The Charlemagne Pursuit (47 page)

“We can get something to eat downstairs,” he said. “I can’t boil water, so I eat there a lot.”

“The president is your friend,” she felt compelled to say, knowing last night was on his mind. “He’s taking a big chance for you.”

He cracked a brittle smile. “I know. And now it’s our turn.”

She’d come to admire this man. He was nothing like she imagined. A bit too bold for his own good, but committed.

The house phone rang and Davis answered.

They’d been waiting.

In the apartment’s hushed quiet she could hear the caller’s every word.

“Edwin,” Daniels said. “I have the location.”

“Tell me,” Davis said.

“You sure? Last chance. You might not come back from this one.”

“Just tell me the location.”

She cringed at his impatience, but Daniels was right. They might not come back.

Davis shut his eyes. “Just let us do this.” He paused. “Sir.”

“Write this down.”

Davis grabbed a pen and pad from the counter and wrote quickly as Daniels provided the information.

“Careful, Edwin,” Daniels said. “Lots of unknowns here.”

“And women can’t be trusted?”

The president chuckled. “I’m glad you said it and not me.”

Davis hung up and stared at her, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. “You need to stay here.”

“Like hell.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

His cool assumption made her laugh. “Since when? You’re the one who involved me.”

“I was wrong.”

She stepped close and gently caressed his bruised face. “You would have killed the wrong man in Asheville if I hadn’t been there.”

He grasped her wrist in a light embrace, his hand jittery. “Daniels is right. This is wholly unpredictable.”

“Hell, Edwin, that’s my whole life.”

EIGHTY-SIX

M
ALONE HAD SEEN SOME IMPRESSIVE THINGS.
T
HE
T
EMPLAR TREASURE.
The Library of Alexandria. The tomb of Alexander the Great. But none of those compared to what he now saw.

A processional way of irregularly shaped and polished slabs, lined on both sides with close-packed buildings of varying shapes and sizes, stretched ahead. Streets crisscrossed and intersected. The cocoon of rock that encased the settlement reached hundreds of feet into the air, the farthest wall maybe two football fields away. Even more impressive were the vertical rock faces rising like monoliths, polished smooth from ground to ceiling, etched with symbols, letters, and drawings. His flashlight revealed in the wall nearest him a melding of whitish yellow sandstone, greenish red shale, and black dolerite wedges. The effect was like that of marble—of standing inside a building rather than a mountain.

Pillars lined the street at defined intervals, and supported more of the quartz that gently glowed, like night-lights, investing everything with a dim mystery.

“Grandfather was right,” Dorothea said. “It truly does exist.”

“Yes, he was,” Christl proclaimed, her voice rising. “Right about everything.”

Malone heard the pride, felt her flush of excitement.

“All of you thought him a dreamer,” Christl continued. “Mother berated him and Father. But they were visionaries. They were right about it all.”

“This
will
change everything,” Dorothea said.

“Of which you have no right to share,” Christl said. “I always believed in their theories. It’s why I pursued that line of study. You laughed at them. No one will laugh at Hermann Oberhauser anymore.”

“How about we hold off on the accolades,” Malone said, “and have a look.”

He led the group forward, peering down the side streets as deep as their flashlight beams would allow. A strong foreboding rocked through him, but curiosity nudged him forward. He almost expected people to drift out from the buildings and greet them, but only their footsteps could be heard.

The buildings were a mixture of squares and rectangles with walls of cut stone, laid tight, polished smooth, held together with no mortar. The two flashlights revealed façades ablaze with color. Rust, brown, blue, yellow, white, gold. Low-pitched roofs produced pediments filled with elaborate spiral designs and more writing. Everything seemed tidy, practical, and well organized. The Antarctic freezer had preserved it all, though there was evidence of geological forces at work. Many of the quartz blocks in the towering light crevices had fallen. A few walls had collapsed, and the street contained buckles.

The thoroughfare drained into a circular plaza with more buildings lining its circumference, one a colonnaded temple-like structure with beautifully decorated square columns. In the center of the plaza stood the same unique symbol from the book cover, an enormous shiny red monument surrounded by tiers of stone benches. His eidetic memory instantly recalled what Einhard had written.

The Advisers stamped their approval to enactments with the symbol of righteousness. Its shape, carved into red stone, centers the city and watches over their annual deliberations. Atop is the sun, half ablaze in glory. Then the earth, as a simple circle, and the planets represented by a dot within the circle. The cross beneath them reminds of the land, while the sea waves below.

Square pillars dotted the plaza, maybe ten feet tall. Each crimson and topped with swirls and ornamentation. He counted eighteen. More writing had been etched onto their façades in tight rows.

Laws are enacted by the Advisers and inscribed upon the Righteous Columns in the center of the city so that all will know the provisions.

“Einhard was here,” Christl said. She’d apparently realized the same thing. “It’s as he described.”

