government. We wait for tsar to return." No effort was made to conceal the sarcasm.
"I assume you voted no?"
Orleg's face turned serious. "Assume nothing. Much safer that way."
He didn't like the implications. But before he could respond, the phone on the desk rang. The shrill startled him. Orleg lifted the handset while still fingering the cigarette with his other hand. He answered in Russian and instructed the person on the other end to put the call through.
"What may I do for you?" Orleg said into the mouthpiece, still in Russian.
There was a pause while Orleg listened.
"I have thechornye here," the inspector said.
Lord's interest perked, but he did nothing that revealed he understood what Orleg was saying. The policeman apparently felt safe behind the language barrier.
"A guard is dead. The men you sent were not successful. No contact was made. I told you the situation could have been handled better. I agree. Yes. He does have great luck."
The caller was apparently the source of all his problems. And he'd been right about Orleg. The sonovabitch was not to be trusted.
"I will keep him here until your people arrive. This time it will be done correctly. No more gangsters. I will kill him myself."
Chilly fingers danced down Lord's spine.
"Do not worry. I have him under personal watch. He is here, sitting right before me." A smile formed on the Russian's face. "He doesn't understand a word I'm saying."
There was a pause, then Orleg bolted upright in the chair. The inspector's gaze met
Lord's.
"What?" Orleg said. "He speaks--"
Lord brought both legs up and slammed the heavy desk across the tile floor into Orleg. The inspector's chair rolled back and kissed the wall, pinning him tight. Lord then yanked the phone cord from the wall and leapt from the room. He slammed the door, then followed the empty hall, bounding down the staircase three steps at a time, retracing his route to the ground floor and the street.
Once out in the chilly midmorning air, he plunged into the sidewalk crowd.
Chapter Eight
EIGHTEEN
12:30 PM
HAYES EXITED THE CAB ATSPARROWHILLS AND PAID THE DRIVER.The midday sky was a burnished platinum, the sun straining hard, as if through frosted glass, to compensate for a frigid breeze. The Moskva River looped sharply below him, forming a peninsula that supported the Luzhniki sports stadium. In the distance, toward the northeast, the bulbous gold and silver cupolas of the Kremlin cathedrals peaked through a cold haze like tombstones in a fog. It was from the hills around him that both Napoleon and Hitler had been thwarted. In 1917 revolutionary groups had held clandestine meetings among its trees, safe from the secret police, plotting an eventual downfall of the tsar. Now a new generation seemed intent on reversing their efforts.
To his right, Moscow State University rose above the trees in an overpowering array of capricious spires, ornate wings, and elaborate curlicues. It was another of Stalin's grandiose wedding-cake skyscrapers erected to impress the world. This one was the largest, built by German prisoners of war. He recalled a story about one prisoner who supposedly fashioned a pair of wings from scrap lumber and tried to fly home from the top. Like his nation andfehrer, he failed.
Feliks Orleg waited on a bench under a canopy of beech trees. Hayes was still fuming from what had happened two hours before, but cautioned himself to watch his words. This wasn't Atlanta. Or even America. He was just one part of an extensive team. Unfortunately, at the moment, the point man.
He sat on the bench and asked in Russian, "Have you found Lord?"
"Not yet. Has he called?"
"Would you? Obviously he doesn't trust me anymore, either. I tell him I'll be there to help and two killers show up. Now, thanks to you, he's not going to trust anybody. The idea was to eliminate the problem. Now the problem is wandering around Moscow."
"What is so important about killing this one man? We are wasting energy."
"That's not for you or me to question, Orleg. The only saving grace is he eludedtheir killers, not yours or mine."
A breeze moved past and leaves trickled from the trees. Hayes had worn his heavy wool coat and gloves, but a chill still crept through to him.
"Did you report what happened?" Orleg asked.
He caught the edge in the inspector's voice. "Not yet. I'll do what I can. But they will not be pleased. That was stupid talking to me on the phone in front of him."
"How would I know he speaks Russian?"
Hayes