The Library of the Kings (A Tom Wagner Adventure Book 2)

by M. C. Roberts

  The group split up. The nuns and the man in the wheelchair steered in his direction, the man and the woman turned into the Via delle Fornaci, and Cloutard remained where he was, alone and looking a little lost. Farid saw his chance. He fingered the gun in his jacket pocket. His hands were still trembling, and his mouth was dry. He had always hated guns. He had never wanted to become one of those people who achieved their goals by force. His heart was pounding, but he was more determined than ever before in his life. This was for Shamira.

  He went after Cloutard, who strolled away toward the road running along the south side of the Vatican, the Via della Stazione Vaticana.

  37

  A suite at the St. Regis Hotel, Washington D.C.

  Ossana Ibori seldom had time for herself, but she didn’t attach much importance to it. Her life ran on danger, action, excitement, and adrenaline. She could not understand people who needed time to relax, who were looking for equilibrium in their lives, who wanted to switch off. She loved life at the limit, and she loved having to prove herself every single day. And yes, she also loved the power she had over life and death. She believed firmly in the survival of the fittest, the natural law of eat or be eaten—and she had no intention of being eaten. So moments like this were rare. She lay in the oversized tub in the bathroom of her suite, drinking champagne and listening to music: Georg Philipp Telemann’s “Tafelmusik.”

  She didn’t know where the idea had come from, but she had suddenly remembered the piece of music that Jacinto Guerra had always listened to. Pity about him, she thought. He had been a good soldier. He had fought valiantly for the cause, and had almost seen their mutual plan through to success in Barcelona. If only that cop, Tom Wagner, hadn’t blundered in. Ossana was a stranger to banal feelings like revenge. But one day Tom Wagner would have to pay for Guerra’s death. Maybe one day soon: this time she had done the planning, and her plan was fiendishly good. She knew that Wagner would never expect what was coming his way. She smiled, closed her eyes and tipped her head back. She breathed in the scent of the essential oils in the bath salts, and understood for the first time why Guerra had loved this music so much.

  The buzz of her cell phone broke the silence. She snatched at the phone, but when she looked at the display her face brightened.

  “Isaac!” she called.

  A moment later a naked man appeared at the bathroom door and smiled at her.

  “Again? Really? You can’t get enough, can you.”

  “Shut up, idiot.” She held the phone out for him and he read the message she had just received. “Book a flight, now. I’ll take care of the rest. You’ll get all the details later.”

  Isaac Hagen nodded. A few minutes later he reappeared in the bathroom.

  “My plane leaves in two hours.”

  Ossana grinned lecherously. “Looks like we have time for another round after all.”

  38

  1904, Ephesus, Greece

  Louis de Mey was thrilled. He’d made it: he was part of the Austrian Archaeological Institute’s team, taking part in the Ephesus excavation. It didn’t matter to him that he was just there to dig and would probably never find anything of any real value. He was going to witness firsthand the reawakening of ancient history. Only a few years had passed since the British archaeologist John Turtle Wood had discovered the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, and the first remains of the city had already been excavated. Now, the Austrians had been hard at work for several years and had recently been tasked with excavating other parts of the city, including public buildings and private residences. And Louis was there with them. He had been issued his tools the day before and had already made a few friends among the other workers. He was so excited that he couldn’t sleep, though he knew he had an early start the next day. But maybe the other workers had a hand in his sleeplessness, too—almost everyone else in his tent was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Either way, for Louis, sleep was out of the question.

  Instead, he went for a walk through the excavation site. The moonlight bathed the dusty mounds, the boulders and pits, in a milky, almost romantic light. Louis felt that he had arrived at the destination of his dreams. Even as a child he had been fascinated by the ancient Greeks, and now he had the opportunity to experience them for himself, up close. He was wandering aimlessly through the camp when he suddenly heard voices. In the largest tent, a light still burned. That was most likely the tent housing the excavation leaders, he thought. He didn’t really want to eavesdrop, but his curiosity got the better of him. He crept closer to the tent, crouched by one of the walls and listened.

