"I do believe you like that woman," Hayes said, switching to English.

The gun was still pressed to his throat. "What do you care?"

"I don't."

The gun moved away and Hayes stepped back. Lord slumped into a chair. The pain in his shoulder amplified, yet the rage surging through him was keeping his reflexes ready. "Did you have the Makses killed in Starodug?"

"You left us no choice. Loose ends and all that."

"And Baklanov really is a p.a.w.n?"

"Russia is like a virgin, Miles. So many sweet pleasures that none have tasted. But to survive you have to play by their rules, and they are some of the toughest anywhere. I adapted. Murder, for them, is an accepted means of achieving an end. In fact, it seems the preferable means."

"What happened to you, Taylor?"

Hayes sat, gun leveled. "Don't give me any of that c.r.a.p. I did what had to be done. n.o.body at the firm ever complained about the fees rolling in. Sometimes risks have to be taken to achieve great things. Controlling the tsar of Russia seemed worth it. Actually, the whole thing was nearly perfect. Who would have ever guessed a direct heir was still alive?"

Lord wanted to lunge at him and Hayes seemed to sense the hatred. "Not going to happen, Miles. I'll shoot you dead before you leave that chair."

"I hope it's worth it."

"Beats the s.h.i.t out of practicing law."

He thought he'd try to stall. "How do you plan to contain this? Thorn's got a family. More heirs. They all know, too."

Hayes smiled. "Nice try. Thorn's wife and children know zero. My containment problem is right here." Hayes motioned with the gun. "Look, you've got n.o.body to blame but yourself. If you'd left this alone, done just what I told you, there'd be no problem. Instead you had to traipse off to St. Petersburg and California and involve yourself in a whole lot of things that simply don't concern you."

He asked what he really wanted to know. "You going to kill me, Taylor?" Not a hint of fear entered his voice. He was surprised at himself.

"Nope. But those two out there are. Made me promise not to harm a hair on your head. They don't like you. And I certainly can't disappoint the hired help."

"You're not the man I knew."

"How the s.h.i.t would you know me? You're a d.a.m.n a.s.sociate. We're not blood brothers. h.e.l.l, we're barely friends. But, if you have to know, I've got clients depending on me and I aim to deliver. Along with providing a retirement fund for myself."

He glanced beyond Hayes, toward outside.

"You worried about your little Russian darling?"

He said nothing. What was there to say?

"I'm sure Orleg's enjoying her . . . right about now."

FORTY-NINE.

Akilina followed the man Lord called Droopy as they plunged through the woods. A bed of leaves cushioned their steps and moonlight flickered through the branches, strobing the forest in a milky glow. Freezing air slapped her skin, her sweater and jeans offering little warmth. Thorn was in the lead, a rifle to his back. Orleg followed her, gun in hand.

They plowed ahead for ten minutes before entering a clearing. Two shovels stood spiked in the earth. Apparently, some planning had occurred prior to Hayes's appearance.

"Dig," Orleg said to Thorn. "Like your ancestors, you'll die in the woods and be buried in the cold ground. Perhaps in another hundred years somebody will find your bones."

"And if I refuse?" Thorn calmly asked.

"I'll shoot you, then enjoy her."

Thorn's gaze moved toward Akilina. The lawyer's breathing was rhythmic and she saw no concern in his eyes.

"Look at it this way," Orleg said. "A few more precious minutes of life. Every second counts. Anyway, it's more time than your great-grandfather got. Lucky for you, I'm no Bolshevik."

Thorn stood rigid and made no attempt to grasp the shovel. Orleg tossed his rifle aside and grabbed Akilina's sweater. He pulled her close and she started to scream, but his other hand cupped her mouth.

"Enough," Thorn yelled.

Orleg stopped his a.s.sault, but raised his right hand to her neck, not tight enough to strangle, but enough to let her know he was there. Thorn grasped the shovel and started to dig.

Orleg fondled her breast with his free hand. "Nice and firm." His breath stank.

She reached up and dug her fingers into his left eye. He jerked back, recoiled, and slapped her hard across the face. Then he shoved her to the moist ground.

