“To be honest, I have a problem. For the past few weeks I’ve wrestled with the quest. It’s a riddle. One I can’t solve. I thought you two might be of some help. In return, I’m willing to share what I know.”
“And you’re willing to shoot two men in the head,” Malone said.
“They would have done the same to you. Which, by the way, ought to give you pause. Who’d want to do that?”
An excellent question, Malone thought. No one had followed them from London, of that he was sure. It made no sense that killers would be waiting for them at Bainbridge Hall. He’d only decided to visit there a few hours ago.
“This quest,” McCollum said, “has a lot more to it than I first thought. Now you tell me the Jews are also involved.”
“A friend of mine was killed yesterday, which should end Israel’s interest.”
“This friend know anything about the library?”
“It’s what got him killed.”
“He’s not the first.”
He needed to know something. “I assume you’d want to peddle the found manuscripts to dealers?”
McCollum shrugged. “I want to profit for my trouble. That bother you?”
“If the manuscripts still exist, they would need to be preserved and studied.”
“I’m not greedy, Malone. Surely somewhere in the find would be a few scraps I could sell for my trouble.” McCollum paused. “Along with credit for the find, of course. That would be worth something all by itself.”
“Fame and fortune,” Pam said.
“The time-immemorial reward,” McCollum said. “They both have their satisfying aspects.”
He’d heard enough. “Tell us the clues.”
McCollum sat before them, aloof as a deity, mischievous as a demon. This one bore watching. He killed far too easily. But if he possessed the hero’s quest, then he might be their only path forward.
McCollum reached into his pocket and produced a slip of paper. “That’s how it starts off.”
Malone accepted the note-sized sheet and read.
How strange are the manuscripts, great traveler of the unknown. They appear separately, but seem as one to those who know that the colors of the rainbow become a single white light. How to find that single ray? It is a mystery, but visit the chapel beside the Tejo, in Bethlehem, dedicated to our patron saint.
“Where’s the rest?” he asked.
McCollum chuckled. “Figure this part out, then we’ll see. One step at a time.”
Malone stood.
“Where you going?” McCollum asked.
“To earn my keep.”
FORTY-THREE
WASHINGTON, DC
5:30 AM
STEPHANIE HAD FACED MANY THINGS, BUT NEVER ARREST. Larry Daley was upping the ante.
“We need to strike at Daley now,” she made clear.
She, Green, and Cassiopeia were standing in Green’s kitchen, coffee brewing on the counter. The aroma reminded her that she was hungry.
“What do you have in mind?” Cassiopeia asked.
Not once in twelve years had she compromised the Billet’s security. She took her oath to heart. But an abyss of doubt made her unsure of what to do next. She finally decided there was but one option and said, “We were investigating Daley.”
A new earnestness swept over Green’s face. “Explain.”
“I wanted to know what made the man tick, so I assigned an agent to find out. She worked him, off and on, for nearly a year. I learned a lot.”
“You continue to amaze me, Stephanie. Do you know what would have happened if he’d found out?”
“Guess I would have been fired, so what does it matter now?”
“He’s trying to kill you. Perhaps he does know.”
“I doubt it. She was good. But Daley is up to his eyeballs in trouble. You said earlier that you never found any violations of law. I did. Lots of them. Campaign finance, bribery, fraud. Daley’s the pipeline for what people of means need from the White House, people who don’t want their names on disclosure forms.”
“Why didn’t you move on him?”
“I was planning to—then this leak occurred. It had to wait.”
“And now that he’s in charge of the Magellan Billet, will he find out what you did?” Cassiopeia asked.
She shook her head. “I have all the information locked away, and the agent who handled the investigation transferred from the Billet months ago. No one other than she and I knew.”
Green poured coffee into two mugs. “What do you want to do?”
“Since I have my friend here, who possesses a multitude of skills, I thought we’d finish the investigation.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Cassiopeia said.
Green motioned. “You ladies add what you like to your coffee.”
“None for you?” Stephanie asked.
“Never drink it.”
“Then why do you have a coffeemaker?”
“I do have guests.” He paused. “Occasionally.”
Green’s solidity, his masculine dependability, yielded for an instant to a boyish sincerity, and she liked it.
“Anyone I know?” she asked.
Green smiled.
“You’re full of surprises,” she said.
“A lot like somebody else we all know,” Cassiopeia said, sipping her coffee.
Green nodded, seeming to like the change of topic. “Henrik is a fascinating man. Always a step ahead. But what about you, Stephanie? What do you mean about finishing the investigation?”
She savored the steaming brew and allowed a sip to warm her throat. “We need to pay a visit to his house.”
“Why?” Cassiopeia asked. “Even if we manage to get inside, his computer is surely secured by a password.”
She smiled. “Not a problem.”
Green scanned her with an air of curiosity, then he could no longer conceal his astonishment. “You don’t need a password, do you?”
She shook her head and said, “Time to nail that SOB.”
