GENESIS, NORTH CAROLINA 4:15 PM
Lord stared out the windshield and admired with renewed interest the thick stands of tall trees rising on both sides of the steeply graded highway. Their bark was a patchy dark gray, the long leaves a verdant green. He'd visited the area several times on weekend getaways and recognized the more common sycamore, beech, and oak. But he'd always thought the bushy trees just another form of poplar. Now he knew them for what they were.
"Those are princess trees," he said, pointing. "I read last night that this time of the year is when the big ones release their seeds. One tree sends out twenty million seeds. Easy to see why the things are everywhere."
"Have you visited here before?" Akilina asked.
"I've been to Asheville, which we passed a while back, and Boone, which is farther north. This is a big ski area in winter and wonderful during summer."
"It reminds me of Siberia. Near where my grandmother lived. There were low mountains and forests just like this. The air there was cool and fresh, too. I loved it."
All around autumn had grabbed hold, the peaks and valleys ablaze with red, gold, and orange, a smoky mist curling out of the deepest valleys. Only the pines and princess trees retained a lively summer facade.
They'd changed planes in Dallas and caught a flight to Nashville. From there, a half-full commuter shuttle had brought them to Asheville about an hour ago. He'd run out of cash in Nashville and had been forced to use his credit card, a move he hoped they would not regret, knowing full well how credit card receipts could be traced. But airline ticket purchases could likewise be monitored. He could only hope that Maxim Zubarev's boast that the FBI and customs were helping was only talk. Why, he could not say for sure, but he believed the Russians were working independent of the U.S. government-maybe there was some peripheral cooperation, minor and covert, but nothing reaching a full-scale effort to locate one American lawyer and a Russian acrobat. That, he reasoned, would require some in-depth explanation. And there was simply too much risk that he would tell the Americans everything before the Russians could contain the situation. No. The Russians were working alone-at least for the moment.
The drive north from Asheville had been pleasant, across the Blue Ridge Parkway, then onto State Route 81 for the final trek through rolling hills and stunted mountains. Genesis itself was a picture-book town of brick, wood, and fieldstone buildings filled with quaint art galleries, gift shops, and antiques stores. Benches lined Main Street, roofed by bushy sycamore trees. An ice-cream parlor dominated one corner at the central intersection, two banks and a drugstore the others. Franchise operations, condominiums, and vacation homes were zoned to the outskirts. As they cruised into town, the sun was already low, transforming the sky from a bright blue to a pale salmon as the trees and peaks faded to a deep violet. Evening apparently came early here.
"This is it," he told Akilina. "Now we have to find out who or what Thorn is."
He was just about to pull into a convenience store and check the local telephone directory when a sign caught his eye. The wrought-iron display hung from the side of a two-story redbrick building. The county courthouse was a block beyond on a tree-filled square. The words announced in black lettering: OFFICE OF MICHAEL THORN, LAWYER. He pointed and translated for Akilina.
"Just like Starodug," she said.
He'd already thought the same thing.
He parked close to the curb a block down. They quickly made their way into the law office where a secretary informed them that Mr. Thorn was at the courthouse, finishing up some deed work, and should be back shortly. He expressed a desire to talk with Thorn immediately and the woman told them where to find him.
They walked to the Dillsboro County Courthouse, a neoclassical brick-and-stone building with the pedimented portico and tall cupola customary for legal buildings in the South. A bronze plaque near the front door noted that the structure had been completed in 1898. Lord had rarely visited courthouses, his practice confined to the boardrooms and financial institutions of America's largest cities or Eastern European capitals. He'd never actually appeared in court for anything. Pridgen amp; Woodworth employed hundreds of litigators who handled that chore. He was a deal maker. The behind-the-scenes man. Until one week ago, when he'd been catapulted to the forefront.
They found Michael Thorn in the deed vault, hunched above an oversized volume. In the harsh fluorescent light Lord saw that Thorn was a balding, middle-aged man. Short and stocky, but not overweight, the thin bridge of his nose was prominent, his cheekbones high, the face certainly more youthful than his age.
"Michael Thorn?" he asked.
The man looked up and smiled. "That's right."
He introduced himself and Akilina. There was no one else in the windowless room.
"We've just arrived from Atlanta." Lord showed him his state bar of Georgia card and used the same line that had worked at the San Francisco bank. "I'm here working on an estate that involves a relative of Miss Petrovna."
"Looks like you do a bit more than practice law," Thorn said, motioning to his bruised face.
He thought quickly. "I do a little amateur boxing on the weekends. Got a bit more than I gave the other day."
Thorn smiled. "How can I help you, Mr. Lord?"
"Have you practiced here long?"
"All my life," Thorn said, a touch of pride in his voice.
"This town is beautiful. My first time up here. You're a local-bred guy, then?"
A curious look came onto Thorn's face. "Why all the questions, Mr. Lord? I thought you were here working on an estate. Who is your deceased? I'm sure I know them."
Lord reached into his pocket and removed Hell's Bell. He handed it to Thorn and carefully watched the lawyer for some reaction.
Thorn casually inspected the bell, inside and out. "Impressive. Solid gold?"
"I think so. Can you read what's on it?"
Thorn reached for a pair of eyeglasses on the chest-high table and carefully studied the exterior. "Small letters, aren't they?"
Lord said nothing, but glanced at Akilina, who was watching Thorn intently.
"I'm sorry this is some sort of foreign language. I'm not sure what. But I can't read it. I'm afraid English is my only means of communication, and some say I'm not real good at that."
"He that endureth to the end shall be saved," Akilina said in Russian.
