the language so well. Are you here for a visit?"
She nodded.
"What is the trouble that makes you so sad?" The man's calm voice was soothing.
"It is a friend. He is in danger."
"Can you help him?"
"I don't know how."
"You have come to the right place to seek guidance." The priest motioned to the wall of icons. "There is no better adviser than our Lord."
Her grandmother had been devoutly Orthodox and tried to teach her to trust in heaven. Not until this moment, though, had she ever reallyneeded God. She realized the priest would never understand what was happening, and she did not want to say much more, so she asked, "Have you followed what is occurring in Russia, Father?"
"With great interest. I would have voted yes for restoration. It is the best thing for Russia."
"Why do you say that?"
"A great destruction of souls occurred in our homeland for many decades. The church was nearly destroyed. Maybe now Russians can return to the fold. The Soviets were terrified of God."
That was a strange observation, but she agreed. Anything that might have gelled the opposition was viewed as a threat. The Mother Church. Some poetry. An old woman.
The priest said, "I have lived here many years. This country is not the awful place we were taught it was. The Americans elect their president every four years with great fanfare. But at the same time, they remind him he is human and may be wrong in his decisions. I have learned that the less a government deifies itself, the more it should be respected. Our new tsar should take a lesson from that."
She nodded. Was this a message?
"Do you care for this friend who is in trouble?" the priest asked.
The question brought her attention into focus, and she answered truthfully. "He is a good person."
"You love him?"
"We have only recently met."
The priest motioned to the bag draped from her shoulder. "Are you going somewhere? Running away?"
She realized this holy man did not understand, nor would he ever. Lord said to talk to no one until after he failed to show at sixPM. And she was determined to respect his wishes. "There is nowhere to run, Father. My troubles are here."
"I am afraid that I do not understand your situation. And the Gospel says that if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch."
She smiled. "I don't really comprehend it myself. But I have an obligation to fulfill. One that is tormenting me at the moment."
"And it involves this man, whom you may or may not love?"
She nodded.
"Would you like for us to pray for him?"
What could it hurt? "That might help, Father. Then, after, could you tell me the way to the zoo?"
THIRTY-EIGHT
LORD OPENED HIS EYES, EXPECTING EITHER ANOTHER JOLT OFelectricity or another piece of duct tape to be pressed over his nose. He didn't know which was worse. But he realized that he was no longer strapped to the chair. He was sprawled on a hardwood floor, his bindings cut loose and dangling from the chair's legs and arms. None of his torturers were around, the office lit only by three lamps and pale sunlight filtering past opaque sheers that covered floor-to-ceiling windows.
The pain of raw electricity surging through his body had been excruciating. Orleg had delighted in varying the contact points, starting with his forehead, then his chest, and finally his crotch, his groin now aching both from Droopy's blow and the bare wires that had sent voltage surging through his genitals. It was like cold water doused on a raw toothache, intense enough to black him out. But he'd tried to hang on, stay tough, keep alert. He couldn't slip and let anything out about Akilina. Some mythical heir of the Romanovs was one thing. She was another.
He struggled to lift himself from the floor, but his right calf was numb and he was barely able to stand. The numerals on his watch blurred in and out. He was finally able to make out five fifteenPM. Only forty-five minutes left to meet Akilina.
He hoped they'd not found her. His still being alive was perhaps confirmation of their failure. Surely when she'd called at three thirty and he hadn't spoken with her, she'd followed his instructions.
He'd been a fool to trust Filip Vitenko, thinking thousands of miles between here and Moscow enough insulation. Apparently, whoever was interested in what he was doing had sufficient connections to transcend international borders, which meant high-level government involvement, and Lord resolved