Library of Gold

by Gayle Lynds

  She felt a chill. “I’ll settle for three million.”

  “Much better. I’ll make the phone call to release the funds, but it’ll take a few hours for it to be deposited into your account. Or you can have it in a cashier’s check or any other financial instrument you like. By tomorrow morning you’ll have your money.”

  “A cashier’s check will be fine.”

  With a flush of excitement, she looked around. She had left Plaka and had entered the Makrigianni district. She was on the Dionysiou Areopagitou, a wide pedestrian boulevard. To her left stood a line of stylish houses in Art Deco and neoclassical styles, and to her right was the massive Acropolis, the city’s long-ago spiritual center. With a thrill she stared up the slope. She could see only a white crest of the spotlighted ruins high above. Then she noticed people were streaming past her, toward the entrance to the Acropolis park, which lay below and on which were the remains of what had been ancient Athens’s intellectual and cultural center. She could see bright lights in the Theater of Dionysus. There must be a concert or show of some kind, she decided. A crowd could be useful.

  She explained where she would wait for him. “What do you look like?”

  When he told her, she described her disguise.

  “I’ll be there in only a few minutes,” he assured her.

  Controlling his frustration, Preston stood with his cell phone in his hand as he and two of his men scanned for Robin. They were in an alcove on Adrianou, Plaka’s main street, which was packed with tourist shops. She had phoned from the outdoor café across the way. They had searched the area and seen no sign of her, which told him either she had spotted them and was hiding, or she had moved on.

  When his cell rang, he snapped it up. The caller was Irene, his NSA contact.

  “Your person of interest has been talking on her cell again.” Irene sounded nervous. “The call ended about fifteen minutes ago. She was heading south. I can’t help you anymore, Preston. Something’s happened here. Everyone’s being watched. I had to get into my car and drive off the premises to phone you. I’m worried they’re going to investigate my NRO queries and searches.” The NRO was the National Reconnaissance Office, which designed, built, and operated U.S. recon satellites—and collected the data from them.

  Inwardly he swore. “Give me the exact information. Everything you’ve learned. I’ll take it from here.”

  55

  The air was warm, the stars bright overhead as Judd and Eva hurried up wide marble paving stones to the entrance of the Acropolis architectural park. Carrying their large duffel, he bought tickets, and they passed through an open gate to where a wide path climbed a gentle slope. Tall cypress and olive trees swayed in a light wind, spectral in the night. He could see an ancient amphitheater in an open area, a magnificent sight. Its rows of crumbled white stone benches rose up the hill in a semicircle, and for a moment he imagined what it must have been like two millennia ago, the vast crowds, the excitement in the air.

  The theater’s base—the stage—was brightly illuminated by klieg lights. A woman in classical Greek dress stood before the large audience, which sat on blankets and cushions on the remains of the terraced rows. As she spoke into a microphone, a cluster of men and women in white robes and tunics cinched with colored braids waited at the side of the stage. A small camera crew was filming.

  “Along here beneath the Acropolis,” she was telling her listeners, “are the ruins of the world’s first complex of buildings dedicated to the performing arts. This noble old theater dates back to before Alexander the Great. On this very stage immortal masterpieces were premiered—and drama and comedy were born.”

  “Am I right that we’re looking at the Theater of Dionysus?” Judd asked Eva as they neared.

  “Yes. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? When it was new, the walls, stone seating, and thrones were covered in marble and carved with satyrs and lions’ paws and gods and goddesses.”

  Without being asked, she clasped her satchel to her side and slipped into the shadow of a tall marble block across the path from the rear of the open stage, and Judd climbed steps on the west side. The speaker continued, alternating her lecture in Greek and English.

  Twenty terraces up, a woman was sitting alone at the edge, a shopping bag at her feet. She looked stiff, stressed. A couple with four children and more people sat in the same row, but close to the center. The stage lights did not reach this far, leaving only the illumination of the moon and stars to show the woman’s brown hair and dumpy figure. If he had not known she was Robin Miller, he would not have recognized her.