The inspector retrieved his rifle. He chambered a round and slammed his right foot across her neck, pinning her head to the ground. He wiggled the end of the barrel into the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze darted to where Thorn stood.

She tasted rust and grit. Orleg pressed the end of the barrel deeper and she fought to avoid gagging. Terror built inside her.

"You like that, b.i.t.c.h?"

A black form surged from the woods and slammed into Orleg. The policeman tumbled back and lost his grip on the rifle. In the instant it took Akilina to shove the barrel away, she realized what happened.

The borzoi had returned.

She whirled as the rifle b.u.t.t found the ground.

"Attack. Kill," Thorn screamed.

The dog's head whipped as fangs found flesh.

Orleg shrieked in agony.

Thorn swung the shovel and slammed the blade into Droopy, who seemed momentarily stunned by the animal's arrival. The Russian moaned as Thorn thrust the shovel again, the point digging into Droopy's stomach. A third blow across the skull and Droopy pounded the ground. The body twitched for a few seconds, then all movement stopped.

Orleg was still screaming as the dog attacked with a relentless furor.

Akilina grabbed for the rifle.

Thorn rushed over. "Halt."

The dog withdrew and heeled, panting a cloudy mist. Orleg rolled over, gripping his throat. He started to rise, but Akilina fired one shot into his face.

Orleg's body lay still.

"Feel better?" Thorn calmly asked her.

She spit the taste of metal from her mouth. "Much."

Thorn moved toward Droopy and checked for a pulse. "This one's dead, too."

She stared at the dog. The animal had saved her life. Words Lord and Semyon Pashenko told her flashed through her mind. Something a supposed holy man had proclaimed a hundred years ago. The innocence of beasts will guard and lead the way, being the final arbitor of success. The innocence of beasts will guard and lead the way, being the final arbitor of success.

Thorn moved to the dog and caressed the silky mane. "Good boy, Alexie. Good boy."

The borzoi accepted his master's affection, pawing gently with sharp claws. Blood framed his mouth.

She said, "We need to see about Miles."

[image]

A distant shot echoed, and Lord used the moment Hayes glanced away to grab a lamp with his uninjured arm and sling the heavy wooden base. He rolled out of the chair as Hayes recovered and fired a shot.

The room was now lit by a single lamp and a glow from the dying fire. He quickly belly-crawled across the floor and sent the other lamp in Hayes's direction, diving up and over a sofa that faced the fireplace. His right shoulder ached from the effort. Two more bullets tried to find him through the sofa. He scrambled across the floor toward the kitchen and rolled inside just as a another bullet shattered the doorjamb. The wound to his shoulder reopened and started to bleed. He was trying to stem the blood flow with his hand and hoping the transition from light to dark would affect Hayes's aim-he couldn't take any more bullets-but he knew it would only be a few moments before the man's eyes adjusted.

In the kitchen he pushed to his feet, then momentarily lost his balance from the pain. The room spun and he grabbed hold of his emotions. Before bolting outside, he yanked a checkered towel from the counter and slapped it over the shoulder gash. Exiting, he slammed the door shut with his bloodied left hand and tipped a trash can over.

Then he rushed into the woods.

[image]

Hayes couldn't decide if he'd hit Lord or not. He tried to count the number of shots. Four, he could recall, maybe five. That meant five or six bullets left. His eyes were quickly adjusting to the darkness, the faint glow of embers in the hearth providing only minimal light. He heard a door slam and a.s.sumed Lord had left. He leveled the Glock and moved forward, entering the kitchen cautiously. His right toe slipped on something wet. He bent down and dabbed the fluid. A coppery stench confirmed blood. He stood and moved toward the door leading out. A trash can blocked the way. He kicked the plastic container aside and stepped out into the cold night.

"Okay, Miles," he called out. "Looks like it's time for a little 'c.o.o.n hunting. Hope your luck's not as good as your grandfather's."

He popped the magazine from the Glock and replaced it with a fresh one. Ten sh.e.l.ls were now ready to finish what he'd started.

[image]

Akilina heard the shots as she and Thorn raced back toward the cabin. She carried Orleg's rifle. Just outside the cabin, Thorn stopped their advance.

