by David Wood
To her chagrin, Stone seemed to have his answer already prepared. “I would have thought that a historian, of all people, would understand the importance of not jumping to conclusions.”
“You as much as admitted to being a thief. I suppose you’re going to tell me it was for some greater good? That you’re a modern day Robin Hood?”
“Robin Hood.” He rolled the words around in his mouth as if trying to decide whether he liked the flavor. “No. My motives are not quite so altruistic.” He studied her for a moment. “You already have the answer. I haven’t lied to you about anything. Set aside your prejudices and look for the pattern.”
His reply was maddening, but before Avery could frame a response to the challenge, the shuttle pulled up to the entrance of the Dulles Airport Marriott hotel. They disembarked and went inside to the registration desk where Kasey signed in, consigned the duffel bag with the Spear to the hotel safe, and collected the keycards for their rooms. They lingered there only long enough to freshen up and within half an hour, were in a taxi bound for Capitol Hill.
Despite its name, the Library of Congress was far more than just a repository of books for use by the American legislative branch. Arguably the largest library in the world, it contained millions of manuscripts, maps, photographs and other media, housed in four different locations, one of which was situated more than fifty miles away in Culpepper, Virginia. It was the modern equivalent of the Library of Alexandria, a collection of diverse knowledge so vast that several lifetimes would be required to take in the information it contained. Avery would have liked to spend a week simply browsing the collection, letting her curiosity lead her into strange corners of history, but the urgency of the situation did not allow for such indulgences.
A visit to the Library was almost enough to make her forget about the enigma that was Gavin Stone. Almost. Sitting beside him on the long taxi ride into the heart of D.C., she could not help but think about his cryptic challenge.
You already have the answer. Look for the pattern.
The maddening part was that she was giving into it, trying to find some reason to excuse what he was and what he had done. That wasn’t at all like her. She preferred uncomplicated men.
Do I? Really? A long string of uncomplicated ex-boyfriends suggested otherwise. Not that Stone seemed like boyfriend material.
She shook her head to clear away that thought. The fact that they would be working together was reason enough to figure him out.
Using a variation of Stone’s own methods, she tried to assemble a mental list of everything that she knew or thought she knew about the man.
Tam trusts him implicitly, but why? She would have to learn more about the nature of their relationship.
He has stolen data from the NSA.
No, she corrected. He’s been accused of doing that, but I shouldn’t assume I have the whole story. She would have to learn more about that as well.
He admitted to being a thief, or something to that effect, and he had demonstrated his skills in that respect, but that alone was no basis for judgment. She had committed her own fair share of illicit acts which, when taken out of context, would be construed as criminal behavior.
Stone had said something else as well. I haven’t lied to you.
What hadn’t he lied about?
Look for the pattern.
Pattern. The word took her back to their conversation at the coffee shop in Vienna. At the time, it had seemed like so much empty philosophical rhetoric. Chaos theory and predestination. All of reality just one big virtual reality simulation. She didn’t buy any of it; what sane person would?
Was that what he had meant? Did Stone really believe that the entire universe was governed by some elaborate pattern of logic and that everything in it was predictable, if only the pattern could be recognized? If so, how did that correlate to his criminal activities?
The taxi brought them to Independence Avenue, and the entrance to the James Madison Memorial Building, the largest of the three Library buildings on Capitol Hill and the third largest federal building in the D.C. metro area, surpassed only by the Pentagon and the J. Edgar Hoover FBI headquarters. Unlike the classically-inspired Thomas Jefferson Building—the primary Library building—or the Capitol, both of which were just across the street, the Madison building was modern in design, not surprising given that it had first opened its doors in 1980. Nevertheless, it was in its own way elegant. The tree-lined walk to the front entrance featured numerous quotes from the nation’s fourth president, espousing the importance of learning and knowledge as essential to liberty and governance. The most impressive feature however was a four-story high bronze relief depicting a cascade of open books pouring down the side of the building.
The effect was somewhat diminished by the utilitarian security queue, with its walk-through metal detector and X-ray conveyor belt. In addition to the requisite security concerns of a public building, the Library also prohibited items that might be used to deface or even steal books and other materials, as well as anything that might prove disruptive. The screening was only a minor inconvenience. They had purposely left behind anything that might have aroused suspicion. Avery imagined that Kasey and Sievers probably felt naked without their guns, but neither of them showed the least bit of discomfort. The CIA officer and the security contractor appeared calm, if a little bored.
They passed through the main entry hall, a monument to the building’s namesake, and made their way to the research assistance desk on the first floor to submit a request for the Patton diary microfilm.
“You’ll need to obtain a reader identification card,” explained the woman at the desk. “You can do it from your phone, or use one of the registration stations. When you’re finished, just bring your driver’s license to me, and we’ll get your card printed up.”