MALONE ENTERED THE SAVOY’S BUSINESS CENTER. THE SPACIOUS facility was fully equipped with computers, faxes, and copiers. He told the attendant what he needed and was quickly ushered to a terminal, the charge applied to McCollum’s room.
He started to sit, but Pam cut him off.
“May I?” she asked.
He decided to allow her the honor. On the walk over from the café he’d seen that she knew what he intended to do.
“Why not? Have at it.”
He handed her the sheet with the beginning of the quest then faced McCollum. “You said you acquired this recently?”
“No. I didn’t mention a time. Nice try, Malone.”
“I need to know. It’s important. In the last few months?”
Their benefactor hesitated, then nodded.
Malone had been thinking. “From what I know, the Guardians have been inviting people to the library for centuries. So the clues have to change. They’d adapt the quest to its time. I’m betting they even adapt it to the invitee. Why not? Make it personal. They go to a lot of trouble for everything else. Why not this?”
McCollum nodded. “Makes sense.”
Pam was pounding the keyboard.
“The first part,” Malone said. “How strange are the manuscripts, great traveler of the unknown. They appear separately, but seem as one to those who know that the colors of the rainbow become a single white light. How to find that single ray? That’s bullshit. Just a way of saying there’s a lot of information. But the next part, It is a mystery, but visit the chapel beside the Tejo, in Bethlehem, dedicated to our patron saint. That’s where we start.”
“Got it,” Pam said.
He smiled. She was ahead of him, and he liked that.
“I did a search on Tejo and Bethlehem.”
“Isn’t that too easy?” McCollum asked.
“The Guardians can’t be oblivious to the world. The Internet exists, so why wouldn’t they assume an invitee would use
it?”
He stared at the screen. The website Pam had found was for Portugal, a travel and tourism page that dealt with local attractions in and around Lisbon.
“Belém,” Pam said. “Just outside downtown. Where the River Tejo meets the sea. Belém is Portuguese for ‘Bethlehem.’”
He read about the point of land southwest of central Lisbon. The spot where Portuguese caravels had long ago set out for the Western world. Da Gama to India, Magellan to circumnavigate the globe, Dias to round the Cape of Good Hope. Belém eventually flourished thanks to the riches—mainly spices—that poured into the country from the New World. The Portuguese king built a summer palace there, and wealthy citizens flocked to surround it. Once a separate municipality, now it was a magnet for tourists who came to enjoy its shops, cafés, and museums.
“Henry the Navigator is connected to the locale,” Pam said.
“Let’s find out,” he said, “about a chapel dedicated to our patron saint.”
A few clicks of the mouse and Pam pointed at the screen. “Way ahead of you.”
A monstrous building of weathered stone filled the screen. Elaborate spires reached for a cloudy sky. The look combined Gothic and Renaissance architecture with obvious Moorish influences. Bold images dotted the stone façade.
“The Monastery of Santa Maria de Belém,” he noted from the screen.
Pam scrolled down, and he read that it was one of Portugal’s best-known monuments, often referred to as the Jerónimos Monastery. Many of the country’s greatest figures, including its kings and queens, were entombed there.
“Why did this show up?” he asked Pam.
She clicked on a link.
“I typed in several key words and the search engine pointed straight here. In 1498, when da Gama returned from his voyage after discovering the route to India, the Portuguese king granted funds for the building of the monastery. The Order of St. Jerome took possession of the site in 1500, and the foundation stone was laid on January 6, 1501.”
He knew the significance of that date from his childhood. His mother had been Catholic and they’d attended church regularly, especially after his father died. January 6. The Feast of the Epiphany.
What had Haddad written in his journal?
Great quests often begin with an epiphany.
“The main chapel at the monastery,” Pam said, “was eventually dedicated to St. Jerome. Cotton, you remember what Haddad said about him.”
He did. An early church father who, in the fourth century, translated many scriptural texts into Latin, including the Old Testament.
“There’s a link to more on Jerome,” she said, and the screen changed with another click of the mouse.
They all three read. Malone saw it first. “He’s the patron saint of libraries. Looks like this quest starts in Lisbon.”
“Not bad, Malone.”
“We earn our keep?”
“Like I said, I’m lousy with puzzles. You two seem good at them. But the rest is tougher.”
He grinned. “How about we take a stab at it together and see where it leads?”
FORTY-FOUR
VIENNA
1:00 PM
THORVALDSEN STEPPED FROM THE BATHROOM AND WATCHED Gary unpack. Other than what he’d been wearing when he was kidnapped a few days ago, the boy had no clothes. So yesterday Jesper had made a trip into Copenhagen and purchased a few things.
“This house is old, isn’t it?” Gary asked.
“Built many generations ago, like Christiangade.”
“Lots of old stuff in Europe. Not like back home.”
He grinned. “We have been around a bit longer.”
“Great room.”
He, too, thought the accommodations interesting. On the second floor. Near their host. A first for him. A dainty chamber with feminine furnishings that surely once belonged to a woman of taste.