  She slid over to make room for him. “Judd Ryder?” Her tone was strained.

  He sat. “Hello, Robin. Ready to get out of Athens?”

  She was staring down the hillside. “Who came with you?”

  Now he knew one thing—Robin was smart. She had placed herself high and in the darkness deliberately to watch unseen anyone who arrived. He had purposefully not told her earlier about Eva, since they did not know how she would react to Charles’s wife—or that he had been the one who had killed Charles.

  “My partner,” he said. “I’ll introduce you. She’s keeping watch.”

  She nodded. “That’s okay. Let’s go.”

  He led the way back down and then across the pathway to where Eva was waiting, her black hair and dark blue jacket and jeans hidden in the shadow beside the great marble block.

  “Is The Book of Spies nearby?” he asked Robin.

  “Yes. In a Metro station.”

  Eva walked out to greet them, a welcoming smile on her face.

  But Robin frowned and took a step backward. “You’re Eva Blake. Charles’s wife. Preston told me you were involved in Charles’s murder.” She stared angrily at Judd. “You said she was your partner.”

  “She is,” Judd told her. “I’ll explain as we walk. Remember, we’re going to help you escape. That’s what matters.”

  Robin’s face flushed as she glared at them. Then her eyes darted, and her muscles seemed to tense. Suddenly she turned, threw away her shopping bag, and rushed off toward the park’s entrance.

  “I’ll handle this.” Eva ran after her.

  Judd caught up with them. Robin was marching quickly along, two furious red spots on her cheeks, her chin held high. And he saw she had not dyed her hair but was instead wearing a wig—it had slipped, exposing the back of her shaved skull. He kept pace on the other side of her.

  “I’m sorry about Charles, too,” Eva was saying soothingly. “No one wanted him to die. Were you in love with him?”

  “What happened?” Robin snapped, not breaking her stride. “Did you kill him?”

  “It was an accident,” Eva explained. “There was a struggle, and his gun went off. I never knew Charles to carry a gun, so that must’ve started after he left me. But he’d told me something important, something you should hear—he wanted the library to be found if anything happened to him. There was a message tattooed on his head, and it’s what sent us to Rome and then to Istanbul. I don’t want Charles’s legacy to be lost, and I’ll bet you don’t, either.”

  Tears rolled down Robin’s cheeks. “You killed him.” She increased her furious pace.

  As they exited through the park gates, Judd said, “They’re suspicious of you, aren’t they, Robin? Did they make you shave your head to see whether you had a tattoo, too?”

  “Magus shaved it,” she blurted.

  “Who’s Magus?” Judd asked instantly.

  She shook her head, then tugged the wig back into place.

  “Where exactly is The Book of Spies?” Judd said. “With the money we pay you, you can disappear. Start a new life. Find happiness again. Tell us where the book is, and we’ll get you out of here.”

  “You lied to me! I’ve had enough of people lying to me. I was stupid to have believed you have the money or you’d give it to me anyway. Leave me alone. I’m not going to help you. Charles never loved you, Eva. Never!”

  Moving at an increasingl
y fast clip, the three continued on. Robin’s body was rigid, her expression intransigent. Judd was beginning to think there was nothing they could say to persuade her to give them The Book of Spies.

  “You may be right about Charles.” Eva moved closer to her as they entered the wide pedestrian boulevard of Dionysiou Areopagitou.

  “Of course I’m right. I’ll bet you never loved him, either. And then you murdered him. I’m through working with liars and murderers!”

  Just then the toe of Eva’s tennis shoe caught on a cobblestone. She stumbled into Robin, her hands sliding over her as she tried to stabilize herself.

  Robin pushed her away. “I hate you.” She ran again.

  They watched as she dodged pedestrians and disappeared into the crowd.

