The Romanov Prophecy Page 0,24

their American diversifications. Millions of dollars had been laundered through North American financial institutions, most funneled into legitimate businesses seeking capital, more used

to purchase stocks, securities, gold, and art. Pridgen & Woodworth had earned millions in legal fees through his representation, all made thanks to a combination of friendly American laws and even friendlier bureaucrats. No one knew the money source and, to date, the activity had not attracted any official attention. Hayes had used his representation to expand his influence in the firm and attract a huge array of foreign clients that turned to him simply because he understood how business was done in the new Russia--how to use fear and anxiety--how uncertainty could be a friend if one knew precisely how to alleviate it. Which he did.

Stalin smirked. "This is becoming quite profitable for you, Taylor."

"I told you I wasn't going to take the risks for my health."

"Apparently not."

"What was all that about yesterday? What you said about expanding my role in this whole affair."

"Just as I said. We may need certain matters handled and you come with a measure of deniability."

"I want to know what you're not telling me."

"It is truly not important at the moment. There is no need for concern; we are simply being cautious."

Hayes reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew the card Stalin had given him the day before. "Will I need to make the call?"

Stalin chuckled. "Does the notion of such loyalty--that on your order men would submerge themselves in the river--appeal to you?"

"I want to know why I might need them."

"Let us hope you won't. Now tell me about the power concentration. What was mentioned today at the session?"

He decided to let the matter drop. "Power will be concentrated in the tsar. But there will still be a council of ministers and a Duma that will have to be dealt with."

Stalin pondered the information. "It seems our nature to be volatile. Monarchy, republic, democracy, communism ... none of it really works here." He paused, then added with a smile, "Thank goodness."

Hayes asked what he really wanted to know, "What of Stefan Baklanov? Will he cooperate?"

Stalin glanced at his watch. "I assume you will have the answer to that question shortly."

ELEVEN

GREEN GLADE ESTATE

4:30 PM

HAYES ADMIRED THE SHOTGUN, AFOX SIDE-BY-SIDE WITH ATURKish walnut stock, hand-rubbed to an oil finish. The pistol grip was lean and straight with a beavertail fore-end and hard rubber butt plate. He tested the action, boxlike, with automatic ejectors. He knew the price ranged from seven thousand dollars for a basic model to twenty-five thousand for an exhibition-grade. Truly, an impressive weapon.

"Your shot," Lenin said.

Hayes shouldered the gun and took aim into a cloudy afternoon sky. He steadied the barrel with a feather-light touch.

"Pull," he yelled.

A clay pigeon shot from the thrower. He followed the black dot in the sight, moved ahead, and fired.

The target disintegrated in a shower of debris.

"You're a good shot," Khrushchev said.

"Hunting is my passion."

He spent at least nine weeks a year traveling the world on expeditions. Canadian caribou and geese. Asian pheasant and wild sheep. European red stag and fox. African Cape buffalo and antelope. Not to mention the duck, deer, grouse, and wild turkey he routinely sought in the woods of northern Georgia and the mountains of western North Carolina. His office in Atlanta was littered with trophies. The past couple of months had been so intense that he'd not had a chance to shoot, so he was grateful for this outing.

He'd left Moscow right after his meeting with Stalin, a car and driver delivering him to an estate thirty miles south of town. The manor house was a lovely red brick veined with ivy. It was owned by another member of the Secret Chancellory--Georgy Ostanovich, better known to Hayes as Lenin.

Ostanovich came from the military. He was a thin, cadaverous man with steel-gray eyes encircled by thick-lensed glasses. He was a general, though he never wore a uniform, a line officer who'd led troops in the assault of Grozny at the outset of the Chechen war. That conflict had deprived him of one lung, which was why he now labored with each breath. After the war he'd become an outspoken critic of Yeltsin and his weak military policies, and only Yeltsin's fall from power had prevented him from losing his rank and commission. Top officers were worried about their future under a tsar, so the army's presence in any conspiracy was deemed critical, and Ostanovich had been chosen its collective representative.

Lenin