"Let's not be foolish," he said.

She was impressed by the lawyer's reserve. He was handling the situation with a calm she found comforting.

Thorn stepped onto the porch and approached the closed front door. From behind the cabin, she heard a man say, "Okay, Miles. Looks like it's time for a little 'c.o.o.n hunting. Hope your luck's not as good as your grandfather's."

She crept up behind Thorn, the dog beside her.

Thorn turned the k.n.o.b and swung open the door. The interior was black, except for the smoldering hearth. Thorn moved inside and went directly to a cabinet. A drawer opened and he returned with a handgun.

"Come on," he said.

She followed him into the kitchen. The exterior door was swung open. She noticed Alexie sniffing the plank floor. She bent down and spied dark splotches leading from the great room outside.

The dog was intent on them.

Thorn bent down. "Somebody's been hit," he quietly mouthed. "Alexie. Scent. Take."

The dog sucked another noseful of one of the stains. Then the animal's head raised, as if to say he was ready.

"Find," Thorn said.

The dog charged out the door.

FIFTY.

Lord heard Hayes's words and thought about the conversation they'd had in the Volkhov nine days before.

d.a.m.n, it seemed longer.

His grandfather had told him all about the times when southern rednecks vented their anger on blacks. One of his friend's granduncles had even been s.n.a.t.c.hed from his home and hanged because somebody suspected him of thievery. No arrest, no charges, no trial. He'd often wondered what it took to hate that much. One thing his father had always done was make sure both blacks and whites never forgot that past. Some called it populism. Others pandering. Grover Lord said it was a friendly reminder from the Man-Up-Top's representative. friendly reminder from the Man-Up-Top's representative. Now he was the one racing through the Carolina mountains with a man following, determined that he never see dawn. Now he was the one racing through the Carolina mountains with a man following, determined that he never see dawn.

The dish towel he'd jammed onto the shoulder wound helped, but the steady brush of limbs and shrubs was doing damage. He had no idea where he was going. He remembered Thorn saying the nearest neighbors were miles away. With Hayes, Droopy, and Orleg behind him, he figured his chances weren't all that good. In his mind he could still hear the shot just before he'd made his move on Hayes. He wanted to double back and find Akilina and Thorn, but realized the futility of that effort. In all likelihood they were both dead. He was better off losing himself in the night-making it out to tell the world what he knew. He owed that to Semyon Pashenko and the Holy Band, especially to all who'd died. Like Iosif and Va.s.sily Maks.

He stopped his advance. Each breath came in short gulps and evaporated before his eyes. His throat was parched and he was having trouble orienting himself. His face and chest were covered in perspiration. He wanted to peel off his sweater, but there was no way his shoulder could take the effort. He was light-headed. The blood loss was affecting him, and the alt.i.tude wasn't helping, either.

He heard thrashing behind him.

He brushed back a low-hanging limb and slipped into thick brush. The ground began to harden. Rocky outcrops appeared. The elevation was likewise rising and he started up a short incline. Gravel crunched, the sound amplified in the stillness.

A wide panorama opened ahead.

He stopped at the end of a cliff overlooking a blackened gorge. A fast-moving stream rambled below. But he wasn't trapped. He could go left or right, back into the woods, but decided to use the spot to his advantage. If they found him, perhaps the element of surprise might give him an edge. He couldn't keep running. Not with three armed men after him. Besides, he didn't want to be gunned down like some animal. He'd take a stand and fight. So he pulled himself up the rocks, onto a ledge that overlooked the precipice. Open sky stretched for what seemed an eternity. He now possessed a vantage point from which he could see anyone who approached.

He groped in the dark and found three rocks the size of softb.a.l.l.s. He extended the muscles in his right arm and determined he could throw, but not far. He tested the weight of each rock and readied himself for anybody who might approach.

[image]

Hayes had tracked enough animals to know how to follow a trail and Lord had thrashed the woods with no regard for the broken branches he was leaving behind. There were even footprints in places where the thatched floor gave way to moist earth. In the bright moonlight the path was easy to decipher. Not to mention the bloodstains, which came with predictable regularity.