  “What did you get?” Judd asked, knowing Eva had pulled her pickpocket routine.

  “A billfold, a cell phone, and a key. She said The Book of Spies was in a Metro station, which means it’s probably in a locker. This looks like a locker key.” She held it up.

  He took the key and read the number. “It does. But which station?”

  “You said it was nearby,” she explained, “and she didn’t object. It’s got to be the Acropolis station. It’s only a couple of blocks away.”

  56

  Preston recognized Robin Miller’s gait, the one aspect of the body most people forgot to disguise. He had noticed her as she had rushed down Dionysiou Areopagitou a half block from where she had ended her last cell call, but her hair and clothing had almost fooled him. Then as she passed, he had clearly seen her walk, the rhythmic shifts of her body, the short stride, the way she put weight on the outside of her soles.

  He signaled Magus and Jerome, and all three ran after her.

  Preston grabbed her arm. “We’ve missed you, Robin.”

  Terror filled her eyes. “Let me go.” She tried to wrench free.

  “Magus,” Preston said.

  Magus took her other arm, and they moved her to the side of the pedestrian boulevard. She started to struggle.

  “Stop it,” he ordered. “All we want is The Book of Spies. That isn’t so hard now, is it?”

  “And then you’ll kill me.”

  “For what reason? There’s nothing you can do to hurt us. You don’t know where the library is. In fact, you know very little, do you?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. She seemed to understand what he really meant. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about the library. Who works there, who owns it.”

  “Good girl.”

  He told Jerome to stand lookout at the beginning of a drive between two apartment buildings.

  “Why do we have to go in here?” She gazed worriedly back over her shoulder as they took her down the drive.

  Ahead was a parking lot, well lit, but empty of people. There was no one at the windows above.

  “You don’t want to be seen with us,” he said. “That way there’ll be no questions by anyone. You’re on your own now. No more baggage from the past, right?”

  She looked up at him, seemingly confused by his being understanding.

  “Where’s the book?” He put warmth into his tone. “Tell us, and we’ll leave you here. There’s only one other thing you have to do—give us a five-minute head start and go that way.” He nodded to a walk that skirted the rear of the buildings.

  “You’re actually not planning to shoot me?”

  “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now I’m a practical man. We’re in the middle of Athens. Dead bodies mean police questions. You’ll notice I haven’t unholstered my weapon.”

  “You’ll try to find me later.”

  “Why bother if I have the book?”

  She peered at him a long time, then nodded agreement. “It’s in the Acropolis Metro station. I have the key to the locker.” She shook her arm, and he released it. As she slid a hand into her shirt pocket, a look of shock crossed her face.

  Controlling his impatience, he said, “Maybe you put it into another pocket.”

  Magus freed her other arm, and she frantically searched her trousers and then her other shirt pocket.

  “It’s gone,” she said. “My billfold and cell phone are gone, too. I don’t see how all of them could’ve fallen out—”

  “What else happened?” he asked instantly.

  “Maybe Eva Blake or Judd Ryder took them somehow.” She looked away. “I met them. But I didn’t tell them anything. They don’t know the book is in a locker in the Acropolis station.”

  With effort, he kept his voice calm, reassuring. “That’s good. You made a mistake, and then you corrected it by not giving more information. Where are they staying, and where are they going next?”

  “I don’t know. I ran away from them.”

  “That was smart, but then I’ve always admired your intelligence. I’ll bet you remember the locker number.”

  “Of course.” She gave it to him.

  “You’re certain that’s correct?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “As a reward, I have a little gift for you.” He smiled as her eyes widened. He took out a small blue bottle, flipped off the lid, and pressed the nozzle, spraying directly into her face.

  She gasped and stepped away. Too late. He let her continue to walk, watching as she slowed and her knees buckled. He surveyed the parking lot and then the windows above. No one was in sight.

