Alexandria Link (36 page)

So he needed to be ready.

The cavernous library was two stories tall and encased with shiny walnut paneling. A black marble fireplace flanked by baroque figurines and a French tapestry dominated one wall. Built-in shelves sheathed the remaining three top-to-bottom, the room crowned with a dramatic ceiling painting that made it appear open to the sky.

A spiral staircase corkscrewed a path to the upper shelves. He clung to a slick iron rail and slowly climbed the narrow risers.

“What are we doing here?” Gary asked when they reached the top.

“I want to read something.”

He knew of the podium in Hermann’s library, upon which was displayed a magnificent Bible. Hermann had boasted that the edition was one of the earliest printed. Thorvaldsen approached the ancient tome and admired its elaborate cover.

“The Bible was the first book created when printing was finally perfected in the fifteenth century. Gutenberg produced many Bibles. This is one. As I told you earlier, you should read it.”

Gary stared at the book and Thorvaldsen knew the lad could not appreciate the significance. So he said, “These words changed the course of human history. They altered humankind’s social development and forged political systems. This and the Koran may be the two most important books on the planet.”

“How can words be that important?”

“It’s not simply words, Gary. It’s what we do with them. After Gutenberg began mass printing, books quickly spread. They weren’t cheap, but by 1500 they were common. More access to information meant more dissent, more informed discussion, more widespread criticism of authority. Information changed the world. Made it a different place.” He motioned at the Bible. “And this book changed everything.”

He carefully opened the front cover.

“What language is that?” Gary asked.

“Latin.” He scanned the index.

“You can read it?”

He smiled at the incredulous tone. “I was taught as a child.” He tapped the boy’s chest. “You ought to learn, too.”

“What would I do if I did?”

“For one thing, you could read this Bible.”

He motioned at the index. “Thirty-nine books. Jews revere the first five. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. They tell the tale of the ancient people of Israel from the creation of the world, through the Great Flood, the Exodus from Egypt, the wanderings in the desert, to the giving of the Law to Moses at Sinai. Quite an epic.”

He knew that to Jews those writings meant a great deal. As did the next division, prophets—Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings—which recounted the story of the Israelites from their crossing the River Jordan, to the conquest of Canaan, the rise and fall of their many kingdoms, and their defeat at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians.

“These books,” he said to Gary, “supposedly tell us how history unfolded for the people of Israel thousands of years before Christ. They were a people whose destiny was tied directly to God and the promises He made.”

“But that was a long time ago?”

He nodded. “Four thousand years in the past. Yet Arabs and Jews have warred with one another ever since trying to prove them true.”

He slowly paged through to Genesis and found the passage he’d come to study. “The Lord said to Abram, lift up now your eyes and look from the place where you are northward and southward and eastward and westward, for all the land which you see, to you I will give it, and to your seed forever.” He paused. “Those words have cost millions their lives.”

He silently read again the six most important words.

“What is it?” Gary asked.

He stared at the boy. How many times had Cai asked him the same thing? His son not only had practiced their faith, but had learned Latin and read the Bible, too. He’d been a good man. But another victim of senseless violence.

“The truth is important,” he said, more to himself than Gary.

From the place where you are.

“Have you heard from Dad?” Gary asked.

He gazed at the boy and shook his head. “Not a word. He’s off looking for something quite like what surrounds us. A library. One that may hold the key to understanding these biblical words.”

A commotion below caught his attention. The library’s door opened, and voices could be heard. One he recognized—Alfred Hermann.

He motioned, and they retreated to where the upper shelves were broken by a window alcove. The downstairs was dimly lit by an odd assortment of lamps, the upper balcony by recessed ceiling fixtures. He signaled for Gary to be silent. The boy nodded.

He listened.

The other man was speaking English.

An American.

“This is important, Alfred. Actually, it’s beyond important. It’s vital.”

“I’m aware of your situation,” Hermann said. “But it’s no more vital than ours.”

“Malone is on his way to the Sinai. You said that would be okay.”

“And it will. Can I pour you some cognac?”

