Deadlock

anything we need to know.'

'Fine.' His sharp abruptness stung her. She didn't know what had possessed her to try to offer Garrett comfort anyway. She didn't know anyone who needed it less. She opened the folder. 'This will take some time. I can barely read by these dash lights. Should I turn on the overhead?'

'No. The overhead would light us like a spotlight.'

And if Staunton was on his way here, that spotlight would make them targets, she realized

She leaned closer to the dash lights. 'I'll do the best I can.' She shook her head. 'No, the print is too faded. The nurse's printer must have needed a new ink cartridge.' She tilted the page. 'This is crazy. It must be a mistake. I don't even see Zelov mentioned yet. There's only one name that jumps out at me.' She bent nearer. 'Crazy…'

'What name?'

She frowned. 'Rasputin.'

EMILY WAS ONLY ABLE TO READ bits and pieces of the report on the short drive to the helicopter. She finally shook her head and put it aside as she got out of the car. 'I'll have to have more time. Maybe when we get airborne, I can concentrate.'

Garrett nodded. 'It's all Rasputin? No mention of Zelov?'

'There was a reference on the third page. Something about Zelov and an organization called Christalis. Then it goes back to Rasputin. So far it's essentially a biography of the life of Rasputin, the mad monk.' She grimaced. 'Who was apparently as mad and ugly as that nickname implies. Thief, charlatan, debaucher. I'd read about him in history courses but nothing in depth. Only that he lived back at the turn of the nineteenth century and had enormous influence over the Tsar and Tsarina before the Russian Revolution.' She got into the helicopter as he held the door open for her. 'So far this report is only concerning his early life. He was of peasant stock, and when he was eighteen, he be¬came involved with a bizarre religious group, the Khlysty sect, where he met Mikhail Zelov.' She glanced at him as he got into the helicopter and started the engine. 'He evidently looked upon Zelov as a teacher and role model and mentions a Book of Living written by the master.'

'Considering how Rasputin turned out, it doesn't say much for Zelov's philosophy.'

'I'll tell you when I finish reading it.' She opened the folder again. 'It's not a very big file. It shouldn't take long.'

'You might skip to the end and see why Dardon thought we might be heading for the U.S.'

'Well, we certainly won't be flying this helicopter there. Just set down somewhere we can change to a plane if we need to do it.'

He nodded. 'We need some time to talk and make sure Dardon managed to get Irana to safety.' He thought about it. 'Rome?'

'It works for me,' she said absently, already absorbed in the pages.

It was working for her, Garrett thought. She was concentrating, moving, mentally alive, and in gear. She had tasks to do, and that was the best thing for her right now. Just as Irana had given her mindless physical labor to start healing, this mental exercise, the sense of pur¬pose, was right for her now.

He turned toward the west. 'Then Rome it is.'

AFTER THEY LANDED IN ROME, Garrett rented a car, and they checked into a small gracious hotel on the edge of the city.

'You've been very quiet,' Garrett said as he handed her a room key. 'You've hardly said a word since you finished those pages. Give you something to think about?'

'Yes. But it's not enough. I need to talk to Dardon.'

'We'll call him as soon as we get settled. I was going to do it any¬way.' He closed the door of the antique open elevator and pressed the button. 'I'm right next door. Shower. Catch your breath. I'll order room service. I'll call you when it comes.' He opened the elevator door and gestured to a room down the hall. 'Thirty minutes. Okay?'

She nodded as she headed down the corridor. 'Thirty minutes.'

She paused for a moment after she closed the door behind her. Catch your breath, he had said, and it was a damn good idea. It seemed as if she had been running nonstop since Garrett had pulled her out of bed. She'd been on not only a physical but an emotional roller coaster. And that report she'd been reading had not helped. Her mind wouldn't stop trying to see beyond the sketchy references to what lay beneath.

Stop thinking. Relax. Catch your breath.

She headed for the bathroom. Shower. Shampoo.

She had nothing to wear afterward, but she could always wrap in a towel or a sheet. She'd see about getting clothes later.

It turned out that she didn't have to resort to the towel sarong. There was a unisex white terry robe in the closet. But it was still closer to forty-five minutes than thirty when she heard her cell phone ring.

'Ready?' Garrett asked. 'Dinner is only coffee, a sandwich, and pasta salad. It can wait if you need more time.'

'No, I'll be right there.' She looked down at her bare feet peeping from the oversized robe and shrugged. No shoes. It was only Garrett, and he had seen more than her feet naked.

Garrett's feet were also bare and he was dressed in the same type of terry robe she was wearing when he answered the door. Only he looked good in it, she thought sourly. Like a Roman god in one of those mythology books. He grimaced. 'I forgot about clothes. I called the concierge and asked her to pick up a couple outfits and a suitcase for us. She said she'd try to get it to us tonight. But we could have stopped on the way from the airport. Sorry.'

'It doesn't matter. The robe's okay for now. But it fits you better than it does me.' She came into the room. 'I need to call Dardon.'

'I've already called him.' He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. 'We'll call him again after we eat. I just wanted to make sure they were both safe, and I didn't want to wait.' He smiled faintly. 'I told you I wasn't a patient man.'

'And are they safe?'

'Yes. They're on their way to Morocco.' 'What?'

'It's a good launching pad for Irana. She can look the situation over and see where she's most needed. Frankly, I'd bet she chooses Ethiopia.' He held out the chair at the room-service table. 'As I told you, chicken sandwich, pasta salad, and some kind of apple pastry for dessert. It's filling anyway.'

And Emily was hungry, she realized with surprise. 'That will be fine.' She sat down at the table. 'But coffee, first.'

He filled her cup. 'Cream?'

She shook her head. 'Black. I used to drink it with cream, but I've been in so many hot spots where I couldn't get my hands on it that I learned to like it without. It's all what you become accustomed to. How do you drink your coffee?'

'Black with a shot of vodka.'

Her brows lifted. 'Well, that's unusual.'

'That's how my father drank his coffee. He used to let me take sips of it from the time I was about seven. I didn't realize anyone drank it differently until I was ten.' He smiled as he poured himself a cup of black coffee. 'I was very disappointed. You can't get vodka with your coffee just anywhere.'

'It's a wonder you didn't turn into an alcoholic yourself.'

He shook his head. 'I pick and choose my vices, and I always know the consequences.'

'Your father knew the consequences and still thought it was funny to let you drink.'

'Exactly. Sometimes you learn more from example.' He sipped his coffee. 'Talk to me. Tell me about the Zelov notes.'

'As I said, Zelov was just a thread in the Rasputin tapestry.' She looked down into her cup. 'But I have an idea there was more than what's in this report. He seemed to be mentioned at crucial times in Rasputin's life. Whenever something happened, Zelov was in the back¬ground.'

'Interesting. For instance?'

'I told you that Zelov was supposed to be his idol when Rasputin discovered the Khlysty religion. According to several sources, the sect preached that a person could only be forgiven sins if they indulged in numerous and heavy