EIGHTY-TWO

VIENNA

THORVALDSEN STOOD WITH GARY. HE'D CALLED JESPER JUST AS they'd left the schmetterlinghaus and told him to send a car and driver. As soon as he and Gary were on their way back to Copenhagen, he'd instruct his aide to release Margarete. He hadn't bothered to retrieve their clothes. No time. Instead, all he held was the atlas from the library that contained the letters of St. Jerome and St. Augustine.

Cars were coming and going from the lane that led through the trees to the front gate. Not all Order members stayed on the estate. Many chose to visit with friends or enjoy their favorite hotels in Vienna. He recognized some of those arriving and took a moment to chat. That also allowed him to blend with what was happening. But they needed to leave, with the letters, before Hermann awoke.

"Are we in trouble?" Gary asked.

"I'm not sure." And he wasn't.

"You whacked both those guys pretty hard."

He saw the boy was impressed. "I did, didn't I?"

"Don't want to be here when they wake up."

Neither did he. "We must keep these letters, and I'm afraid our host will never allow that."

"What about his daughter? He didn't seem to care about her."

"I don't believe he ever did. Taking her was just something unexpected that caused him to pause long enough for us to act." He thought of his own dead son. "Men like Alfred care little for family."

And how awful that must be. He missed his wife and his son. Seeing Gary Malone rush to his defense had both frightened and pleased him. He patted the boy on his shoulder.

"What is it?" Gary asked.

"Your daddy would be proud."

"Hope he's all right."

"Me, too."

Three cars sped down the main drive and rounded the paved lane. They stopped at the chateau, and men emerged from the first and third vehicles, each dressed in a dark suit. A quick survey of the surroundings and one of the men opened the rear door of the middle car.

The vice president of the United States climbed out into the afternoon sunshine, dressed casually in a pullover shirt beneath a navy blazer.

Thorvaldsen and Gary stood twenty yards away and watched as security men flanked the vice president and they all strolled toward the chateau's main entrance. Halfway, the vice president stopped and changed directions.

Heading straight for them.

Thorvaldsen watched the man with a mixture of anger and disgust. This ambitious fool seemed willing to do anything.

"Not a word, lad," he said to Gary. "Remember, ears open, mouth shut."

"I've figured that out."

"You must be Henrik Thorvaldsen," the vice president said as he came close and introduced himself.

"I am. A pleasure to meet you, sir."

"None of that sir stuff, okay? You're one of the wealthiest men in the world and I'm just a politician."

"What is the saying? One heartbeat away from the presidency?"

The American chuckled. "That's it. But it's still a rather dull job. I do get to travel, though, and I enjoy coming to places like this."

"And what brings you here today?"

"Alfred Hermann and I are friends. I came to pay my respects."

Another car cruised down the drive. A light-colored BMW with a uniformed driver. Thorvaldsen motioned and the car headed his way.

"Are you leaving?" the vice president asked.

"We have to go into town."

The American motioned at Gary. "And who is this?"

Thorvaldsen introduced them, using Gary's real name, and they shook hands.

"Never met a vice president before," Gary said.

The BMW stopped and the driver emerged, rounding the car and opening the rear door for Thorvaldsen.

"And I never met the son of Cotton Malone," the vice president said.

Thorvaldsen now realized they were in trouble. Which was doubly confirmed when he spotted Alfred Hermann parading their way, his chief of the guard in tow.

The vice president said, "Brent Green sends his regards."

And Thorvaldsen saw Green's betrayal in the man's hard eyes.

"I'm afraid you're not going anywhere," the VP said in a low tone.

Hermann arrived and shoved the car's rear door shut. "Herr Thorvaldsen will not need the ride. You may go."

Thorvaldsen was going to protest, make a scene, but he noticed that the chief of the guard assumed a position beside Gary. A gun beneath the man's jacket was pointed straight at the boy.

The message was clear.

He faced the driver. "That's correct. Thanks for coming."

Hermann relieved him of the atlas. "Your options are rapidly fading, Henrik."

"I would say so," the vice president said.

Hermann seemed puzzled. "Why are you here? What's happening?"

"Bring them both inside and I'll tell you all about it."

EIGHTY-THREE

SINAI PENINSULA

MALONE WAITED UNTIL GEORGE HADDAD WAS SAFE BEHIND the bookshelf's end cap, where he and Pam had assumed a defensive position.

"Back from the dead?" he said to Haddad.

"Resurrection can be glorious."

"George, that man wants to kill all of you."

"I gathered. Lucky you're here."

"And what if I don't stop him?"

"Then this entire endeavor would have been a waste."

He needed to know, "What's back there?"

"Three more halls and the Reading Room. Each like this one. Not many places to hide."

He recalled the directory. "I'm just supposed to shoot it out with him?"

"I got you here. Now don't disappoint me."

Anger swelled in him. "There were simpler ways of doing this. He could be bringing reinforcements."

"I doubt that. But I have eyes outside watching to see if anyone else enters the farsh. I'm betting he's alone and will stay that way."

"How do you know that? The Israelis have been all over us."

"They're gone." Haddad pointed across the hall. "He's all that remains."

