Alexandria Link (5 page)

The elderly lady beside the curator stepped to the podium. She was silver-haired and wore a powder-blue suit.

“This monument presented a great opportunity for us,” she said in a melodious tone. “When I and others worked at Bletchley, we faced many challenges from the German codes. They were difficult. But if the human mind can conceive a code, it can also decipher it. The letters here are more complex. Personal. Which makes their interpretation difficult. Those of us retained to study all one hundred thirty possible solutions to this puzzle could not come to a clear consensus. Like the public, we were divided. But one possible meaning did make sense.” She turned and motioned to the monument behind her. “I think this is a love note.”

She paused, seemingly allowing her words to take hold.

“OVOSVAVV stands for ”Optimae Uxoris Optimae Sororis Viduus Amantis-simus Vovit Virtutibus.“ Roughly, this means, ”a devoted widower dedicated to the best of wives and the best of sisters.“ This is not a perfect translation. Sororis in classical Latin can mean ”of companions’ as well as “of sisters.” And vir, husband, would be better than viduus, widower. But the meaning is clear.“

One of the reporters asked about the D and M that bookended the main clump of eight letters.

“Quite simple,” she said. “Dis Manibus. A Roman inscription. ”To the gods of the Underworld, hail.“ It’s akin to our Rest in Peace. You’ll find those letters on most Roman tombstones.”

She seemed quite pleased with herself. Haddad wanted to pose a few pertinent inquiries that would burst her intellectual bubble, but he said nothing. He simply watched as the two Bletchley Park veterans were photographed before the monument with one of the German Enigma machines, borrowed for the occasion. Lots of smiles, questions, and laudatory comments.

Thomas Bainbridge was indeed a brilliant man. Unfortunately Bainbridge had never been able to communicate his thoughts effectively, so his brilliance languished and ultimately vanished unappreciated. To the eighteenth-century mind, he seemed a fanatic. But to Haddad he seemed a prophet. Bainbridge did know something. And the curious monument standing before him, the reverse image of an obscure painting and an odd assortment of ten letters, had been erected for a reason.

One Haddad knew.

Not a love note, nor a code, nor a message.

Something altogether different.

A map.

KRONBORG SLOT

10:20 AM

MALONE PAID THE SIXTY-KRONER ADMISSION FOR HIM AND Pam to enter the castle. They followed a group that had poured off one of three buses.

Inside, a photographic exhibit, which showed glimpses from the many productions of Hamlet, greeted them. He thought about the irony of the location. Hamlet had been about a son avenging his father, yet here he was, a father, fighting for his son. His heart ached for Gary. Never had he wanted him placed in jeopardy, and for twelve years, while he’d worked for the Billet, he’d always kept a clear line between work and home. Yet now, a year after he’d voluntarily walked away, his son was being held captive.

“This what you used to do all the time?” Pam asked.

“Part of it.”

“How did you live like this? My guts are a wreck. I’m still shaking from last night.”

“You get used to it.” And he meant it, though he’d long ago tired of lies, half-truths, improbable facts, and traitors.

“You needed this rush, didn’t you?”

His body was heavy with fatigue, and he wasn’t in the mood for this familiar fight. “No, Pam. I didn’t need it. But this was my job.”

“Selfish. That’s what you were. Always.”

“And you were just a ray of sunshine. The supportive wife who stood by her husband. So much so that you got pregnant by another man, had a son, and let me think it was mine for fifteen years.”

“I’m not proud of what I did. But we don’t know how many of your women became pregnant, do we?”

He stopped walking. This had to end. “If you don’t shut up, you’re going to get Gary killed. I’m his only hope and, right now, playing with my head is not productive.”

That truth produced a momentary flash of understanding in her bitter eyes, an instant when the Pam Malone he’d once loved reappeared. He wished that woman could linger but, as always, her guard flew up and dead eyes glared back at him.

“Lead the way,” she said.

They entered the ballroom.

The rectangular hall stretched two hundred feet. Windows lined both sides, each set deep in alcoves of thick masonry, the oblique light casting a subtle spell across a checkerboard floor. A dozen or so visitors milled about admiring huge oil canvases that dotted the pale yellow walls, mainly battle scenes.

