"But I give you my word your wife will not be involved, if you simply tell me what I want to know."

The redheaded Russian seemed to consider the proposal.

"You believe what I am telling you?" Stalin calmly asked.

Maks said nothing.

"If you continue to remain silent, there should be no doubt in your mind that I will direct these men to retrieve your wife. I will bind her to a chair beside you, and you will watch her suffocate. Then, I will probably let you live, so the memory can haunt you the rest of your life."

Stalin spoke with a calm reserve, as if negotiating a business deal. Hayes was impressed with the ease in which this handsome man, crouched over in his Armani jeans and cashmere sweater, dished out misery.

"Kolya Maks is dead," Maks finally said. "His son, Va.s.sily, lives about ten kilometers south of town on the main highway. As to why Lord sought him, I do not know. Va.s.sily is my great-uncle. Members of the family have always operated businesses here in town with a sign out front. That was what Va.s.sily asked of us, and I did as he asked."

"I believe you are lying, Mr. Maks. Are you of the Holy Band?"

Maks said nothing. Apparently, there was a limit to his cooperation.

"No. You would not admit that, would you? Part of your oath to the tsar."

Maks stared hard. "Ask Va.s.sily."

"I shall," Stalin said, as he motioned.

Droopy slapped more tape over Maks's mouth.

The Russian rocked in the chair, trying to breathe. His attempt to break free sent the chair careering to the floor.

His struggle ended a minute later.

"A good man who will protect his wife," Stalin said, staring down at the corpse. "One to be admired."

"Will you honor your word?" Hayes asked.

Stalin stared at him with a look of genuine hurt. "Of course. What kind of person do you take me for?"

TWENTY-NINE.

6:40 PM.

Lord parked in the woods just off a muddy road. A chilly dusk had evolved into a cold, moonless night. He wasn't wild about the prospect of digging up a thirty-year-old coffin, but little choice remained. He was now convinced two Romanovs had walked away from Yekaterinburg. Whether they eventually made it to safety and ultimately survived to parent offspring was another matter, but there seemed only one way to find out.

Va.s.sily Maks had provided them with two shovels and a flashlight with weak batteries. He'd warned that the cemetery was deep into the forest, a good thirty kilometers from Starodug, nothing around but thick poplars and an old stone church used occasionally for funerals.

"The cemetery should be just ahead, down that trail," he said, as they climbed out of the car.

They were still using the vehicle Iosif Maks had provided that morning. Maks had said he would return by evening with their car. When he'd not arrived by six PM PM Va.s.sily had told them to go on, he would explain to Iosif and they would both be waiting when they returned. The old man seemed as anxious as they were to learn what secret his father had harbored. He also noted that there was one other piece of information he needed to pa.s.s on, but only after they were privy to what his father knew. It was another safety device, one that he intended to pa.s.s to his nephew, Iosif, the man he was grooming to a.s.sume the duty of keeper once he was gone. Va.s.sily had told them to go on, he would explain to Iosif and they would both be waiting when they returned. The old man seemed as anxious as they were to learn what secret his father had harbored. He also noted that there was one other piece of information he needed to pa.s.s on, but only after they were privy to what his father knew. It was another safety device, one that he intended to pa.s.s to his nephew, Iosif, the man he was grooming to a.s.sume the duty of keeper once he was gone.

Lord wore a jacket and a pair of leather gloves brought from Atlanta, along with thick woolen socks. His jeans were the only pair of casual wear he'd packed before leaving for Russia. The sweater was bought in Moscow a couple of weeks back. His world should have been one of suits and ties, casual clothes simply for a Sunday afternoon, but events had taken a dramatic shift in the past few days.

Maks had also provided a little protection, an old bolt-action rifle that could easily be characterized as antique. But the weapon appeared well oiled, and Maks demonstrated how to load and fire. He warned them about bears that roamed at night, especially this time of year as they prepared for a winter's hibernation. Lord knew little about guns, having fired one only a couple of times while in Afghanistan. He wasn't necessarily comfortable with the idea of being armed, but he was even more uncomfortable with the prospect of encountering a hungry bear. It was Akilina who surprised him. She readily shouldered the rifle and popped off three shots into a tree fifty yards away. Another of her grandmother's lessons, she said. And he was glad. At least one of them knew what they were doing.