Malone caught sight of McCollum dashing through the archway and disappearing deeper into the library. Three more halls and the Reading Room. He was about to violate a multitude of the rules that had kept him alive for twelve years with the Magellan Billet. One was clear-Never go in unless you know how you're going to get out. But something else he'd learned also occurred to him. When things go bad, anything can hurt you, including doing nothing.

"Know this," Haddad said. "That man was responsible for your son being taken. He also destroyed your bookshop. He's as much to blame for you being here as I am. He would have killed Gary, if need be. And he'll gladly kill you."

"How do you know that about Gary?" Pam asked.

"The Guardians have access to a wealth of information."

"And how did you get to be Librarian?" Malone asked.

"Complicated story."

"I bet it is. You and I are going to have a long talk when this is over."

Haddad grinned. "Yes, my old friend, we'll have that long talk."

Malone pointed at Pam and spoke to Haddad. "Keep her here. She doesn't follow orders well at all."

"Go on," she said. "We'll be fine."

He decided to quit arguing and rushed forward down the aisle. At the exit, he stopped to one side. Twenty feet ahead another chamber opened. More towering walls, rows of stone shelving, letters, images, and mosaics from floor to ceiling. He crept forward, but hugged the corridor's polished sides. He entered the second hall and again took cover at the end of one of the shelf rows. The room was more square than the first, and he noticed a mixture of scrolls and codices.

No sign of movement. This was damn foolish. He was being drawn deeper. At some point McCollum would turn and fight, and on his terms.

But when?

HADDAD WATCHED PAM MALONE. BACK IN LONDON HE'D tried to assess her personality, wondering what she was even doing there. The Guardians had assembled personal information on Cotton Malone, things Haddad knew little about-Malone rarely talked about his wife and family. Theirs had been an academic friendship, spurred by a love of books and a respect for knowledge. But he knew enough, and the time had come to use that knowledge.

"We have to go back there," he said.

"Cotton said to stay here."

He allowed his gaze to bore into her. "We have to go back there." And to prove his point, he removed a pistol from beneath his cloak.

Surprisingly, she did not flinch. "I saw when you looked at McCollum."

"That the name he gave you?"

She nodded.

"His name is Sabre and he's a killer. I meant what I said in my apartment in London. I have a debt to pay, and I don't plan for Cotton to pay it for me."

"I saw it in your eyes. You wanted him to shoot. But you knew he wouldn't."

"Men like Sabre are stingy with their courage. They save it for when it's really needed. Like right now."

"You knew all this was going to happen?"

He shrugged. "Knew, thought, hoped. I don't know. We've been watching for Sabre. We knew he was planning something in Copenhagen, and when he took Gary we realized he was trying to find me. That's when I decided to involve myself. My second call to the West Bank was discovered by Israel's spies, which finally spurred them to move. Then, in Lisbon, I saw how I could lead all three of you here without the Israelis."

"You did this all so you could die?"

"I did this to protect the library. Sabre works for an organization that surely wants this knowledge for its own political and economic uses. They've been investigating us for some time. But you heard him. He's here for himself. Not them. Stop him and we stop everything."

"What are you going to do?"

"Not me. You have to do this, too."

"Me?"

"Cotton needs you. You going to walk away?"

He watched as she rolled the inquiry through her mind. He knew she was smart, gutsy, and brash. But also vulnerable. And prone to mistakes. He'd spent a lifetime reading people, and he hoped that he'd read Pam Malone correctly.

"No way," she said.

SABRE FLED THE ROOM OF PROVINCE AND ENTERED THE READING Room, which was filled with more tables and fewer shelves. He knew from his first excursion that the next hall, the Room of Eternity, led to the last hall, the entire library U-shaped. Fake windows and alcoves adorned with faraway landscape paintings and special lighting created an outdoor effect. He had to keep reminding himself that he was underground.

Inside the Reading Room, he stopped.

Time to make use of what he'd noticed earlier.

MALONE KEPT ADVANCING, GUN READY. HE'D CHANGED THE magazine for his last fresh one, but at least he had nine shots. Three more remained in the one in his pocket, so he now had twelve chances to stop McCollum.

His gaze darted from wall to wall and ceiling to floor, his senses alert. His chest and spine were damp with perspiration and the subterranean air chilled him. He passed through the second hall and started down the corridor to the next lighted room, which right-angled. He heard nothing and the silence unnerved him. What kept him moving forward was what Haddad had said-McCollum had been the one who took Gary. The son of a bitch had touched his son. Taken him away. Forced Malone to kill a man. No way those violations were going unanswered. McCollum wanted a fight. He was about to get one.

He came to the entrance to the third hall.

The Reading Room.

Maybe twenty tables of thick, rough-hewn planks, dark and worn, dotted the room amid the shelving.

He spotted the exit on the opposite wall.

The room was larger than the other two, rectangular and maybe sixty feet along its length. The walls supported slabs and lintels of Byzantine origin, along with mosaics, this time scenes devoted to women, some spinning and weaving, others engaged in athletics. He ripped his gaze from the artistry and concentrated on the problem.