Avery was familiar with the credentialing procedure, which wasn’t much different than applying for an ordinary library card in any city, but the process presented a hurdle for Stone, who had no official documentation whatsoever. Sievers and Kasey seemed reluctant to produce passports or licenses as well. In the end, it was decided that Avery would go alone into the research area while the others waited just outside.
It took only a few minutes for her to obtain her reader ID, after which she submitted her request for the Patton diary.
“That’s only available in microfilm,” the clerk explained after processing the request. “You’ll have to go to the Microform Reading room across the street. It will be waiting for you when you get there. Your card will give you access to the research entrance. You can get there using the tunnel.” She handed Avery a paper map with the route marked in pencil.
“Great,” Kasey muttered as they headed out. “More secret passages.”
Stone grinned. “We’ll try to avoid the dungeon this time.”
“And the crypt.”
Avery felt a twinge of envy. Although she had enjoyed roaming the galleries of the Hofburg, Stone and Kasey had seen a part of old Vienna that few others even knew existed, walking through history, as it were. Next time, she promised herself, I’m not staying back at the hotel.
The tunnel connecting the buildings of the Capitol complex was considerably more prosaic, well-lit, with tiled floors and bland, painted walls, spacious enough for them to walk four abreast. At the far end, they ascended an ornate marble staircase that let out onto a balcony overlooking the magnificent Main Reading Room, which lay beneath the vaulted copper dome of the Jefferson Building. The room beyond was a feast for the eyes, as beautiful as anything Avery had seen in Vienna, with marble columns, stacked balconies, and everywhere, art—murals and sculptures. The floor below was arranged in a series of concentric rings of reading tables, and at the center was a desk where researchers could pick up requested materials, delivered by conveyor belt.
“This is where we part company,” Avery announced. “You guys may want to go grab a cup of coffee or something. I tend to lose track of time in libraries.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Avery replied. “Besides, the microfilm machines are in a different room. You won’t be able to see me.”
“Then we’ll watch the door.”
Avery shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”
She made her way down the stairs to the main floor and found the entrance to the Microform Reading Room. The décor was less extravagant than the main reading room, but still possessed a historic flair that Avery found appealing. Microfilm and microfiche had once been the cutting edge of document preservation. The advent of the digital age had made film effectively obsolete, but because the Library of Congress collection of film was so large, the process of scanning all the microform images into digital format would probably take decades, which meant that the old microfilm reading machines still had a role to play.
A research assistant directed her to the machine where the film had already been set up for her. In principle, the machine was not much different than a PowerPoint slide show or ebook, and the large back-lit screen actually made for easier reading than the original, which was a plus given the fact that it was a hand-written document. She started at the beginning, speed reading through the entries. She had to resist the urge to skip ahead or start looking for specific catch phrases and keywords as she had done during her first read-through.
Set aside my prejudices, she told herself.
The diary was more personal in nature than she recalled from her first reading, full of musings on war and history. Patton recounted dreams in which he roamed ancient battlefields and fought as a Roman legionary with Julius Caesar in campaigns against the Germanic tribes that had once inhabited the same lands where his troops and tanks fought in his own lifetime. There were poems, some epic in scope, some dark and foreboding in their contemplation of life and death and the mysteries of the universe. Darkest of all were his premonitions of the future that lay ahead, both for the war-torn world and for himself.
Patton opined on topics ranging from Stalin’s brutality to the incompetence of Allied leaders, particularly “Ike” for whom Patton seemed to have only contempt. He spoke of the Germans as a noble warrior race who, despite being beaten, were ready to be forged into an army capable of defeating the Soviets, if only someone possessed the political will to do so, and disparaged the Jews liberated from the death camps as miserable “animals” unworthy of the blood that had been shed to free them.
Avery found the latter sentiment particularly shocking. She wondered how many people, like Sievers, who practically worshiped Patton, knew that side of his personality. Given the fact that the Nazi ideology, most recently embraced by the Dominion, refused to die, the answer was probably a lot more than she wanted to believe.
Could that be the secret everyone was after? Proof that one of America’s greatest heroes was a closeted anti-Semite? Such a revelation, while discomfiting, hardly seemed of earth-shaking importance, but she could not dismiss it.
She kept reading, fully immersing herself in the narrative.
The tone changed with his discovery of the Spear of Destiny. This was the part of the document that she had paid the most attention to previously, but her new insights into the man caused her to see it all from a much different perspective. The Spear was not merely an object that had belonged to some of the most powerful leaders in history. It was uniquely tied up in their conquests and, in too many cases, their downfalls. Yet, Patton did not seem to ascribe supernatural power to it. Rather, it was the thread that connected men of greatness, and the fact that it had now come within his grasp seemed only to amplify his sense of his own importance.
He spoke of his own destiny in similarly mythic terms, comparing himself to Julius Caesar, who despite winning every battle, recognized that the greatest challenge would be to forge an empire. Although couched in metaphor and hyperbole, there was little question in Avery’s mind that Patton had set himself on a path to transform from military leader to something even greater.