At the far end, before a hearth, Malone spotted a short, thin man with reddish brown hair. He recalled him from the Magellan Billet. Lee Durant. He’d talked with Durant a few times in Atlanta. The agent caught sight of him, then disappeared through a doorway.

He headed across the hall.

They passed through a series of rooms, each sparsely decorated with European Renaissance furniture and wall tapestries. Durant stayed fifty feet ahead.

Malone saw him stop.

He and Pam entered the room identified as the Corner Chamber. Hunting tapestries adorned plain white walls. Only a few pieces of furniture dotted the dull black-and-white tile floor.

Malone shook Durant’s hand and introduced Pam. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Stephanie said to brief you, not her.”

“As much as I’d like for her not to be here, she is, so don’t sweat it.”

Durant seemed to consider the situation, then said, “I was also told to do whatever you ask.”

“Glad to hear Stephanie’s being so accommodating.”

“Get to the point,” Pam said. “We’re under a deadline.”

Malone shook his head. “Ignore her. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Access was gained to our secured files. No evidence of hacking or forced entry through the firewalls, so it had to be by password. That’s changed at regular intervals, but there are several hundred people with access.”

“No traces to a particular computer?”

“Zero. And no fingerprints in the data. Which indicates that whoever did it knew what they were doing.”

“I assume somebody is investigating.”

Durant nodded. “The FBI, but so far nothing. About a dozen files were viewed, one of which was the Alexandria Link.”

Which might, Malone thought, explain why Stephanie had not immediately alerted him. There were other possibilities.

“Here’s the interesting part. The Israelis are super-hyper right now, particularly during the last twenty-four hours. Our sources tell us that information was learned yesterday out of the West Bank from one of their Palestinian operatives.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“The words Alexandria Link have been mentioned.”

“How much do you know?”

“I was just told this an hour ago by one of my contacts. I haven’t even fully reported to Stephanie yet.”

“How is any of this helping?” Pam asked.

He said to Durant, “I need to know more.”

“I asked you a question,” Pam said, her voice rising.

His civility ended. “I told you to let me handle this.”

“You have no intention of giving anything to them, do you?” Her eyes blazed and she seemed ready to pounce.

“My intention is to get Gary back.”

“Are you willing to chance his life? All to protect some damn file?”

A group of camera-clad visitors wandered into the room. He saw that Pam had the wisdom to hush, and he was grateful for the interruption. Definitely a mistake bringing her. He’d have to ditch her as soon as they left Kronborg, even if it meant locking her in a room at Thorvaldsen’s manor.

The visitors wandered off.

He faced Durant and said, “Tell me more about—”

A bang startled him, then the ceiling-mounted camera in the corner exploded in a shower of sparks. Next came two more bangs. Durant lurched backward as blood roses blossomed from punctures in his olive-colored shirt.

A third shot and Durant collapsed to the floor.

Malone whirled.

A man stood twenty feet away, holding a Glock. Malone stuffed his right arm under his jacket to find his own weapon.

“No need,” the man calmly said, and he tossed the gun.

Malone caught it. He gripped the pistol’s stock, finger on the trigger, aimed, and fired.

Only a click came in response.

His finger worked the trigger.

More clicks.

The man smiled. “You didn’t think I’d give it to you loaded.”

Then the shooter fled the room.

WASHINGTON, DC

4:40 AM

STEPHANIE CONSIDERED BRENT GREEN’S INQUIRY—WHY DON’T you trust me?—and decided to be straight with her boss.

“Everybody in this administration wants me gone. Why I’m still here, I don’t know. So I don’t trust anybody at the moment.”

Green shook his head at her suspicion.

“Those files were accessed by someone with a password,” she added. “Sure, they scanned through a dozen or more, but we both know the one they were after. Only a few of us are privy to the Alexandria Link. I don’t even know the details—just that we went to a lot of trouble for something that was seemingly meaningless. Lots of questions. No answers. Come on, Brent. You and I haven’t actually been asshole buddies, so why should I trust you now?”