  “Can that really be possible? It seems highly unlikely to me,” Louis heard a voice say.

  “I know it is difficult to believe, my dear colleague, but let us recapitulate the sequence: Arsinoe was sent into exile by her sister Cleopatra and fled to Ephesus. And perhaps, in the Octagon, we have indeed found her grave,” a second voice replied.

  “And her eunuch, Ganymedes, was a thorn in Caesar’s side during the Alexandrian war. It is certainly possible that Ganymedes was able to spirit parts of the library to safety, and that these then found their way to Ephesus with Arsinoe,” added a third.

  “Can you imagine what that would mean?” the second voice said. “Can you imagine what would happen if we could tell His Imperial Highness Franz Joseph that we had found the Library of Alexandria far from Egypt, here in the heart of Greece?”

  Louis’s eyes widened and he almost squealed with excitement, but managed to pull himself together before he actually made a sound. He pressed his hand over his mouth and kept listening.

  “It would be a sensation, no doubt about it. But we have to be absolutely certain before we reveal any of this to the public.”

  “I could not agree more,” the second voice said. “So what would you suggest?”

  “We keep this between us. It’s for the best. We work night shifts, retrieve the documents from the site ourselves, pack them in plain boxes and ship them to Austria as quickly as possible. We can analyze everything there at our leisure and consider our next steps.”

  Louis could hardly believe his ears. Had they really found documents from the Library of Alexandria here? He needed to know more. Gone from his mind was the excavation. He didn’t know how he would accomplish it, but he had to get to Vienna and find out more about this discovery.

  39

  Close to St. Peter’s Square, Rome

  “Hellen, give me a minute to explain what happened in Cairo. Please.”

  After they had left the Vatican, Tom had managed to persuade Hellen to talk in private.

  Hellen looked at Tom in a way he could not put into words; rejection and disillusionment were etched on her face. She sighed. She had heard Tom explain his way out of things too many times. She was starting to tire of his justifications.

  “I don’t know what it’s supposed to change, but go ahead. Explain to me why you killed my boyfriend. Explain to me why you solved yet another problem with a gun and not like a normal, civilized human being.”

  Hellen’s voice was icy. The hot wind that swept the streets of Rome did nothing to lessen the chill that had settled over Tom and Hellen, colder than ever before. They had never been as distant from each other as they were now; not even when she had told him in Vienna, after the Florentine diamond affair, that she was going to take the job she’d been offered at UNESCO—and in doing so, deprived their relationship of any hope of a future. Tom decided not to try to match her cynicism. That was a game he could only lose. For the first time, he found himself speaking to Hellen with a clear mind, instead of launching himself headfirst into an argument. Instead, he focused on the facts.

  “We searched the museum for the room where the amphoras were being kept. We had no idea you or your friend would be there.“

  He knew he was not telling the complete truth; he and Cloutard had actually seen them enter the museum. But, erring on the side of caution, Tom decided to leave that detail out for now.

  �
��And?” Hellen said, annoyed. She had turned away, and was looking absently into the display windows outside the Teatro Ghione. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, look him in the eye.

  “We came around a corner and ran practically head first into that guy. Arno, I mean. He had a gun in his hand and he shot at me without warning. Cloutard just managed to push me clear of the line of fire. Then we were both facing each other with guns drawn, but he didn’t listen to my warnings. I pulled the trigger before he fired a second time.”

  Hellen suddenly stopped. For the first time since Arno’s death, one thing suddenly stood out: she had completely ignored the question of where Arno had gotten the gun. Everything had happened so fast, and emotions and events had been tumbling over each other: Noah’s liberation, the library in the Vatican, the memories of her father.

  “Arno really did fire first?”

  “Yes. I’ve been trying to tell you that the whole time.”

