Alexandria Link (46 page)

At Bainbridge Hall, Haddad had then waited for Malone, since the material he’d stashed beneath his bed had pointed straight there. Sabre’s coming had been a bit of a surprise. His killing of the two men whom he’d sent into the mansion in the first place only confirmed the man’s ill intentions.

One of the Guardians had managed to follow Malone to the Savoy Hotel and witnessed a breakfast with Sabre. Then those same eyes had watched as the two, plus Malone’s ex-wife, boarded a flight to Lisbon. Since Haddad himself had fashioned the quest Malone was taking, he’d known exactly where the three were headed.

Which was why Adam and Eve were sent to Lisbon. To make sure that nothing prevented Malone and his new ally from making their way to the Sinai.

Haddad had thought the threat would be from governments—Israeli, Saudi, or American. But now he realized the greatest danger was from the man standing two meters away. He hoped Sabre was working for himself. And watching the expectancy in the other man’s words and actions, he was now sure that the threat was containable.

“We have many texts concerning the Bible,” he said. “That was a subject the library took a great interest in studying.”

“The Old Testament. In Hebrew. Are there manuscripts here?”

“Three. Two supposedly copied from earlier texts. One an original.”

“Where?”

He motioned to the doorway from which they’d entered. “Two rooms back. The Room of Province. If you intend to be the Librarian, you’re going to have to learn where materials are stored.”

“What do those Bibles say?”

He feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen letters. From Jerome and Augustine. They talk of the Old Testament being changed. That the translations were altered. There were other invitees, four, who studied that, too. One, a man five years ago, a Palestinian, who said that the Old Testament was a record of the Jews not in Palestine, but somewhere else in Saudi Arabia. What do you know about that?”

“A great deal. And those men are correct. The translations of the accepted Bible are wrong. The Old Testament is indeed a record of the Jews in a place other than Palestine. West Arabia, in fact. I have read many manuscripts here in the library that prove the point. I have even seen maps of ancient Arabia that indicate biblical locations.”

The gun came level and pointed straight at him. “Show me.”

“Unless you’re capable of reading Hebrew or Arabic, they will mean nothing.”

“One more time, old man. Show me or I’ll kill you and take my chances with your employees.”

He shrugged. “Simply trying to be helpful.”

SABRE HAD NO IDEA IF THE SHEETS AND CODICES SPREAD OUT before him were what Alfred Hermann sought. It didn’t matter. He intended to control everything around him.

“These are treatises written in the second century by philosophers who studied at Alexandria,” the Librarian said. “The Jews were just then beginning to become a political force in Palestine, asserting their supposed ancient presence, preaching an entitlement to the land. Sound familiar? These scholars determined that there was no ancient presence. They studied the Hebrew texts of the Old Testament, which the library maintained, and determined that the stories, as told at the time orally by the Jews, were far different in the texts, especially the oldest ones. Seems that as time progressed, the stories became more and more adapted to the Jews’ then homeland, which had become Palestine. They’d simply forgotten their past in Arabia. If not for place-names, which remained constant, and the Old Testament written in its original Hebrew, that history would have never been discovered.”

The Librarian pointed at one of the codices.

“That one is much later. Fifth century. When Christians decided they wanted the Old Testament to be included in their Bible. This treatise makes clear the translations were altered to conform the Old with the emerging New Testament. A conscious attempt to fashion a message using history, religion, and politics.”

Sabre stared at the books.

The Librarian motioned to another stack of parchments contained within a clear plastic container. “This is the oldest Bible we have. Written four hundred years before Christ. All in Hebrew. The world has nothing like this. I believe the oldest Bible, outside this room, dates from nine hundred years after Christ. Is this what you seek?”

Sabre said nothing.