“Let’s be clear,” Green said. “I’m not your enemy. If I were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I’ve had friends in this business say that to me many times and not mean a word.”

“Traitors are like that.”

She decided to test him further. “Don’t you think we ought to bring more people into the loop?”

“The FBI is already in.”

“Brent, we’re operating in the dark. We need to know what George Haddad knows.”

“Then it’s time we deal with Larry Daley at the White House. Any road we take will lead straight to him. Might as well go to the source.”

She agreed.

And Green reached for the phone.

MALONE HEARD THE PERSON WHO HAD JUST MURDERED LEE Durant scream that there was a man with a gun who’d shot somebody.

And he was still holding the Glock.

“Is he dead?” Pam muttered.

Stupid question. But standing with the murder weapon in hand was even more stupid. “Come on.”

“We can’t just leave him.”

“He’s dead.”

Hysteria filled her eyes. He recalled the first time he’d watched someone die, so he cut her some slack. “You shouldn’t have seen that. But we have to go.”

A warning rush of heels on tile echoed from beyond the room. Security, he assumed. He grabbed Pam’s hand and yanked her toward the opposite end of the Corner Chamber.

They scampered through more rooms, each like the next, sparsely furnished with period pieces, illuminated by dim morning light. He noticed more cameras and knew he’d have to eventually avoid them. He stuffed the Glock into his jacket pocket and brought out his Beretta.

They entered a room identified as the Queen’s Chamber.

He heard voices from behind. Apparently the body had been found. More shouts and footfalls, coming their way.

The Queen’s Chamber was an apartment. Three doorways led out. One to a staircase up, the other down, the remaining portal opening into another room. No security camera in sight. He scanned the décor trying to decide what to do. A large armoire towered against the exterior wall.

He decided to play the odds.

He rushed to the armoire and grabbed the double-door iron handles. Inside was spacious and empty. Plenty big enough for them both. He motioned at Pam. For once she came without comment.

“Get in,” he whispered.

Before entering, he cracked open both stairway exits. Then he climbed in and eased the doors shut, hoping their pursuers assumed they either went down, up, or back into the castle.

STEPHANIE LISTENED AS BRENT GREEN BRIEFED LARRY DALEY about what had happened. She couldn’t help wondering if the arrogant ass on the other end of the phone already knew every detail, plus more.

“I’m familiar with the Alexandria Link,” Daley said through the speaker.

“Care to tell us?” Green asked.

“Wish I could. Classified.”

“To the attorney general and the head of one of our most elite intelligence agencies?”

“For a select set of eyes only. Sorry, neither of you qualifies.”

“Then how did someone else manage a peek?” Stephanie asked.

“You haven’t figured that out yet?”

“Maybe I have.”

Silence stung the room. Daley apparently received her message.

“Wasn’t me.”

“What else would you say?” she asked.

“Watch your mouth.”

She ignored the jab. “Malone is going to give them the link. He won’t risk his son.”

“Then he’ll have to be stopped,” Daley said. “We’re not handing that over to anyone.”

She caught his meaning. “You want it for yourself, don’t you?”

“Damn right.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A boy’s life may be at stake.”

“Not my problem,” Daley declared.

Calling Daley had been a mistake, and she could see that Green now realized that fact, too.

“Larry,” Green said. “Let’s help Malone out. Not make his task more difficult.”

“Brent, this is a matter of national security, not a charity case.”

“Interesting,” she said, “how you’re not the least bit concerned that someone accessed our secured files and learned all about this highly classified Alexandria Link—a matter of supposed national security.”

“You reported that breach more than a month ago. The FBI is handling the situation. What are you doing about it, Stephanie?”

“I was told to do nothing. What did you do, Larry?”

A sigh came through the speaker. “You truly are a pain in the ass.”

“But she works for me,” Green made clear.

“Here’s what I think,” Stephanie said. “Whatever this link is, it somehow fits with whatever it is you geniuses at the White House have conceived as foreign policy. You actually like the fact the files were compromised and that somebody has this information. Which means you’re going to allow them to do your dirty work.”