  Normally, Tom would have had more to say at this point. You never listen to me, for instance. But he bit his tongue and swallowed the words. He knew exactly what Hellen looked like when she was thinking. And right now, her gray cells were definitely working overtime.

  “This is too much right now. I have to think it all through. Let’s forget about it for now.”

  Tom was amazed. He was just starting to think “that was easy” when Hellen’s index finger shot up. “That doesn’t mean we’re done with this,” she snapped. “I loved that man. But, clearly, there are still questions to be answered.”

  Tom’s phone pinged. He looked at the display and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Let me guess,” said Hellen. “Noah’s organized a flight for us to Salzburg.”

  “Yes and no. The Pope has given us one of the Vatican’s private jets.”

  40

  Close to the Vatican, Rome

  Cloutard had already walked some distance along the Via della Stazione Vaticana, following the walls of the Vatican. He loved the Eternal City. Business had often brought him here in the past, and he had even negotiated a very lucrative deal or two with the Vatican itself. He smiled bitterly when he thought back to those times, but after the dry spell of the last few months, he was starting to feel strong again. If he did not manage to turn the present situation to his own advantage somehow, he thought, then he must truly be dealing with the devil.

  “Vous n’êtes pas un idiot, bon sang!” he murmured to himself. “You’re not an idiot, damn it!”

  He paused. He had reached the dead end and now turned left onto the steps that led down to Via Aurelia. He had only descended a short way when he heard footsteps behind him, and a second later, felt the barrel of a pistol at his neck.

  “François, the clock is ticking. I have heard nothing from you for 48 hours. I don’t want to wait for my money any longer.”

  Farid surprised even himself. He actually sounded angry and threatening. He circled Cloutard until they were standing face to face, but he kept the pistol pointed at Cloutard’s head.

  “Farid, I need a little more time. A few more days. But it really will be worth your while,” Cloutard said, trying to pacify him.

  “We . . . I don’t have a few more days,” Farid bellowed, suddenly beside himself. His voice echoed threateningly from the walls of the stairway.

  “We?” Cloutard asked in surprise. “Who is ‘we’?”

  “This isn’t about me. My daughter is . . . is dying, and we need the money for her surgery. But that is none of your business. You were at the Vatican just now. I want to know what you were doing there. Whatever your business was, I hope it will bring you enough money, because I want my money not in a few days, not one day, but tomorrow, as agreed. Tomorrow!”

  Farid took a step toward Cloutard and pressed the gun beneath his chin.

  “Calme-toi! I’ll tell you everything,” Cloutard said breathlessly. Farid stepped back again, but kept Cloutard in his sights. An old woman, walking with her grandchildren and scolding them loudly in Italian, came down the stairs just then. She looked at the two men and the pistol and kept walking past as if it were the most day-to-day sight in the world. The two children made finger-pistols and shouted “bang, bang!” play-shooting at each other as they ran down the stairs. Seconds later, Farid and Cloutard were alone again, still staring at each other.

  “I suspect you won’t believe a word of what I’m about to tell you,” Cloutard said.

  “Try me. Speak!” Farid snarled.

  Cloutard straightened up, adjusted his hat, took a breath and tried to sound as credible as he could.

  “We went to see the Pope, because the Library of Alexandria is hidden in the Vatican. One part of this library contains the Philosopher’s Stone. You know, that thing that can turn anything into gold. The problem is that part of the stone is missing and now the Pope has given us the task of retrieving it.”

  Cloutard, abashed, cleared his throat and looked at Farid, whose expression hadn’t changed.

  “Oh, well, if that’s all it is. Why didn’t you say so right away?” Farid said calmly.

  Cloutard raised in eyebrows in surprise. A heartbeat later, Farid jumped at him and pressed the gun even harder between his eyes.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, you ridiculous frog? You think I’m stupid enough to swallow a story like that?”