“You trying to calm me down?”

“I’m trying to pour you some cognac.”

He motioned for Gary to stay put while he crept from the alcove, risking a quick glance beyond the ornate iron railing. Alfred Hermann stood below, pouring from a decanter. Standing beside him was a younger man, maybe early fifties, dressed in a dark suit. His head was crowned by a thick fleece of blond hair. The face was clean-shaven, energetic, cherubic—perfect for a portrait painter or an actor.

Which wasn’t far from the mark.

Thorvaldsen knew this man.

The vice president of the United States.

CAMP DAVID, MARYLAND

STEPHANIE REGISTERED THE PRESIDENT’S WORDS. “WHAT DO YOU mean your traitor?”

Daniels threw her a troubled look. “Someone in this government is messing with me. They’re advancing their own policies, furthering their own goals, thinking I’m either too lazy, too pathetic, or too dumb to know. Now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the ringleader. My so-called loyal vice president. He’s an ambitious sucker.”

“Mr. President—” she said.

“Now, that’s a first, too. Mr. President. Maybe we’re making some progress in our relationship.”

“I’ve had my reservations about you and this administration.”

“That’s the problem with career bureaucrats. Us politicians come and go. But you people stay, and stay, and stay. Which means you have lots to compare with. Unfortunately for me, Stephanie, you’re turning out to be right on this one. I’m surrounded by traitors. My vice president wants this job so bad he can’t stand it. And to get it, he’s willing to make a deal with the devil.” Daniels paused, and she did not interrupt his thoughts. “The Order of the Golden Fleece.”

Had she heard right?

“He’s there. Right now. Meeting with its head. A man named Alfred Hermann.”

She had seriously underestimated Danny Daniels. Just as she had Brent Green. Both men were quite informed. Cassiopeia rocked in her chair, but Stephanie could see she was listening closely. She’d told Cassiopeia about the Order.

“My father was a member,” Cassiopeia said.

That had not been mentioned earlier when they’d talked.

“For many years he and Henrik attended together. I chose not to continue the membership after his death.”

“Good move,” Daniels said. “That group has been linked to a number of global instabilities. And they’re good. No fingerprints anywhere. Of course, the key players usually end up dead. Like any good gang, they have an enforcement arm. A man called the Talons of the Eagle. Typical Europeans. A hired gun with a grand title. They’re the ones who took Malone’s boy.”

“And you’re just now telling us?”

“Yes, Stephanie, I am. One of the prerogatives of being the head of the free world is I can pretty much do what I damn well please.” He threw her a dissecting glance. “There’s a lot going on here. Happening fast. From several angles. I’ve done the best I can under the circumstances.”

She drew him back to the point. “What’s the vice president doing with the Blue Chair?”

“Blue Chair? Good to see you’re informed, too. I was hoping you were. The VP is selling his soul. That Order is after, of all things, the Library of Alexandria. They’re looking for proof of a theory, and though I thought the whole thing bizarre, apparently there’s more to it.”

“What do the Israelis say?” Cassiopeia asked.

“They don’t want anything found. Period. Leave it alone. Seems the Order has been squeezing the Saudi royal house for decades and now they’ve decided to just swirl everything up. Get the Jews and Arabs all riled. Not a bad play, actually. We’ve been known to do the same thing. But this will escalate. Fanatics are impossible to predict, whether they be Arab, Israeli—” He paused. “—or American.”

“What do you want me to do?” Stephanie asked.

“Let me tell you something else you don’t know. Cotton made a second call back to Green. He needed a favor. So Green approved a military airlift for Malone, his ex-wife, and a third man to, if you can believe it, the Sinai. They’re in transit now. Our guess is that this third man is the Order’s hired gun. Malone also requested an ID check from Green—which, by the way, the attorney general ignored. No inquiries at all. So we checked. The name Cotton gave was James McCollum. The description doesn’t match, but there was a guy by that name who’s ex-army, special forces, now a freelance mercenary. Seems to have the right résumé to work for the Order, wouldn’t you say?”