“Do you like history?” he asked.
Gary shrugged. “Not until the past two summers. It’s a lot more interesting here, when you see it.”
He decided it was time to tell the boy their situation. “What did you think of our host and his daughter?”
“Not all that friendly. But they seem to like you.”
“I’ve known Alfred a long time, but I’m afraid he’s plotting something.”
Gary sat on the bed.
“I think he may have been behind your abduction.”
He watched as the boy began to realize their predicament. “You sure?”
He shook his head. “That’s why we’re here. To find out.”
“I want to know, too. Those men upset my mother, and I don’t like that.”
“You afraid?”
“You wouldn’t have brought me if I was in danger.”
He liked the answer. This lad was smart. “You watched two men die. Few fifteen-year-olds can claim that. You okay?”
“The one Dad shot deserved what he got. He tried to take me away. Dad did what he had to. What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. But a lot of people will be here over the next few days. Powerful people. From them, I should be able to learn what we need to know.”
“This like a club or something?”
“You could say that. People with similar interests who come together to discuss those interests.”
On the bedside table his cell phone jangled. He stepped across and spied the number. Jesper. He pushed TALK.
“A call has come through. From Tel Aviv.”
“Then by all means let’s hear it.”
A few seconds later, after the connection was established, he heard a deep baritone voice say, “Henrik, what have you started?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy. When you called yesterday I was suspicious, but now I’m downright paranoid.”
He’d placed a call yesterday to the Israeli prime minister’s office. Since he donated millions to Jewish causes and financed a multitude of Israeli politicians, including the current prime minister, his call had not been ignored. He’d asked one simple question—what’s Israel’s interest in George Haddad? He’d purposely not talked directly with the prime minister, directing his inquiry through his chief of staff, who was now, he noticed, uneasy. So he asked, “Did you find an answer to my question?”
“The Mossad told us to mind our own business.”
“Is that how they speak to those in charge?”
“It is when they want us to mind our own business.”
“So you have no answer?”
“I didn’t say that. They want George Haddad dead and they want Cotton Malone stopped. Seems Malone and his ex-wife are presently on their way to Lisbon, and that’s after four people were killed last night west of London at a museum. Interestingly, the Brits know Malone was involved in those killings, but didn’t move on him. They let him walk right out of the country. Our side thinks that’s because the Americans green-lighted what he did. They think America is back in our business—where it concerns George Haddad.”
“How do your employees know any of that?”
“They have a direct line to Malone. They know exactly where and what he’s doing. In addition, they’ve been anticipating this for some time.”
“Seems like everyone is busy there.”
“To say the least. The prime minister and I value your friendship. You’re a patron of this nation. That’s why you’re getting this call. The Mossad is going to take Malone out. Agents are on the way to Lisbon. If you can warn him, do it.”
“I wish that were so, but I have no way.”
“Then may God look after him. He’s going to need it.”
The line clicked dead.
He pushed END.
“Problem?” Gary said.
He grabbed his composure. “Just a minor matter with one of my companies. I still have a business to run, you know.”
The boy seemed to accept the explanation. “You said we were here for some kind of club, but you never told me what that
has to do with me.”
“Actually, that’s an excellent question. Let me answer it as we walk. Come, I’ll show you the estate.”
ALFRED HERMANN HEARD THE DOOR TO HENRIK THORVALDSEN’S room close. The listening device installed in the bedchamber had worked perfectly. Margarete sat across from him as he switched off the speaker.
“That Dane is a problem,” she said.
Took her long enough to realize it. Clearly Thorvaldsen was here to probe, but he wondered about the phone call. His old friend had said little to indicate its nature, and he doubted that it had anything to do with business.
“Is he right?” Margarete said. “Did you take that boy?”
He’d allowed her to listen for a reason, so he nodded. “Part of our plan. But we also allowed him to be saved. At the moment Dominick is cultivating the seeds we planted.”
“The library?”
He nodded. “We think we have the trail.”
“And you plan to entrust Sabre with that information?”
“He’s our emissary.”
She shook her head in disgust. “Father, he’s a greedy opportunist. I’ve told you that for years.”
His patience ran out. “I didn’t allow you to learn what’s happening so that we could argue. I need your help.”
He saw that she’d caught the tension in his voice.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“Margarete, the world is a complicated place. You have to use the resources available. Focus. Help me deal with what is before us, and let Dominick worry about his part.”
She sucked a deep breath and slowly exhaled through clenched teeth, a habit she routinely employed when nervous. “What do you want me to do?”
“Wander the grounds. Casually run into Henrik. He thinks himself safe here. Make him feel that way.”
FORTY-FIVE
WASHINGTON, DC
10:30 AM
STEPHANIE DID NOT LIKE HER NEW APPEARANCE. HER SILVERBLOND hair was now a light auburn, the result of a quick coloring by Cassiopeia. Different makeup, new clothes, and a pair of clear eyeglasses completed the alteration. Not perfect, but enough to help her hide in public.