On his next stroke, Austin kept one oar out of the water and used the other as an impromptu rudder. The scull veered suddenly and he finessed the abrupt change in direction without overturning, pointing the scull toward land. He heard the angry buzz of the outboard motor.

He had hoped to catch the watcher off-guard and hadn't expected such a swift reaction. The powerboat quickly rose up on plane. Austin saw he'd never make shore and that he'd be at his most vulnerable, broadside to the approaching boat. He jettisoned his original plan, did another quick turn and sent the scull directly toward the fast-approaching powerboat. The boat was slightly shorter than the scull, but seen from water level it seemed to loom like the QE2. Any collision with the arrow-slim scull would be as devastating as an encounter with an ocean liner. Austin hoped that the boat would veer off at the last moment, or at the worst, that the hulls would come together with a glancing blow. Just when they seemed about to collide, he hoisted one oar on his shoulder as if preparing to throw a javelin, and braced himself.

The motorboat throttled back, came off plane and settled down in the water, where hull resistance brought it almost to a stop a few feet away. Austin heard a familiar barking laugh and looked up to see Petrov's cold-chiseled face looking down at him. The Russian was wearing a baseball cap and a Hawaiian shirt with palm trees and bikini-clad women on it.

Austin replaced the oar in its outrigger. His heart was still thumping in his chest. “Hello, Ivan. I was wondering when you'd show up again. How'd you know I'd be out here?”

Petrov shrugged.

Austin smiled and said, “You might be interested to know that I checked into your dossier. Seems you've only become - Ivan Petrov in the last couple of years.”

“As the poet said, what's in a name?”

“When do you leave for home?”

“Tomorrow. Your president has turned the tsar's treasure over to my country. I'll be returning to Russia as a hero. There's even talk of political office. With the disappearance of Razoy, his Cossack forces are in disarray and the moderates have a chance of staying in power.”

“Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, but to be honest, can you really see me sitting in the parliament?”

“Guess not, Ivan,” Austin said. “You'll always be a man of the shadows.”

“Do you blame me? It's where I belong and where I'm the most comfortable.”

“Maybe you could answer a couple of questions before you take on your next identity. Was Razov really descended from the tsar?”

“That's what he was told from his father's deathbed. When he met Boris, the mad monk saw it as a marriage made in heaven. We have definite proof that Boris was directly descended from Rasputin.”

“The original mad monk?” Petrov nodded.

Austin shook his head in amazement. “And Razov?”