“How did he get connected with Malone?” Cassiopeia said.

Daniels shook his head. “Don’t know, but I’m glad Cotton’s the one with him. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to help.”

“We could radio that transport,” Cassiopeia said.

The president shook his head. “No way. We can’t let anyone know we’re in the loop. I want my traitors. And to get them we have to remain silent.”

“And the finalists are,” she said, “Larry Daley and Brent Green.”

Daniels cocked his head. “The winner of that contest gets an all-expense-paid trip straight to federal prison. After I personally kick his ass.”

His habit of command seemed to return.

“You two are all I have to find out the answer to the question of the day. I can’t involve any other agency for obvious reasons. I allowed all this to stay in motion so you’d have an opportunity. Stephanie, I knew you were on to Daley, but thankfully you didn’t act on him. Now we need to find the truth.”

“You actually think the attorney general is involved?” Cassiopeia asked.

“I have no idea. Brent plays that holier-than-thou act to perfection, and maybe he is a God-fearing Bible-toting Christian. But he’s also a man who doesn’t want to leave a position of power and influence to go be ”of counsel‘ window dressing at some Washington law firm. That’s why he stayed for the second term. Hell, everyone else jumped ship—polished up their résumés with all that juicy government experience and cashed in their contacts. Not Brent.“

She felt she needed to say, “He told me that he leaked the Alexandria Link, looking for the traitor himself.”

“Hell, maybe he did. I don’t know. What I do know is that my deputy national security adviser has been bribing Congress. My vice president is plotting with one of the richest men in the world. And two nations in the Middle East, which normally despise each other, are currently working together to stop a fifteen-hundred-year-old library from being found. That about sum it up, Stephanie?”

“Yes, Mr. President. We get the picture.”

“Then find my traitor.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

He smiled at the decisive nature of her question.

“I’ve given that a lot of thought. Let’s have something to eat, then the two of you get some sleep. Both of you look beat. You can rest here in safety.”

“This can’t wait till morning,” she said.

“Has to. You know what makes good grits? Not boiling. It’s the simmering in the pot, with the lid on and the heat down low. That’s what turns rough cornmeal into heaven. Now we’re going to let this simmer for a few hours, then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

VIENNA

THORVALDSEN RETREATED TOWARD THE WINDOW ALCOVE BUT kept his ears trained on the conversation below. That the American vice president was here, at Hermann’s château, raised a host of new possibilities. He quickly glanced at Gary and brought a finger to his lips, signaling for continued quiet.

Glasses clinked below.

“To our friendship,” Hermann said.

“That’s what I like about you, Alfred. Loyalty. It’s in short supply these days.”

“Perhaps your superior might feel the same way.”

The other man chuckled. “Daniels is a fool. He has a simplistic view of life and the world.”

“And would you say that you’re loyal?”

“Absolutely. I’ve suffered through five years of Danny Daniels. Did exactly what he wanted. Smiled. Defended him. Took some heat for him. But I can’t take it anymore. Americans can’t take it anymore.”

“I hope that time wasn’t wasted.”

“I’ve spent the years building coalitions. Making friends. Appeasing enemies. I have everything I need—”

“Except money.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I have ample commitments to get things rolling. My Arab friends are being quite generous.”

“The Order, too, is appreciative of those who show it support. Your president has not been friendly to world business. He seems to like tariffs, trade restrictions, open banking.”

“Which is a whole other problem. I assure you, there are many in Washington who feel differently from Daniels.”

Sounds from below indicated that the two men were sitting down. Thorvaldsen crept close to the railing. Hermann sat in a chair, the vice president on one of the settees. Both men held drinks.

“Israel is trying to find out what’s happening,” the vice president said. “They know the link is exposed.”

“I’ve been informed,” Hermann said. “I have an associate, as we speak, dealing with that.”

“My chief of staff told me that an Israeli surveillance team is missing in Germany and one of their Foreign Office officials was found dead in Rothenburg, suspected of selling information. An assassination squad has been sent to London. Strangely, Tel Aviv actually wanted us to know that.”