He knew what McCollum was doing. Trying to work him up. Piss him off. Get him to react. But he wondered about something. “You ever find Haddad?”
“Nope. You were there when the Israelis killed him. I heard the whole thing.”
Heard it? McCollum had no idea about the Librarian. So he asked, “Where’d you get that quest?”
“I gave it to him.”
The new voice was George Haddad’s.
Malone saw the Palestinian standing in the far doorway.
“Mr. Sabre, I manipulated you in the same way you did Cotton. I left the audiotape and the information on my computer for you to find, including the quest, which I created. I assure you, the journey I completed to originally find this place was much more difficult.”
“You’re full of crap,” McCollum said.
“It had to be a challenge. Too easy and you might have thought it a trap. Too hard and you would have never made it. But you were anxious. I even left you a flash drive beside my computer, and you thought nothing of it. More of the bait for this trap.”
Malone noticed that, from where Haddad stood, a clear line of sight existed to McCollum’s position. But both of Haddad’s hands were empty. Something that had surely been noticed.
“George, what are you doing?” he called out.
“Finishing what I started.”
Haddad stepped toward McCollum.
“Trust what you know, Cotton. She won’t let you down.”
And his friend kept walking.
SABRE WATCHED THE LIBRARIAN MARCH TOWARD HIM. THIS man was George Haddad? All of what happened had been planned? He’d been led?
What had the old man called it? A trap? Hardly.
So he fired one shot.
To the Librarian’s head.
MALONE SCREAMED “NO” AS THE BULLET PLOWED INTO GEORGE Haddad. He had so many questions he wanted to ask him, so much he hadn’t understood. How had the Palestinian found his way from the West Bank, to London, to here? What was happening? What was it Haddad knew that was worth all this?
Anger surged through him and he clicked off two shots McCollum’s way, but they only damaged the far wall.
Haddad lay motionless, a lake of blood forming around his head.
“The old man had guts,” McCollum called out. “I was going to kill him anyway. Maybe he knew that?”
“You’re dead” was all Malone said in response.
A chuckle from the other side of the hall. “Like you said about yourself. You might find that hard to accomplish.”
He knew he had to end this. The Guardians were counting on him. Haddad had been counting on him.
Then he saw Pam.
Inside the doorway leading out. Just in the shadows, the angle making her invisible to McCollum.
She held a gun.
Trust what you know.
Haddad’s last words.
He and Pam had spent most of their lives together, the past five hating each other. But she was a part of him, and he of her, and they always would be linked. If not by Gary, then by something neither one of them could explain. Not necessarily love, but a bond. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her and he had to trust that she wouldn’t to him.
She won’t let you down.
He popped the magazine from his gun, then aimed toward McCollum and pulled the trigger. The bullet already in the chamber thudded into one of the tabletops.
Then a click. And another.
One more to make the point.
“End of the line, Malone,” McCollum said.
He stood, hoping his adversary would want to savor the kill. If McCollum chose to fire from his concealed position, he and Pam were both dead. But he knew his enemy. McCollum stood, gun pointed, and advanced from behind the table, weaving a path close to where Malone stood. Now his back was to the doorway. Not even his peripheral vision would help.
He needed to stall. “Your name Sabre?”
“The name I use over here. My real name is McCollum.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Kill everyone here and keep this all to myself. Real simple.”
“You don’t have a clue as to what’s here. What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ll get people who know. My bet is there’s plenty. Just the Old Testament thing is enough to make my mark on the world.”
Pam had not moved. She’d certainly heard the clicks and knew that he was at McCollum’s mercy. He imagined her fear. Over the past few days she’d seen people die. Now the terror of her killing another person must be surging through her. He’d felt that uncertainty himself. Pulling the trigger was never easy. The act came with consequences, the fear of which could absolutely paralyze. He only hoped her instincts would win out over her terror.
McCollum raised his gun. “Say hello to Haddad for me.”
Pam rushed from the archway and her footsteps momentarily distracted McCollum. His head jerked right and he apparently caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. Malone used that instant to kick the gun from McCollum’s hand. He then jammed a fist into the other man’s face, sending McCollum staggering back. He lunged to pound the bastard, but McCollum recovered and propelled himself forward. Together they slammed onto one of the tables and rolled off the other side. He brought a knee into the stomach and heard the breath leave his opponent.
He stood and grabbed McCollum off the floor, expecting him to be winded. Instead, McCollum rammed his fists into Malone’s chest and face.
The room winked in and out and he shook the pain from his brain.
He whirled and saw a knife in McCollum’s hand.
The same knife from Lisbon.
He readied himself.
But never got the chance to do anything.
One shot.
McCollum acted surprised. Then blood flowed from a hole in his right side. Another shot and his arms went into the air and he staggered backward. A third, then a fourth, and the body tilted forward, the eyes rolled skyward, blood spurted from his mouth with each exhale, then he thudded face-first to the floor.
Malone turned.
Pam lowered the gun.
“About time,” he said.