He grabbed the shovels and flashlight from the backseat. Their clothes bags were there, too. As soon as they were through, after a quick trip back to Va.s.sily Maks, they intended to leave. Where they would go was unclear, but he'd already decided that if this journey proved a dead end, he was going to drive southwest to Kiev and catch a flight to the United States. He'd call Taylor Hayes from the safety of his Atlanta apartment.

"Let's go," he said. "Might as well get this over with."

Black columns of trees rose all around, their boughs rustled by a frigid breeze that chapped his skin. He used the flashlight sparingly, conserving the batteries for the dig.

The muted image of tombstones appeared in a clearing ahead. They were high in the Old World style, and even through the darkness it was obvious the plots had not been maintained. A layer of frost iced everything. The blackness of the sky above hinted that more rain might be on the way. No fence of any kind delineated boundaries and no gate signified an entrance, the trail leading from the road simply dissolving into the first line of markers. He could imagine a cortege of mourners led by a solemn, black-robed priest making their way down the path, a simple wooden coffin part of the procession, a rectangle in the black earth waiting.

A scan with the flashlight revealed that all the graves were overgrown with underbrush. A few cairns were scattered throughout, and most of the heaps of memorial stones sprouted bushy weeds and th.o.r.n.y vines. He shone the light on the markers. Some of the dates reached back two hundred years.

"Maks said the grave was farthest from the road in," he said, leading Akilina deeper into the cemetery.

The burial ground was spongy from rain that hadn't let up until midafternoon. Which should help with digging, he thought.

They found the grave.

He read the words chiseled beneath KOLYA MAKS KOLYA MAKS.

HE THAT ENDURETH TO THE END SHALL BE SAVED.

Akilina slid the rifle off her shoulder. "Seems this may be the right path."

He handed her one of the shovels. "Let's find out."

The ground peeled up soft and clumpy and carried a sharp scent of peat. Va.s.sily had said the oak coffin should be shallow. Russians tended to bury their dead that way, and he hoped the old man was right.

Akilina worked near the stone marker while he burrowed at the other end. He decided to dig straight down to see how far they needed to go. About three feet in he struck something hard. He cleared away the wet dirt, revealing wood, rotting and splintered.

"That coffin is probably not going to come out," he said.

"Which doesn't speak well of the body."

They continued digging, clearing away layers of mud and, after twenty minutes, a dark rectangle was opened.

He shone the flashlight down.

Through gashes in the wood he saw the body. He used the shovel, pried off the remaining splinters, and exposed Kolya Maks.

The Russian wore the uniform of a palace guard. Occasional bursts of color flashed in the weak beam. Muted reds, dark blue, and what was once surely white, now charcoal from the black earth. Bra.s.s b.u.t.tons and a gold belt buckle had survived, but little remained of the trousers and jacket beyond shreds, leather straps, and a belt.

Time had not been kind to the body, either. The flesh was gone from the face and hands. No features were left except the eye and nose sockets, an exposed jaw, and teeth clenched tight in death. Just as the son had said, the father cradled a metal box on what was left of his chest, rib bones protruding at odd angles, limp remnants of arms still crossed.

Lord had expected a smell, but none drifted up other than the musty odor of wet dirt and lichens. He used the shovel to peel back what was left of the arms. The little bit of coat sleeve crumbled away. A couple of sod worms scampered across the box lid. Akilina lifted the box out and set it gently on the ground. The exterior was dirty, but still intact. Bronze perhaps, he thought, to survive the moisture. He noticed a padlock on the front.

"It's heavy," she said.

He knelt down and tried the weight. She was right. He shook it back and forth. Something with ma.s.s slid inside. He laid the box back on the ground and grabbed the shovel.

"Stand back."

He pounded the point of the blade into the lock. It took three jabs to crack the hasp free. He was about to reach down and open the lid when a swirl of light streaked across the tree line. His head whirled around and he saw four dots in the distance-the headlights of two cars approaching fast down the lane where they'd parked. The car lights extinguished at about the point where they'd parked.

"Kill the light," he said. "And come on."

He left the shovels and grabbed the box. Akilina cradled the rifle.

He plunged into the trees and maneuvered through the underbrush to a point beyond the open grave, but far enough into the woods for cover. His clothes quickly dampened from wet foliage, and he was careful not to jostle the box, not sure of how fragile the contents might be. He slowly moved in the direction of their car, weaving a path around the cemetery back to where they'd parked. The wind freshened, now beating a loud rhythm with the branches.

