back to the hotel and discuss all this with Taylor Hayes.
"I have no idea--other than I got a good view of them. Look, you've seen my security clearance and know where to find me. I'm soaking wet, cold as hell, and what's left of my clothes has blood soaked into them. I'd like to change. Could one of your men drive me to the Volkhov?"
The inspector did not immediately reply. He just stared with a measured mien Lord thought intentional.
Orleg returned his security card.
"Of course, Mr. Commission Lawyer. As you say. I have car made available."
Chapter Two
THREE
LORD WAS DRIVEN TO THEVOLKHOV'S MAIN ENTRANCE IN A POlice cruiser. The doorman let him inside without a word. Though his hotel identification was ruined, there was no need to show it. He was the only man of color staying there, instantly recognizable, though he was given a strange look at the tattered condition of his clothes.
The Volkhov was a pre-revolutionary hotel built in the early 1900s. It sat near the center of Moscow, northwest of the Kremlin and Red Square, the Bolshoi Theater diagonally across a busy square. During Soviet times the massive Lenin Museum and monument to Karl Marx had been in full view from the street-side rooms. Both were now gone. Thanks to a coalition of American and European investors, over the last decade the hotel had
been restored to its former glory. The opulent lobby and lounges, with their murals and crystal chandeliers, conveyed a tsarist atmosphere of pomp and privilege. But the paintings on the walls--all from Russian artists--reflected capitalism because each was marked for sale. Likewise, the addition of a modern business center, health club, and indoor pool brought the old facility further into the new millennium.
He rushed straight to the main desk and inquired if Taylor Hayes was in his room. The clerk informed him that Hayes was in the business center. He debated whether or not he should change clothes first, but decided he could not wait. He bounded across the lobby and spotted Hayes through a glass wall, sitting before a computer terminal.
Hayes was one of four senior managing partners at Pridgen & Woodworth. The firm employed nearly two hundred lawyers, making it one of the largest legal factories in the southeastern United States. Some of the world's biggest insurers, banks, and corporations paid the firm monthly retainers. Its offices in downtown Atlanta dominated two floors of an elegant blue-tinted skyscraper.
Hayes possessed both a MBA and a law degree, his reputation that of a proficient practitioner in global economics and international law. He was blessed with a lean athletic body, and his maturity was reflected in brown hair streaked with gray. He was a regular on CNN as an on-camera commentator and cast a strong television presence, his gray-blue eyes flashing a personality Lord often thought a combination of showman, bully, and academician.
Rarely did his mentor appear in court, and even less frequently did he participate in weekly meetings among the four dozen lawyers--Lord included--who manned the firm's International Division. Lord had worked directly with Hayes several times, accompanying him to Europe and Canada, handling research and drafting chores delegated his way. Only in the past few weeks had they spent any prolonged time together, their relationship along the way evolving from "Mr. Hayes" to "Taylor."
Hayes stayed on the road, traveling at least three weeks every month, catering to the firm's wide array of international clients who didn't mind paying $450 an hour for their lawyer to make house calls. Twelve years before, when Lord joined the firm, Hayes had taken an instant liking to him. He later learned Hayes had specifically asked that he be assigned to International. Certainly an honors graduation from the University of Virginia Law School, a master's in Eastern European history from Emory University, and his language proficiency qualified him. Hayes started assigning him all over Europe, especially in the Eastern bloc. Pridgen & Woodworth represented a wide portfolio of clients heavily invested in the Czech Republic, Poland, Hungary, the Baltic states, and Russia. Satisfied clients meant a steady rise within the firm to senior associate--and soon, he hoped, junior partner. One day, maybe, he was going to be the head of International.
Provided, of course, he lived to see that day.
He yanked open the glass door to the business center and entered. Hayes peered up from the computer terminal. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Not here."
A dozen men dotted the room. His boss seemed to instantly understand and,