“You’re an odd man,” the Librarian suddenly said.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know how many invitees have ventured here? Many thousands throughout the centuries. Our guest book is impressive. It started in the twelfth century with Averroës, the Arabic philosopher who wrote critically of Aristotle and challenged Augustine. He studied here. Those Guardians decided the time had come to share this knowledge, but selectively. Many of the names no one would recognize—just men and women of exceptional intelligence who came to the Guardians’ attention. Minds that made their own individual contributions to our knowledge. In the days before radio, television, and computers, Guardians lived in major cities, always on the watch for invitees. Thomas Aquinas, Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Poussin, Chaucer—men like that have all stood in this room. Montaigne wrote his Essays here. Francis Bacon conceived his famous statement I take all knowledge for my province here, in the Room of Province.”

“Is all that supposed to mean something to me?”

The old man shrugged. “I’m trying to explain your charge. You say you want to be the Librarian. If so, you will be granted quite a privilege. Those in the past who have served met Copernicus and Kepler and Descartes. Robespierre. Benjamin Franklin. Even Newton himself. All those learned souls benefited from this place, and the world benefited from their ability to comprehend and expand.”

“And none of them ever said they were here?”

“Why would they? We seek no credit. In that way they obtain the recognition. If we assisted them? That was our charge. Quite an accomplishment, it has been, to keep this alive. Can you carry on that tradition?”

Since he had no intention of allowing anyone else to see this place, he asked what he really wanted to know. “How many Guardians are there?”

“Nine. Our ranks are greatly depleted.”

“Where are they? I saw only two outside.”

“The monastery is large. They were about their duties.”

He motioned with the gun. “Let’s go back to the first room. I want to see something else.”

And the old man started walking.

He debated killing him here. But Malone should, by now, have figured out what was happening. He was either waiting at the other end of the maze or on his way through it.

Regardless, this old man would prove useful.

MALONE ROUNDED THE FINAL CORNER AND SPOTTED A DOORWAY formed by two winged, human-headed lions. He knew the symbolism. The mind of a man, the strength of an animal, the ubiquity of a bird. Marble doors hung open on bronze hinges.

They stepped inside and stared at the opulence.

He marveled at how long it must have taken to create something so extraordinary. Rows of diagonal bins lined the tiled floor, broken by narrow aisles, each brimming with scrolls. He stepped to one of the bins and slid out the top bundle. The document was in remarkable condition, but he dared not unroll it. He glanced inside the cylinder and saw that the writing was still legible.

“I never knew something like this could exist,” Pam said. “It’s beyond comprehension.”

He’d seen amazing things, but nothing as wonderful as the sight of all that this room held. He noticed high on one of the shiny red walls more Latin words. AD COMMUNEM DELECTATIONEM. For the enjoyment of all. “The Guardians accomplished something extraordinary.”

He noticed a carving in one of the walls. He stepped close and spied a ledger of what lay ahead, the rooms identified in Latin. He translated each one out loud for Pam.

“Five rooms,” he said. “They could be anywhere.”

Movement at the far doorway caught his attention.

He saw George Haddad, then McCollum.

“Get down,” he said to Pam, and he raised his weapon.

McCollum saw him and shoved Haddad to the ground, aiming across the chamber and firing. Malone dropped to the floor, using the shelves between them for cover. The bullet dinged off the granite columns behind him.

“You move fast,” McCollum said from across the room.

“Didn’t want you to be lonely.”

“The Librarian kept me company.”

“You and him get to know each other?”

“He talks too much, but he knows this place.”

He wanted to know, “What now?”

“Afraid you and the ex have to die.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t get on my bad side.”

“Bring it on, Malone. I’ve come this far, I don’t plan to lose now. Tell you what, let’s make it a fair game. Me against you. Right here. If you win, the old man and the ex are safe. Deal?”

“You’re making the terms. Act on them.”

HADDAD LISTENED TO THE EXCHANGE BETWEEN SABRE AND Malone. These two needed to settle their differences, and he needed to repay his debt. He thought again about the Guardian from all those decades ago when the young man had stared up at him with eyes full of resolve. He simply hadn’t understood. But now, having seen the library, having become its Librarian, he knew what that fateful soul from 1948 knew.

He’d killed that good man for no reason.

And regretted it all his life.