  Cloutard threw his hands in the air, his eyes clenched shut in fright as he cried, “Wait! Wait! I can prove it!”

  Farid seemed unimpressed. The barrel of the pistol still bored into Cloutard’s forehead. “I’m curious to know how you’re going to do that,” he said. His voice had turned merciless.

  “My phone is in my left jacket pocket. Take it out.”

  Farid removed Cloutard’s phone from his pocket and handed it to him. “Show me your proof.”

  “I knew that no one would believe me. No one really believes in this hocus-pocus. Except for the Pope, he obviously does.”

  Cloutard opened his phone and found the video he was looking for.

  “Look at the video. I took this a few minutes ago in the Pope’s chambers. I promise you that you will get your share, more money than you ever dared to dream of.”

  Cloutard pressed the play button and held the phone for Farid to see, but it only made him angrier.

  “You can’t see a damn thing here. Is this really supposed to change my mind? All the Catholic Church has ever done is lie, cheat and kill.” Farid was spitting with anger. “I’m giving you one extra day, no more. If you don’t have my money 48 hours from now, you’re a dead man. Don’t underestimate me.”

  41

  Nonnberg Abbey, Salzburg, Austria

  Nonnberg Abbey was the oldest continuously used Christian convent in the world. It had been built atop the Nonnberg, a small hill situated just below and to the northeast of the larger hill known as the Festungsberg, close to the heart of Salzburg.

  “The entire Nonnberg Abbey complex, including all its walls and archaeological finds, is a listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, along with everything else in the historical center of the city,” said Hellen as they followed the winding path upward.

  The four nuns led the way in single file, as they marched up the hill. Sister Lucrezia, the Mother Superior, led the way. Behind her, like organ pipes arranged in order of size, came Sister Alfonsina, Sister Renata and Sister Bartolomea. They were an odd-looking quartet, with Sister Alfonsina, at six foot three, looming over the others and Sister Bartolomea not even five feet tall. Sister Renata, like the Mother Superior, was somewhere in between.

  “The convent also houses an important collection of medieval manuscripts, Gothic sculpture and paintings. The late-Gothic winged altarpieces are particularly impressive,” said the Mother Superior.

  “The ivory pastoral, the staff used by the abbess from 1242, is also extremely valuable,” Hellen added.

  “Then it’s probably good that François didn’t come. He probably could have put it to good use,” Tom quipped.

 
The four nuns, appalled at the very idea, frowned at Tom, but nodded. All four had already had a taste of terror and violence during their last adventure with Tom, but theft—to say nothing of murder—still seemed preposterous to them.

  “Let us drop that topic for now, Signor Tom,” said Sister Lucrezia sternly. “We are on holy ground.”

  “And how do we find this sister who’s supposed to be able to help us?” Tom asked as a group of ten nuns passed by in the other direction.

  Sister Lucrezia said nothing, and Tom could tell that she was avoiding something. The other three nuns began to whisper. Tom stopped and looked ahead at Lucrezia.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  Sister Lucrezia stopped but still said nothing, so Alfonsina, the tallest of the nuns, screwed up her courage and said, “The abbess, Sister Agnes, is not very fond of Sister Lucrezia.”

  Sister Lucrezia frowned. Tom looked at Hellen in surprise and she shrugged. Finally, Sister Lucrezia took a deep breath and hesitantly said, “Sister Agnes is the worst cook in the world.”

  Tom had to swallow hard to stop himself from laughing out loud. “Excuse me?” he managed to say.

  “Many years ago, we worked together in the kitchen. From time to time we had . . . differences of opinion.”

  Bartolomea could no longer contain herself. “Differences of opinion? You threw pots of spaghetti at each other!”

  Now Tom and Hellen could not hold back their laughter. The three younger nuns joined in, and a smile slowly appeared even on Sister Lucrezia’s face. “Maybe she’s forgotten about it,” she said meekly, but no one was willing to believe her.