But she said nothing, her eyes wide at what she’d done. He stepped close and lowered her arm. She stared at him with a blank expression.
Figures emerged from the shadows of the doorway.
Nine men and women quietly approached.
Adam and Straw Hat were among the group. Eve was crying as she knelt beside Haddad’s body.
The others knelt with her.
Pam stood still and watched.
So did he.
Finally he had to interrupt their mourning. “I assume you have communications equipment?”
Adam stared up at him and nodded.
“I need to use it.”
EIGHTY-SIX
VIENNA
THORVALDSEN WAS BACK IN THE LIBRARY WITH GARY—BUT this time Hermann and the vice president knew he was there. They were alone with the door closed, the security men just outside.
“They were here last night,” the vice president said, clearly agitated. “Had to be there somewhere.” He motioned to the upper shelves. “Damn place is like a concert hall. He called the attorney general and told him everything.”
“Is that a problem?” Hermann asked.
“Thank God, no. Brent will be my vice president once all this happens. He’s been handling things in Washington while I’m gone. So at least it’s controlled on that end.”
“This one,” Hermann said, pointing at Thorvaldsen, “took my daughter yesterday. He did that before he heard anything last night.”
The vice president grew even more agitated. “Which begs a whole host of questions. Alfred, I didn’t question what you were doing here. You wanted the Alexandria Link, and you got it. I was the one who managed that. I don’t know what you did with that information and I don’t want to know, but it’s obviously become a problem.”
Hermann wa
s rubbing the side of his head. “Henrik, you will pay dearly for striking me. No man has ever done that.”
Thorvaldsen was not impressed. “Maybe it was about time.”
“And you, young man.”
A knot clenched in Thorvaldsen’s throat. He hadn’t planned to place Gary in jeopardy.
“Alfred,” the vice president said, “everything is in motion. You’re going to have to handle this situation.”
Sweat beaded on Thorvaldsen’s brow as he realized what those words meant.
“These two will never breathe a word of what they know.”
“You’d kill the boy?” Thorvaldsen asked.
“You’d kill my daughter? So what? Yes, I’d kill the boy.” Hermann’s nostrils flared and his eyes bristled with the rage that clearly coursed through him.
“Not accustomed to this, are you, Alfred?”
“Taunting me will accomplish nothing.”
But it would buy Thorvaldsen time, and that was about the only play he knew. He turned to the vice president. “Brent Green was a good man. What happened to him?”
“I’m not his priest, so I don’t know. I assume he saw the benefits of taking my job. America needs strong leadership, people in power who aren’t afraid to use it. Brent’s that way. I’m that way.”
“What about men of character?”
“That’s a relative term. I prefer to see it as the United States partnering with the worldwide business community to accomplish goals of a mutually beneficial nature.”
“You’re a murderer,” Gary said.
A soft knock came from the door and Hermann stepped across to answer. One of the vice president’s security men whispered to Hermann. A puzzled look came to the Austrian’s face, then he nodded and the security man left.
“The president is on the telephone,” Hermann said.
Surprise flooded the vice president’s face. “What the hell?”
“He tracked you here from the Secret Service. Your detail reported that you were in here with me and two others, one a boy. The president wants to talk to us all.”
Thorvaldsen realized they’d have no choice. The president clearly knew a lot.
“He also wanted to know if I had a speakerphone,” Hermann said as he walked to his desk and punched two buttons.
“Good day, Mr. President,” Hermann said.
“I don’t think you and I have ever met. Danny Daniels calling from Washington.”
“No, sir. We haven’t. It’s a pleasure.”
“Is my vice president there?”
“I’m here, Mr. President.”
“And Thorvaldsen, you there? With the Malone boy?”
“He’s here with me,” Thorvaldsen said.
“First, I have some tragic news. I’m still reeling from it. Brent Green is dead.”
Thorvaldsen caught the instant of shock on the vice president’s face. Even Hermann flinched.
“Suicide,” Daniels said. “Shot himself in the head. I was just told a few minutes ago. Awful. We’re working up a press release now before the story explodes.”
“How did this happen?” the vice president asked.
“I don’t know, but it did and he’s gone. Also, Larry Daley is dead. Car bomb. We have no idea about the culprits there.”
More dismay invaded the vice president’s expression and his shoulders seemed to sag an inch.
“Here’s the situation,” Daniels said. “Under the circumstances, I’m not going to be able to travel to Afghanistan next week. America needs me here and I need my vice president to take my place.”
The vice president stayed silent.
“Anybody there?” Daniels said in a loud voice.
“Yes, sir,” the vice president said. “I’m here.”
“Great. Get your tail back here today and be ready to go next week. Of course, if you don’t want to make that trip to see the troops, you can tender your resignation. Your choice. But I actually prefer you make the trip.”
“What are you saying?”