“Since you didn’t share what he wrote with us,” Dorothea said. “It’s hard to know.”

He watched as Christl ignored her sister and studied one of the columns.

They were walking on a collage of mosaics. Henn examined the pavement with his light. Animals, people, scenes of daily life—each alive with bright color. A few yards away stood a circular stone ledge, perhaps thirty feet in diameter and four feet tall. He walked toward it and gazed over. A black stone-lined hole opened in the earth.

The others approached.

He found a rock the size of a small melon and tossed it over the side. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. A minute. Still no sound of the bottom.

“That’s a deep hole,” he said.

Similar to the predicament he’d dug for himself.

D
OROTHEA DRIFTED AWAY FROM THE PIT
. W
ERNER FOLLOWED AND
whispered, “You okay?”

She nodded, again uncomfortable with his husbandly concern. “We need to finish this,” she whispered. “Move it along.”

He nodded.

Malone was studying one of the square red pillars.

Each breath she took parched her mouth.

Werner said to Malone, “Would it be faster if we divide into two groups and explore, then meet back here?”

Malone turned. “Not a bad idea. We have another five hours before we check in, and it’s a long way back down that tunnel. We need to make that trek only once.”

No one argued.

“So there’s no fight among anyone,” Malone said, “I’ll take Dorothea. You and Christl go with Henn.”

Dorothea glanced at Ulrich. His eyes told her that would be fine.

So she said nothing.

M
ALONE DECIDED THAT IF ANYTHING WAS GOING TO HAPPEN, NOW
was the time, so he’d quickly agreed with Werner’s suggestion. He was waiting to see who’d make the first move. Keeping the sisters and the married people apart seemed smart, and he noticed that no one objected.

That meant he’d now have to play the hand he’d dealt himself.

EIGHTY-SEVEN

M
ALONE AND
D
OROTHEA LEFT THE CENTRAL PLAZA AND VENTURED
deeper into the cluster, the buildings packed tight like dominoes in a box. Some of the structures were shops with one or two rooms, opening directly to the street with no other obvious function. Others were set back, accessed by walkways leading between the shops to front doors. He noticed no cornices, eaves, or guttering. The architecture seemed eager to use right angles, diagonals, and pyramidal forms—curves appeared in restraint. Ceramic pipes, married with thick gray joints, ran house to house, and up and down the exterior walls—each beautifully painted—part of the décor, but also, he surmised, practical.

He and Dorothea investigated one of the dwellings, entering through a sculpted bronze door. A mosaic-paved central courtyard was surrounded by four square rooms, each carved from stone with clear depth and precision. Onyx and topaz columns seemed more for decoration than support. Stairs led to an upper story. No windows. Instead, the ceiling consisted of more quartz, the pieces arched together with mortar. The weak light from outside refracted through and was magnified, making the rooms more resplendent.

“They’re all empty,” Dorothea said. “As if they took everything and left.”

“Which may be exactly what happened.”

Images sheathed the walls. Groups of well-dressed woman seated on either side of a table, surrounded by more people. Beyond, a killer whale—a male, he knew from the tall dorsal fin—swam in a blue sea. Jagged icebergs floated nearby, dotted with colonies of penguins. A boat cruised the surface—long, thin, with two masts and the symbol from the plaza, emblazoned in red, on square sails. Realism seemed a concern. Everything was well proportioned. The wall reflected the flashlight beam, which drew him closer to caress the surface.

More of the ceramic pipes ran floor to ceiling in every room, their exterior painted to blend with the images.

He examined them with unconcealed wonder.

“Has to be some sort of heating system. They had to have a way to keep warm.”

“The source?” she asked.

“Geothermal. These people were smart, but not mechanically sophisticated. My guess is that pit in the central plaza was a geothermal vent that would have heated the whole place. They channeled more heat into these pipes and sent it all over the city.” He rubbed the shiny exterior. “But once the heat source faded, they would have been in trouble. Life here would have been a daily battle.”

A fissure marred one of the interior walls and he traced it with his light. “This place has taken some earthquake hits over the centuries. Amazing it’s still standing.”

No reply had been offered to either of his observations, so he turned.

Dorothea Lindauer stood across the room, a gun pointed at him.

S
TEPHANIE STUDIED THE HOUSE THAT
D
ANNY
D
ANIELS’ DIRECTIONS
had led them to find. Old, dilapidated, isolated in the Maryland countryside, surrounded by dense woods and meadows. A barn stood to its rear. No other cars were in sight. They’d both come armed, so they stepped from the vehicle, weapons in hand. Neither of them said a word.

They approached the front door, which hung open. Most of the windows were shattered clear. The house was, she estimated, two to three thousand square feet, its glory having faded long ago.

They entered cautiously.