The meaning of the gift, all those long years ago, is now apparent to me. Just as the Spear of Constantine was handed down through the ages, a symbol of God’s Will for men of greatness, so too is that forgotten treasure, the Devil’s gift to me. I understand now what I could not have imagined then, that the seed, planted in a fallow field and left untended all these many years, is now about to bear fruit.
Treasure. She had remembered that, but the reference was so oblique that she did not think it was meant to be taken literally.
Caesar’s ultimate fate was not lost on Patton.
These wars that I have fought are nothing beside the field which I must next take. I will command no armies, and my enemies will conspire in shadows rather than face me. This is not the fight that I have prepared for, nor will victory bring the glory I hunger for, yet I realize now that it is the test for which I have lived. I may fall, but that is not failure. To shrink from this test—that is failure, and by God, I will not fail.
Yet, what if it be God’s will that I fall? Will another harvest the seed? I have never spoken of what happened that night, so long ago, when the Devil gave me his last gift. None know of it. It may be that someone will stumble upon it, someone seeking a different treasure perhaps. I have heard that the scout is still tramping about in the desert looking for silver and gold. I have often wondered if he understood more than he let on. What would happen if a man like that found it first? Like any sword, it is only as effective as the man who wields it. In the wrong hands, it could destroy the very thing I hope to create.
It is not for me to decide my own fate, and there are none I trust with the secret. A man should not live as if he is about to die, but I must nevertheless make some provision so that, in the event that Brutus should strike the blow that Pompey could not, the knowledge of this thing should not pass away entirely.
I should not tell of it directly. Let him that hath understanding count the number. The spear will point the way.
Beneath the paragraph was a string of numbers.
29 33 13 108 10 8
Avery’s breath caught in her throat. How had she missed this before?
“The Spear will point the way,” she murmured, wondering how that was meant to be interpreted. Would the Spear literally guide them to the secret Patton had been keeping, like some sort of magical compass?
Perhaps she had not been completely wrong after all. The Spear of Destiny was the key to solving the mystery.
She willed herself to be calm. The numbers had to be a code of some sort, and the code had to be significant, but it was too soon to declare victory. She had erred once by jumping to a conclusion about the Spear of Destiny, and the result had nearly been disastrous. She took out her phone and called Kasey.
She could hear the tumult of background noise over the line. It was a stark contrast to the absolute quiet of the reading room. The public areas of the Library were more tourist attraction than true library, but she had been so immersed in her reading that she had forgotten that there was a world beyond the walls. She glanced at her watch, noting that it was now after 4 p.m. She had been at this for over two hours.
“Find anything?” Kasey asked without preamble.
“I think so.” She spoke in a whisper, not wanting to draw attention to her breach of etiquette in using her phone. “Some kind of number code.”
She heard Stone’s voice, less distinct but still audible. “Get a picture of it.”
Avery frowned. Strictly speaking, photography wasn’t allowed, but she knew the prohibition was more of a strong suggestion than a hard and fast rule. She held her phone up to the screen and snapped a photo.
Someone behind her cleared his throat. “Excuse me miss, but photography isn’t allowed.”
Avery turned, a guilty flush blooming on her cheeks. An apology was on her lips, but before she could utter a word, she froze.
Two men stood behind her, dressed in chea
p suits that didn’t hide their hulking physiques. Yet, it was not the presence of the two men that started alarm bells ringing in her head, but rather the fact that, aside from the three of them, the room was empty. A chill shot through her, numbing her extremities.
“You’re going to have to come with us, miss,” one of the men said in an officious tone.
“I don’t think so,” Avery mumbled. Her first instinct was to protest, to state the obvious. No way were these men library staff. They couldn’t make her go with them. Yet, she knew that such responses were merely a form of denial. If she continued to treat this situation as something that she could explain her way out of, the opportunity to escape would slip away.
The men were Dominion, or perhaps Russian operatives. There was no trace of accent, but all that meant was that they were good at their job.
The realization triggered a flood of questions, none of which mattered at this moment. That too was a form of denial—the compulsion to understand what was happening—which might also prove costly. Only one thing mattered now.
She held the phone close, but before she could even think about what to do with it, one of the men ripped it from her grasp. “No phones in the Library,” he said, still trying to maintain the illusion of an official role. “If you need to make a call, you can do it from the security office.”
She drew in a breath and opened her mouth to cry for help, but the other man, evidently sensing that the ruse had failed, struck like a rattlesnake, seizing hold of her and spinning her around, slapping a hand over her mouth. “If you scream, I’ll snap your neck,” he growled, abandoning all pretense.
Against every instinct of self-preservation, Avery knew what she had to do. She bit down on the man’s hand as hard as she could, and when he reflexively yanked it away, she screamed until her lungs hurt.