“This isn’t a secure line, so I doubt you want me to say what I really think. Let me say it with a story. One my daddy used to tell. There was a bird flying south for the winter, but he got caught in an ice storm and fell to the ground. He froze, but a cow came along and crapped on him. The warm poop unthawed him and he liked it so much he started to sing. A cat came along to see what the commotion was about, asked if he could help, saw it was a meal, and ate the bird. Here are the morals of the story. Everybody who shits on you ain’t your enemy. Everybody who comes along to help ain’t your friend. And if you’re warm and happy, even in a pile of shit, keep your mouth shut. That make my point?”
“Perfectly, sir,” the vice president said. “How do you suggest I explain my resignation?”
“Tough to use the always popular Spend more time with my family. No one in our position quits for that reason. Let’s see, the last VP to resign was facing indictment. Can’t use that one. Of course, you can’t tell the truth, that you got caught committing high treason. How about, The president and I seem no longer capable of working together? Being the consummate politician that you are, I’m sure you will choose your words real careful because if I hear one thing I don’t like, then I’m going to tell the truth. Talk issues, debate our differences, tell people I’m an asshole. All fine. But nothing I don’t want to hear.”
Thorvaldsen watched the vice president. The man seemed to want to protest but wisely realized the effort would do no good.
“Mr. President,” Thorvaldsen said. “Stephanie and Cassiopeia okay?”
“They’re fine, Henrik. Can I call you that?”
“Nothing else.”
“They were instrumental in working things through on this end.”
“What about my mom and dad?” Gary blurted out.
“That must be Cotton’s boy. Nice to meet you, Gary. Your mom and dad are fine. I talked with your dad just a few minutes ago. Which brings me to you, Herr Hermann.”
Thorvaldsen caught the disdain in the president’s voice.
“Your man Sabre found the Library of Alexandria. Actually, Cotton did that for him, but he did try to steal it away. Sabre’s dead. So you lose. We have the library and, I assure you, not a soul will ever know where it is. As for you, Herr Hermann, Henrik and the boy better have no problems leaving your château, and I don’t want to hear another word out of you or I’ll let the Israelis and the Saudis know who orchestrated all this. Your problems then will be beyond comprehension. There will be no place good for you to hide.”
The vice president slumped into one of the chairs.
“One more thing, Hermann. Not a word to bin Laden and his people. We want to meet them next week while they wait for my plane. If they’re not there with missiles ready, I’m sending my commandos to take you out.”
Hermann said nothing.
“I’ll take your silence to mean you understand. You see, that’s the great thing about being the leader of the free world. I have a lot of people willing to do what I want. People with a wide variety of talents. You got money. I got power.”
Thorvaldsen had never met the American president, but he already liked him.
“Gary,” the president said. “Your dad will be back in Copenhagen in a couple of days. And Henrik, thanks for all you did.”
“I’m not sure I really helped.”
“We won, didn’t we? And that’s what counts in this game.”
The line clicked off.
Hermann stood silent.
Thorvaldsen pointed to the atlas. “Those letters are useless, Alfred. You can’t prove anything.”
“Get out.”
“Gladly.”
Daniels was right.
Game over.
EIGHTY-SEVEN
WASHINGTON, DC
MONDAY, OCTOBER 10
8:30 AM
STEPHANIE SAT IN THE OVAL OFFICE. SHE’D BEEN THERE MANY times, mostly feeling uncomfortable. But not today. She and Cassiopeia had come to me
et with President Daniels.
Brent Green had been buried yesterday in Vermont with honors. The press had lauded his character and achievements. Democrats and Republicans said he would be missed. Daniels himself had delivered the eulogy, a moving tribute. Larry Daley had been buried, too, in Florida, without fanfare. Only some family and a few friends. Stephanie and Cassiopeia had both attended.
Interesting how she’d read both men wrong. Daley wasn’t a saint by any means, but he wasn’t a murderer or a traitor. He’d tried to stop what was happening. Unfortunately, what was happening had stopped him.
“I want you back at the Magellan Billet,” Daniels said to her.
“You might find that hard to explain.”
“I don’t have to explain myself. I never wanted you to go, but I had no choice at the time.”
She wanted her job back. She liked what she did. But there was another matter. “What about bribing Congress?”
“I told you, Stephanie. I knew nothing about that. But it stops here and now. Just like with Green, though, the country won’t benefit from that kind of scandal. Let’s end it and move on.”
She wasn’t necessarily sure of Daniels’s lack of complicity, but she agreed. That was the better course.
“No one will ever know anything that happened?” Cassiopeia asked.
Daniels was sitting behind his desk, feet propped on the edge, his tall frame leaning back in his chair. “Not a word.”
The vice president had resigned Saturday, citing differences over policy with the administration. The press had been clamoring to get him on camera but had so far been unsuccessful.
“I imagine,” Daniels said, “my ex–vice president will be trying to make a name for himself. There’ll be a few public squabbles between us over policy, things like that. He might even make a try for the next election. But I’m not afraid of that fight. And speaking of fights, I need you to keep an eye on the Order of the Golden Fleece. Those folks are trouble. We’ve cut their legs out from under them for now, but they’ll stand up again.”