The Lost Throne

was carrying anything when he left the grounds.”

“This is about Nicolas?”

Dial nodded. “He was in here when I met him, but I can’t figure out why. This place has nothing in it.”

“Maybe he was hiding in here, waiting for people to leave.”

“I considered that. But that doesn’t explain why he chatted with me for twenty minutes. If you were hiding, would you answer a knock on the door? Or at the very least, wouldn’t you make up some kind of excuse so you didn’t have to talk to me?” Dial shook his head as he continued to reflect on the previous night. “Strangely, the more I think about it, the more I get the sense that he took me up to the bell tower because he wanted to get me away from here. There was something about the way he stepped outside and quickly closed the door behind him that bothers me. It was-I don’t know-like he didn’t want me to see the interior of the room.”

Andropoulos glanced around the room again. “Could someone else have been in here?”

“Maybe.”

“What about the blood? Was it here last night?”

Dial shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It was too dark to see.”

“But you think it was, right?”

Dial furrowed his brow. “When did you start asking the questions?”

Andropoulos stammered. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to-”

Dial cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “We’re assuming the blood is from the killers, right? They opened the door to make sure there weren’t any witnesses, and when they did, they left the bloodstain near the handle.”

“Or,” Dial suggested, “they came in here looking for something. Not someone.”

“Like what?”

Dial growled softly. “That’s the same damn thing I asked you five minutes ago. I hope you realize the goal is to answer my question, not rephrase it.”

Andropoulos nodded. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t see anything in here.”

“Me neither,” said Dial as he moved to the back of the room. The two cots were old and rusty. The nightstand and lamp were secondhand. So were the table and chairs. The only thing worth taking was the tapestry of the Orthodox cross. “What do you think this is worth?”

The young Greek walked toward Dial. “I don’t know. It depends how old it is. I’d say several hundred euros. Maybe more.”

“That much, huh?” Dial moved closer to examine the golden tassels on the edges of the tapestry. “Does Holy Trinity have any other artwork?”

“Some frescoes have been painted on the walls.”

“I mean removable artwork. Statues, pottery, precious metals.”

“No, sir. Not that I can remember.”

“Me neither,” Dial said as he ran his fingers across the heavy fabric. It was much thicker than he had expected. Much more durable, too. The type of thing that could last for centuries. “And the frescoes are in areas of worship, right? The chapel and so on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So why is this in here? It’s locked away in their private quarters for no one else to see.”

“I don’t know, sir. Do you want me to find out? I could ask someone.”

Dial shook his head as he leaned closer to the tapestry.

It had taken a while, but he had finally found the answer he was searching for.

22

To create fake documents for Payne and Jones, Kaiser hired a world-class forger who lived in K-Town and specialized in visas and passports. Not only was he an expert on ink, paper, and handwriting, he also had a unique perspective on the industry, since he used to be a border guard at the Berlin Wall. So he understood the risks of a border crossing-what guards looked for, what they questioned, and so on-and guaranteed his creations would pass scrutiny.

For a trip to Russia, he recommended a single-entry tourist visa. Simple, straightforward, and rarely challenged. Especially if it was issued to a Canadian citizen. In the world of espionage, Canada was viewed as the Switzerland of the West. In other words, harmless. Payne and Jones knew this, which is why they had requested Canadian paperwork. Many countries around the world hated the United States. But few people-except jealous hockey fans-hated Canada.

When it came to border crossings, Payne and Jones were veterans. They had sneaked into so many countries when they were in the MANIACs that they weren’t the least bit stressed over their trip. Of course they realized their return trip would be a lot more difficult, since they’d be escorting Allison Taylor, a wild card if there ever was one. From the sound of her voice on the phone, they were tempted to buy some horse tranquilizers, just to keep her calm.

To help with their cover, they stopped at a department store to buy some clothes. The designs and fabrics in Europe were much different from those in North America. That was one of the main reasons Americans stood out when they were traveling overseas. Language was number one. Knowledge (manners, laws, decorum, etc.) was number two. Clothes were number three. Years of experience had taught Payne and Jones how to deal with the first two issues. They knew a shopping spree could rectify the third.

Payne was looking at shirts when his cell phone started to ring. The display screen read Restricted. Thoughts of Saint Petersburg quickly entered his head.

“Allison?” Payne said.

“Sorry, pal. Guess again.”

The voice belonged to Randy Raskin, calling from the Pentagon.

“Wait a second! You’re calling me? That might be a first.”

“It’s been a whole day since you asked for a favor. I figured you were sick or something.”

Payne smiled. “Nope. Just been traveling. Seeing some sights. Rescuing some damsels. You know, normal stuff.”

“I figured as much, which is the reason for my call. Do you have computer access?”

“We will for another hour. After that, no.”

“I’m sending a link to D.J. Tell him to follow Panther protocols. He’ll know what to do.”

“Okay,” said Payne as he grabbed the clothes he needed. “Anything else?”

“That’s all for now. If you have any trouble, let me know.”

Payne hung up and casually walked toward Jones, who was looking at pants on the other side of the store. “It’s time to roll.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got mail.”

There was an Internet cafe less than a block away. Jones grabbed a computer in the back corner while Payne paid for an hour. He always used cash when on a mission. Never credit cards.

To view Raskin’s message, Jones followed the Panther protocol, a simple procedure Raskin had designed for accessing data in a public place. Jones logged on to his office system in Pittsburgh, which was highly encrypted, and ran a program, called Panther, that blocked all monitoring software on the public terminal. It was an effective way to erase all trails to the Pentagon, and it prevented any files from being saved in a temporary folder on a public network.

Once Jones was confident the computer was clean, he opened the e-mail:

hey guys,

i think you’ll like this-or maybe not. he doesn’t seem like

a nice person. make sure you cover your tracks. i don’t want