The day was clear and cold and bright sunshine flooded in through the exposed windows. They stood in a foyer, parlors opening to their left and right, another corridor ahead. The house was single-story and rambling, connected by wide hallways. Furniture filled the rooms, draped in filthy cloths, the wall coverings peeling, the wood floors buckling.

She caught a sound, like scraping. Then a soft
tap, tap, tap.
Something moving? Walking?

She heard a snarl and growl.

Her eyes focused down one of the halls. Davis brushed past and led the way. They came to a doorway into one of the bedrooms. Davis dropped behind her but kept his gun aimed. She knew what he wanted her to do, so she eased close to the jamb, peeked inside, and saw two dogs. One tawny and white, the other a pale gray, both busy eating something. They were each a good size and sinewy. One of them sensed her presence and raised its head. Its mouth and nose were bloodstained.

The animal growled.

His partner sensed danger and came alert, too.

Davis moved up behind her.

“Do you see it?” he asked.

She did.

Beneath the dogs, lying on the floor, was their meal.

A human hand, severed at the wrist, three fingers missing.

M
ALONE STARED AT
D
OROTHEA’S GUN.
“Y
OU PLAN TO SHOOT ME?”

“You’re in league with her. I saw her go into your room.”

“I don’t think a one-night stand qualifies as being in league with someone.”

“She’s evil.”

“You’re both nuts.”

He stepped toward her. She jutted the weapon forward. He stopped, near a doorway that led out into the adjacent room. She stood ten feet away, before another wall of shiny mosaics.

“You two are going to destroy each other, unless you stop,” he made clear.

“She’s not going to win this.”

“Win what?”

“I’m my father’s heir.”

“No. You’re not. You both are. Trouble is, neither one of you can see that.”

“You heard her. She’s vindicated. She was right. She’ll be impossible to deal with.”

True, but he’d had enough and now was not the time. “Do what you have to do, but I’m walking out of here.”

“I’ll shoot you.”

“Then do it.”

He turned and started out the doorway.

“I mean it, Malone.”

“You’re wasting my time.”

She pulled the trigger.

Click.

He kept walking. She pulled the trigger again. More clicks.

He stopped and faced her. “I had your bag searched while we ate at the base. I found the gun.” He caught the abashed look on her face. “I thought it a prudent move, after your tantrum on the plane. I had the bullets taken from the magazine.”

“I was shooting at the floor,” she said. “I wouldn’t have harmed you.”

He extended a hand for the gun.

She walked over and surrendered it. “I hate Christl with all my being.”

“We’ve established that, but at the moment it’s counterproductive. We found what your family has been searching for—what your father and grandfather worked their whole lives to find. Can’t you be excited about that?”

“It’s not what I’ve been searching for.”

He sensed a quandary, but decided not to pry.

“And what about what you’ve been searching for?” she asked him.

She was right. No sign of NR-1A. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

“This could have been where our fathers were coming.”

Before he could answer her speculation, two pops broke the silence outside, far off.

Then another.

“That’s gunfire,” he said.

And they raced from the room.

S
TEPHANIE NOTICED SOMETHING ELSE.
“L
OOK FARTHER RIGHT.”

Part of the interior wall swung open, the rectangle beyond deep with shadows. She studied paw prints in the dirt and dust that led to and from the open panel. “Apparently they know what’s behind that wall.”

The dogs’ bodies tensed. Both started barking.

Her attention returned to the animals. “They need to go.”

Their guns remained aimed, the dogs holding their ground, guarding their meal, so Davis shifted to the other side of the doorway.

One of the dogs lunged forward, then abruptly stopped.

“I’m going to fire,” he said.

He leveled his gun and sent a bullet into the floor between the animals. Both shrieked, then rushed around in confusion. He fired again and they bolted through the doorway into the hall. They stopped a few feet away, realizing that they’d forgotten their food. She fired into the floorboards and they turned and ran, disappearing out the front door.

She let out a breath.

Davis entered the room and knelt beside the severed hand. “We need to see what’s down there.”

She didn’t necessarily agree—what was the point?—but knewDavis needed to see. She stepped to the doorway. Narrow wooden steps led below, thendog-legged right into pitchdarkness. “Probably anold cellar.”

She started the descent. He followed. At the landing she hesitated. Slivers of darkness evaporated as her pupils adjusted and the ambient light revealed a room about ten feet square, its curtain wall hacked from the ground rock, the floor a powdery dirt. Thick wooden beams spanned the ceiling. The frigid air was unmolested by ventilation.

“At least no more dogs,” Davis said.

Then she saw it.

A body, wearing an overcoat, lying prone, one arm a stump. She instantly recognized the face, though a bullet had obliterated the nose and one eye.

Langford Ramsey.

“The debt is paid,” she said.

Davis bypassed her and approached the corpse. “I only wish I could have done it.”

“It’s better this way.”

There was a sound overhead. Footsteps. Her gaze shot to the wood floor above.

“That’s not a dog,” Davis whispered.