Thorn stared at her for a moment. Lord could not decide if the reaction was surprise, or the fact that he did not understand her. He caught Thorn's gaze with his own.
"What did she say?" Thorn asked.
"He that endureth to the end shall be saved."
"From the Gospel of Matthew," Thorn said. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"Do those words have any meaning to you?" he asked.
Thorn handed the bell back. "Mr. Lord, what is it you want?"
"I know this must seem strange, but I need to ask a few more questions. Would you indulge me?"
Thorn removed his glasses. "Go ahead."
"Are there many Thorns living here in Genesis?"
"I have two sisters, but they don't live here. There are a few other families with that name, one quite large, but we're not related."
"Would they be easy to find?"
"Just look in the phone book. Does your estate involve a Thorn?"
"In a manner of speaking."
He was trying hard not to stare, but was equally intent on discerning any sort of family resemblance to Nicholas II. Which was nuts, he realized. He'd only seen Romanovs in grainy black-and-white movies and photographs. What did he know of any family resemblance? The only thing he could say for certain was Thorn was short, like Nicholas, but beyond that he was merely imagining anything else. What had he expected? The supposed heir to read the words and suddenly be transformed into the Tsar of All Russia? This wasn't a fairy tale. It was life and death. And if any supposed heir knew what he did, the fool would keep his or her mouth shut and blend back into the woodwork that had served as sanctuary for all these years.
He pocketed the bell. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Thorn. You must think us a little odd, and I don't blame you."
Thorn's expression softened and a smile crept onto his face. "Not at all, Mr. Lord. Obviously you are on some sort of mission that involves client confidences. I understand that. It's quite okay. So, if that's all, I'd like to finish this title search before the clerk shoos me out of here."
They shook hands.
"It was nice to meet you," Lord said.
"If you require any assistance finding those other Thorns, my office is just down the street. I'll be there all day tomorrow."
He smiled. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind. You could, though, recommend somewhere to stay for the night."
"That may be tough. This is prime tourist season and most places are booked. But with it being a Wednesday, there's probably a room for a night or two. The weekends are the real problem. Let me make a quick call."
From his suit jacket Thorn withdrew a cellular phone and dialed a number. He spoke a moment, then beeped off. "I know the owner of a bed-and-breakfast who was telling me this morning that he was a little slow right now. It's called the Azalea Inn. Let me draw you a map. It's not far."
The Azalea Inn was a lovely Queen Anne-style building on the outskirts of town. Beech trees dominated the landscaping and a white picket fence encircled the property. The front porch accommodated a row of green rockers. The interior was an old-fashioned decor of quilts, cracked-beam ceilings, and wood-burning fireplaces.
Lord rented a single room, the request meeting with a strange stare from the elderly woman who operated the front desk. He recalled the reaction of the clerk in Starodug when he refused a room to what he thought was a foreigner. But then he realized this lady's attitude was different. A black man and white woman. Hard to believe color still mattered, but he certainly wasn't naIve enough to think that it didn't.
"What was the concern downstairs?" Akilina asked, after they were in the room.
The second-floor space was airy and light, with fresh flowers and a fluffy comforter on a sleigh bed. The bath contained a claw-foot tub and white eyelet window lace.
"Some here still think the races shouldn't mix."
He tossed their travel bags on the bed, the same two that Semyon Pashenko had provided what seemed an eternity ago. He'd stashed the gold bars in a locker at the Sacramento airport. That made three pieces of imperial bullion awaiting his return.
"Laws can make people change," he said, "but more than that is needed to adjust attitudes. Don't take it wrong, though."
She shrugged. "We have prejudice in Russia. Foreigners, anyone dark-skinned, Mongols. They are all treated badly."
"They're also going to have to adjust to a tsar who was born and raised in America. I don't think anyone ever figured on that contingency." He sat on the edge of the bed.
"The lawyer seemed genuine. He did not know what we were talking about."
He agreed. "I looked at him carefully when he was studying the bell and when you said the words."
"He said there were others?"
He stood and walked to the phone and the directory that lay beneath. He opened to the Ts and found six Thorns and two Thornes. "Tomorrow, we'll see about these people. We'll visit each one if we have to. Maybe we can take Thorn up on his offer and enlist his help. Some local talent might make the difference." He looked over at Akilina. "In the meantime, let's get some dinner, then a little rest."
They ate at a quiet restaurant two blocks from the Azalea Inn that came with the unique characteristic of being adjacent to a pumpkin patch. Lord introduced Akilina to fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and iced tea. At first he found her unfamiliarity amazing, but then he'd never eaten leavened buckwheat pancakes, beetroot soup, or Siberian meat dumplings until visiting Russia.
The evening weather was perfect. There was not a cloud in the sky and the Milky Way streaked overhead.
Genesis was definitely a day place-none of the businesses, beyond a few restaurants, lingered open after dark. After a brief walk they made it back to the inn and entered the downstairs foyer.
Michael Thorn was perched on a settee next to the staircase.
The lawyer was dressed casually in a tan sweater and blue slacks. He rose as Lord closed the front door and calmly said, "Do you still have that bell?"
He reached into his pocket and handed it to Thorn. He watched as Thorn fitted a gold clapper inside and, with a slight waggle of his wrist, tried to ring it. Only a dull tap came where a ding would be expected.
"Gold is too soft," Thorn said. "But I imagine you need something else to confirm who I am."
He said nothing.
Thorn faced him. "To where the Princess tree grows and Genesis, a Thorn awaits. Use the words that brought you here. Success comes if your names are spoken and the bell is formed." He paused. "You are the raven and the eagle. And I'm who you seek."
Thorn's words came in a whisper, but were delivered in flawless Russian.