“STAND UP,” SABRE SAID TO THE LIBRARIAN, AND HE WATCHED as the old man rose. “All right, Malone. I’m acting. Here he comes.” He motioned with the gun. “Go.”

The Librarian walked slowly down the aisle between the diagonal bins. Sabre held his position, crouched behind the end of one of the rows.

Thirty feet away the Librarian stopped and turned.

The eyes that stared back penetrated him. He wondered about the old man. Something about him signaled danger, as if the soul behind the eyes had faced this scenario before and was not afraid. He debated killing the Librarian, but that might spur Malone on.

And that he did not want to do.

Not yet.

Malone was the only obstacle left. Once gone, the library was his.

So he was relieved when the old man finally walked away.

WASHINGTON, DC

STEPHANIE PARKED DOWN THE STREET FROM LARRY DALEY’S house, and she and Cassiopeia walked the remainder of the way. No sign of Brent Green or anyone else. They approached the front door, where Cassiopeia again picked the locks and Stephanie disarmed the alarm. She noticed that the pass code had not changed. Daley had left it alone, even after they’d gained entrance. Either foolishness or more evidence that she’d misjudged the man.

The interior was quiet. Cassiopeia swept each room to make sure they were alone. Stephanie made a stop in the office alcove where they’d found the flash drives. Then they both waited by the front door.

Ten minutes later a car parked outside.

Stephanie peered past the curtains and saw Green emerge from behind the wheel and walk toward the front door.

Alone.

She nodded at Cassiopeia, then opened the door.

Green was dressed in his typical dark suit and tie. Once the attorney general was inside, she closed and locked the door. Cassiopeia took up a position near one of the windows.

“All right, Stephanie. Can you tell me what’s happening?”

“Did you bring the flash drives?”

He reached into his jacket pocket and removed them.

“You listen to the recordings?”

He nodded. “Of course. The conversations are interesting, but in no way incriminating. There’s talk of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, but it’s just that. Talk. Certainly no conspiracy is either discussed or implied.”

“That’s why Daley gathered more,” she said. “He told me that he’s been looking at this for some time.”

“Looking at what?”

And she noticed a flare of irritation.

“The conspiracy, Brent. The vice president is planning on killing Daniels. He’s set the whole thing up to happen during a surprise visit Daniels will make next week to Afghanistan.” She watched as the words, which would confirm that she knew what she was talking about, took hold.

Green remained stoic. “What proof did Daley find?”

“More conversations. He actually bugged the VP’s private office. Not all that hard, since he was the one charged with making sure it wasn’t being monitored. Seems the VP is connected to the Order of the Golden Fleece. Its head, Alfred Hermann, has arranged for the president’s plane to be missile-attacked. Made the deal with bin Laden’s people himself.”

“Stephanie, I hope Daley amassed some impressive proof. Those are incredible charges.”

“You said the whole administration was a cesspool. You said you wanted to get them. Here’s your chance.”

“How do we prove this?”

“The recordings are here. Daley told me about them. He said they indicated everyone who’s involved. We were leaving to drive back here when the car exploded.”

Green stood in the foyer before the stairway where Daley and Heather Dixon had been yesterday. He seemed deep in thought. His game face. Of course, though the man had lied to her about Thorvaldsen, and he hadn’t passed along to the president anything that Henrik had discovered, they needed concrete proof of his treachery.

“I know where he hid the recordings,” she said.

Finally Green’s eyes communicated interest. Cassiopeia stayed near the window, out of the way.

Stephanie led Green to the office alcove with the small desk and narrow bookshelves. One shelf held a row of CDs in their plastic cases. The music was all instrumental and from a variety of nations, even some Gregorian chants, which she found curious. She reached for one of the cases—Tibetan Wonders—and opened it. Inside, instead of the music CD, another disk filled the case. She popped it from the holder and said, “He liked to hide his stuff close by.”

“What exactly is on there?”

“He says it’s proof of who’s part of this conspiracy. He said it reached to a level no one would ever suspect.” Her nerves throbbed with excitement. “Want to listen?”