Two flashlights clicked on in the distance.

Crouching down, he moved toward the burial clearing, stopping short, still in the trees. Four dark forms emerged from the end of the trail and entered the cemetery. Three stood tall and strode firm. One was hunched forward and moved slower. In the beams of one of the flashlights he spotted the face of Droopy. The other beam revealed the pudgy features of Inspector Felix Orleg. As they came closer he could tell from the silhouette that the other man was Cro-Magnon, and the final form was Va.s.sily Maks.

"Mr. Lord," Orleg called out in Russian. "We know you are here. Make this easy, would you please?"

"Who is he?" Akilina whispered in his ear.

"A problem," he mouthed.

"That man with the light was on the train," she whispered.

"Both of them were." He looked back at the rifle she held. "At least we're armed."

He watched through the undergrowth, around the dark streaks of trees, as the four forms moved toward the open grave, two flashlight beams leading the way.

"This where your father is buried?" he heard Orleg ask.

Va.s.sily Maks moved toward the stone marker revealed by one of the lights. The wind momentarily masked the voices and he could not hear if the old man said anything. But he did hear when Orleg yelled in Russian, "Lord, either come out or I'll kill this old man. Your choice."

He wanted to reach back, take the rifle from Akilina, and rush forward, but all three of the other men were surely armed and certainly knew how to handle themselves. He, on the other hand, was scared to death and was betting his life on the prophecy of a charlatan murdered a hundred years ago. But before he could make any decision, Va.s.sily Maks made it for him.

"Do not worry about me, Raven. I am prepared."

Maks started to run from his father's grave, back toward the cars. The other three forms stood still, but Lord could see Droopy's arm raise, the outline of a gun in his hand.

"If you can hear, Raven," Maks screamed. "Russian Hill."

One shot cracked in the night and the old man dropped to the ground.

The breath left Lord and he felt Akilina stiffen. They watched while Cro-Magnon calmly walked over and dragged the body back toward the grave, tossing it into the hole.

"We have to go," he whispered to her.

She didn't argue.

They crept from tree to tree, made their way through the woods back toward the car, and stepped to where the three vehicles were parked.

Running footsteps were approaching from the direction of the cemetery.

Only one set.

He and Akilina crouched low in the foliage just beyond the muddy roadbed.

Droopy appeared with a flashlight in hand. Keys jingled in the dark, and the trunk to one of the two cars opened. Lord rushed from the woods. Droopy seemed to hear the steps and rose up from the trunk. Lord crashed the metal box onto the man's skull.

Droopy collapsed to the ground.

Lord looked down, satisfied that the man was out, then glanced into the trunk. A tiny light illuminated a dead stare from Iosif Maks.

What had Rasputin said? Twelve must die before the resurrection can be complete. Twelve must die before the resurrection can be complete. Mother of G.o.d. Two more just had. Mother of G.o.d. Two more just had.

Akilina rushed forward and saw the body.

"Oh no," she muttered. "Both of them?"

"We don't have time for this. Get in our car." He gave her the keys. "But be quiet with the door. Don't crank the engine until I tell you." He handed her the box and took the rifle.

The cemetery was a good fifty yards up the road, the route soft and muddy. Not the easiest terrain to negotiate, especially in the dark. Cro-Magnon and Orleg were probably searching the woods, Droopy sent back to retrieve the other body, an open grave the perfect place to dump it. Lord had even left two shovels for them. It wouldn't be long, though, before they began to miss their a.s.sociate.

He chambered a round, aimed at the right rear tire of one of the cars, and fired. He quickly chambered another and blew out the front tire of the other car. He then raced to his car and leaped in.

"Go. Now."

Akilina turned the key and slammed the gear into first. Tires spun as she maneuvered the front end left and straightened back out on the narrow road.

She floored the accelerator and they shot off into the dark.

They found the main highway and drove south. An hour pa.s.sed with both of them quiet, the excitement of the moment ebbing with the realization that two men had just died.

It started to rain. Even the sky seemed to share their sorrow.

"I can't believe this is happening," Lord said, more to himself than to Akilina.

"What Professor Pashenko said must be true."

Not what he wanted to hear. "Pull over. Up there."