "It might be. I don't know. You'll have to tell me." He gazed into her eyes. "You'll have to tell me everything, Emily. Every minute, every detail of that time with Staunton."

  She flinched. She had known it was coming, but the shock was still sharp. "I don't remember every detail. Some of it is a blur."

  "I'll help you."

  Help her go through that hell again? "I told you about the hammer. That's all that's important."

  "That's all that you remember that's important. There might be more. We'll dig it all out."

  "You sound like a dentist," she said unevenly. "Only you aren't us¬ing anesthesia, are you?"

  "No." His lips tightened. "And I won't stop until it's over, no mat¬ter how much you're hurting. It has to be done. I've waited too long as it is."

  His expression was totally hard, totally without mercy, yet it was not without emotion. But she couldn't read what those feelings were. "Your CIA man, Ferguson, wanted to debrief me, and you stopped him."

  "You were too fragile. I didn't want you to break." "Yet now you're going to do it."

  "If you break, I'll find a way to put together the pieces." Dear heaven, she was afraid. "I could say no." "Yes, you could."

  She closed her eyes, fighting the panic. "No, I can't. Because you're right, dammit. I can't trust myself because I didn't want to do anything but shut it out. I can remember lying there in that hut and dreading going back to Joel. I tried to build a cocoon around myself, but it didn't work." Her eyes were stinging as she opened them. "It never worked. Staunton managed to rip it open every time. Yes, I might know something I don't know I know." She drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry I'm fighting you. I promised you I'd tell you everything, didn't I? And I will. It just came as a-I didn't expect it to be tonight." She turned away. "So let's get on with the debriefing. Or should we call it the confessional? That's what Irana would probably-"

  "You have nothing to confess, dammit. You're not guilty of any¬thing."

  "I felt guilty. I couldn't help him. There should have been a way I could help him." She tried to keep her voice from shaking. "Shouldn't you have a tape recorder or something? Don't you have to take notes?" "No, I'll remember everything."

  "Of course, you will. You're very clever." She curled up in the easy chair by the window, tucking her legs beneath the terry robe. She was cold, terribly cold. "And you'll see that I remember everything."

  "Yes," he said hoarsely. "Everything."

  "Stop towering over me. Sit down somewhere. Let's get this over with."

  He sat down on the edge of the bed.

  She looked away from him and stared blindly at the wall beyond him. She could get through this. She only had to remember that she was doing it for Joel. That living through that horror again was the only way she could help him now. Just one more time.

  "Where do you want me to start?"

  "When you got off the plane in Kabul."

  "That far back?"

  "Yes. I want to know every detail."

  "I'm not arguing. I'm just surprised." But it was a relief not to have to dive into that day at the museum right away. "We didn't actually go to Afghanistan to go to the museum. We were diverted by some high-up official in the central government, Aman Nemid. He'd grown up in the area and…" She kept talking quickly, feverishly, not letting herself see the direction she was going.

  Until she was there, riding in the truck with Joel. Laughing with him, being teased about Springsteen, worrying about the weather.

  She suddenly froze. It was coming. Just around the bend.

  "Bruce Springsteen?" Garrett asked. " 'Dancing in the Dark'?"

  She wasn't really there on that road from the museum. She was here with Garrett. Keep it separate. "I like Springsteen." But she could go on now. Talk fast. Tell him about the overturned truck. Tell him about the blood running from beneath it.

  Staunton standing there cradling the AK-47 in his arm. Talk.

  Go numb. Don't think. Just talk.

  For God's sake, don't think.

  "I BIT HIS LIP AS HARD AS I could. He was bleeding." The words were feverishly tumbling out. "It felt good. I wanted to savage him. It didn't matter any longer. He couldn't hurt Joel. No one could hurt Joel any longer. He hit me, then he forced me out in the snow to go to Shafir Ali's tent. He was swearing and threatening, but it didn't matter. He couldn't hurt-"

  "Stop it." Garrett was suddenly beside her, kneeling on the floor before her. "No more."

  "But I haven't finished. You said I had to tell you everything. I've got to finish. He took me to Shafir and told him to-"

  "You're finished. It's over." He grasped her shoulders and shook her. "Shut up. Okay?"

  She gazed dazedly at him. It was the first time she had looked at him since she had started. His expression was no longer hard; it was twisted with pain, haggard… "Finished?"

  "God, yes." He turned out the light. He gathered her up and car¬ried her to the bed. "Never again. You can forget it."

  "No, I can't." She tried to keep from slurring. "It's there waiting for me. All you had to do was probe now and then, and it all came back…"

  "Yes, that's all I had to do."

  He sounded bitter. She should try to think why-No, it was too hard. She had barely been aware of him in the past hours. He had only been a voice guiding her, questioning her, making her pause when she wanted to run ahead. At first she had ha^ed that voice, but then it had become part of her. Strange…

  He was laying her down on the bed, covering her with the blan¬ket. Then he was lying down beside her and drawing her into his arms. "Go to sleep. I'll stay with you. There won't be any nightmares tonight. I'll guard you. God knows, it's the least I can do."

  That bitterness again. Yes, keep the nightmares away. She was too weak to do it herself tonight. "Thank you." She closed her eyes and curled closer to him. "I'm very tired…"

  "You're practically shell-shocked." His words were muffled in her hair. "I know while you're hating me you won't believe this, but I'm… sorry."

  "I believe you." She opened her eyes to look at him.
"And I don't hate you. Why should I? It had to be done before we could move on."

  "And I was the one to do it." His lips twisted. "I seem to be des¬tined to be a catalyst, don't I? First, Irana, now you."

  "I couldn't blame you when all of this is about me."

  "No. This is all about Staunton." He stroked her hair away from her face. "And you're telling me you didn't hate me even for a moment while we were going through that hell?"

  "At first, I-but then you became part of it."

  "What?"

  She tried to put her thoughts together. "Part of it. Part of me. I wasn't alone any longer. We were together." She couldn't hold her eyes open any longer. "It was a terrible thing going through that horror alone. But I wasn't alone this time. It was as if you were going through it with me, standing beside me."

  "I was. I will be."

  "So I couldn't hate you…" She had a sudden thought. "Did I say anything that we can use?" "Yes, a couple things."

  "Then it wasn't for nothing."

  "No. I'd cut my throat if I thought it was." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "Go to sleep."

  She was already dozing off. "I'm sorry about your friend, Karif. I didn't tell you, did I?" she whispered. "I know how it is to lose-"

  "I know you do. Go to sleep."

  "I just wanted to tell you…"

  EMILY'S BREATHING WAS DEEP and steady, and she was curled against him like a little girl with a teddy bear.

  Only he wasn't a teddy bear, and Garrett had spent the last hour making her go through hell. It was no wonder that she had practically fallen unconscious when it was over.

  You were part of it. Part of me.

  She was right, he had been there. With every word she spoke, he had been drawn deeper into the ugly morass she had undergone. He had felt her fear and her rage and helplessness.

  And her hatred for Staunton.

  Only now it was his hatred.

  GARRETT WAS STILL IN THE bed beside her when Emily woke up the next morning. He was lying on his back, his arm beneath his head, staring absently at the wall across the room.