He expected McCollum, at any moment, to spring up from between the tables. He was ready. But nothing happened.

He stopped.

Something was wrong.

Then, across the room, at the base of the far wall, he spotted a dark reflection in the shiny red granite. A shadowy image, like looking through a soda bottle, rippling across the mirrorlike qualities of the finish.

From the floor.

Beneath the tables.

And then he realized.

EIGHTY-FOUR

WASHINGTON, DC

STEPHANIE HEARD THE GUNFIRE, BUT NO BULLET STRUCK HER. Then she saw the hole in the side of Brent Green's head and realized what had happened.

She turned.

Heather Dixon stood, gun in hand.

Green's body thudded to the hardwood floor, but she continued to watch Dixon, who lowered her weapon.

Cassiopeia walked up behind the Israeli.

"That's the end of that," Dixon said.

Stephanie caught Cassiopeia's attention. "What happened?"

"When you and Green went back to the office, she appeared. We were right. Green brought a few friends, who were waiting out back. The Secret Service grabbed them and then"-Cassiopeia pointed at Dixon-"she came inside."

Stephanie understood. "You're working with the president?"

"Had to be done. This bastard was going to sell us all out. He and your vice president could well have started a world war with what they planned."

She sensed something from the tone and wanted to know, "What about you and Daley?"

"I liked Larry. He approached us for help, told us what was happening, and he and I got to be close. Believe it or not, he was trying to stop things. You have to give him that."

"Been a whole lot easier if you both had just come to me with what you had."

Dixon shook her head. "That's your problem, Stephanie. You live in this idealistic bubble. You hated Larry. You didn't like Green. You thought the White House didn't like you. How were you going to be able to do anything?"

"But she made the perfect bait," Cassiopeia said. "Didn't she?"

"Every line needs a lure, and you two were this one's."

Stephanie still held the CD she'd planted in Daley's office. The disk was blank. Just something to get Green to react. "They get everything on tape out there?" She'd been wired before they left Camp David.

Cassiopeia nodded. "All of it."

"What about the Saudis?" she asked Dixon. "You were working with them when we first talked."

"Typical Arabs. Playing both sides. They were originally in league with the vice president, thinking he was going to help stop anything relating to the Alexandria Link. Then they figured out that was bullshit. So they back-channeled to us and we made a deal. On the mall that day, they were there just to spur you on, nothing more. Of course, none of us was aware that you'd acquired a partner." Dixon motioned with the gun at Cassiopeia. "I still owe you one for that dart."

"Maybe one day you'll get the chance to repay me."

Dixon smiled. "Maybe."

Stephanie stared at the body of Brent Green. She recalled how he'd suggested that he might be interested in her and how, for a moment, she'd liked the possibility. He'd actually defended her, supposedly been willing to resign in order to stand with her, and she'd found herself questioning all the doubts she'd harbored about him.

But it had all been an act.

"The president sent me to end this," Dixon said, interrupting her thoughts. "No trials. No press. The attorney general was a troubled man who took his own life. His body will be cremated and a death certificate issued by military medical examiners. Suicide. He'll be given a lavish burial and remembered fondly. End of story."

"And the Alexandria Link?" she asked.

"George Haddad has disappeared. We're hoping Malone has him. Haddad called Palestine months ago, then again a few days ago. After the first time, and after Larry told me things, we latched on to Pam Malone. The Mossad planned to take Gary Malone. But our prime minister balked. Then the Order beat us to it. With Pam Malone tagged, we just followed. But that didn't work out so well. Then all this happened. Daniels has assured us that nothing will come of anything. My government trusts him."

"Has anyone heard from Cotton?"

Dixon shook her head. "The last we heard he parachuted down somewhere in the Sinai. But it doesn't matter. If anything is found, the deal is we never hear about it."

"And once Daniels is no longer president?" Cassiopeia asked.

"Should be forgotten by then. If not, Israel will do what it's done for centuries. Fight like hell. We've managed and we'll continue."

And Stephanie believed that. But there was one other point. "The vice president. What about him?"

"From all we know, only Green, the VP, and Alfred Hermann understood exactly what was going to happen. When Green heard the conversation Larry recorded with the VP's chief of staff, he panicked and asked the Saudis to take Daley out. In typical fashion, they never mentioned that to us or we would have stopped them. But you can't trust an Arab." Dixon paused. "You two showing up, meeting with Larry, panicked Green, and he convinced the Saudis to move on you, too. After Daniels stopped the attack, killing all the hired help, and now with Green gone, it's all over for the Saudis."

Stephanie pointed to Green. "What about this?"

"We have people waiting to take this piece of crap back to his house, where his body will be found later today. Larry's death will not be attributed to any terrorist attack, as Green had planned."

"That could prove tough. The car did explode."

"The case will simply go down as unsolved. But it will have undertones, ones Daniels can exploit, like what these idiots had planned. I think Larry might actually like that one. He can still be of help, even from the grave."

"You haven't explained," Cassiopeia said, "how this can be contained with the VP still around?"

Dixon shrugged. "That's Daniels's problem." Then the Israeli found her cell phone, hit a button, and said, "Mr. President, Green's dead, just as you wanted."

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