  A fist against her chest, she sank to the ground, her oversize shirt billowing around her. Her legs spasmed. A quiet, unobtrusive death was one of the great advantages of the Rauwolfia serpentina derivative.

  Glancing down the drive to Jerome, who nodded that all was well, Preston knelt over her, searching her clothes. He found a thick envelope inside her waistband and handed it up to Magus.

  “Tell me what’s inside.” He continued to hunt but found nothing more.

  Magus let out a low whistle. “She’s got one pack load of euros in here.”

  Preston stood and took the envelope. “We’ve got to move fast. Watch for Judd Ryder and Eva Blake.”

  The Acropolis Metro station was on Makrigianni Street, across from lively cafés and snack bars and next to the Acropolis Study Center. Scanning everywhere, Preston and his men rushed inside the sleek station and ran down an escalator. At the base, they hurried past casts of the Parthenon friezes and stopped at the electronic ticketing machines. Two more escalators down, and they found the lockers.

  As a Metro train whined to a stop, Preston ran along the lockers, alternately studying the boarding passengers and reading locker numbers until he found the correct one. His men converged to stand on either side, blocking anyone from being able to see as he took out his knife and quickly jimmied the tall door open.

  And stared inside. There was no black backpack. No Book of Spies. On the bottom was Robin’s roll-aboard, and on the shelf above lay her cell phone—open and turned on. Furious, he realized Ryder must have figured out they would use the cell to locate them. Ryder had The Book of Spies and was taunting him.

  Preston grabbed the phone, slammed shut the locker, and turned. A bell rang, signaling the train’s doors were about to close.

  “Run,” he ordered.

  He and his men raced to different doors and leaped inside. Since they were underground, he could not call the other men he had brought to Athens and order them to watch the next stops. As the train pulled out, he noted his car was a little more than half full. Quickly he walked down the aisle, but he did not see Ryder or Blake. He spotted two backpacks—one was brown and the other green.

  He checked Robin’s cell, hoping for Judd Ryder’s phone number. And swore. Ryder had wiped it clean. Blood pulsing with anger, he pushed through the door and entered the next car, determined to find them.

  57

  Fighting tension, Judd sat across the aisle and four rows back from Eva as the Metro sped north through the underground tunnel. He was alone in his seat, while she was sitting beside a boy of about thirteen, who wore a red-and-white striped Ol
ympiakos soccer shirt.

  They had seen Preston arrive at the lockers with two men. One of them, dark-haired and beefy, had walked up and down their car twice, eying passengers as if he knew exactly for whom he was searching. But besides having black hair, Eva’s face and hands were also darkened by makeup. Her eyes squinted, and a thin line of cotton slightly fattened her upper lip. Small changes could be transformational, and she now looked little like the sophisticated intellectual Judd had first seen in the British Museum. Besides his bleached hair and glasses, Judd had stuck folded cotton squares above his upper molars and had adopted a hangdog appearance.

  At last the beefy man exited the car, but Preston entered, his tall muscular frame looming, his expression inscrutable. He gazed carefully at each passenger, walking slowly.

  A stout woman in a black dress, her purse held firmly in both hands on her lap, spoke sharply to him in Greek. Ignoring her, he continued on, pausing at Eva’s row.

  “Who are you looking for?” the boy asked Preston curiously in Greek-accented English.

  Preston did not answer. He peered at the duffel bag under the youth’s legs but then turned to study an older couple bundled in trench coats. When he reached Judd, Judd was leaning his head against the cool glass window, his eyes heavy as he stared out into the monotonous tunnel. Finally Preston moved on again.

  The men continued to walk through the car, slower each time, but they never seemed to identify Eva or him. Ten minutes later the Metro pulled into the Syntagma Square station, and Judd watched Eva lean toward the boy and whisper. He smiled and nodded. As the train stopped, they stood, and she preceded him out of the car. He was carrying Judd’s duffel.

  Judd let the older couple and another passenger feed in, and then he left, too, keeping his place in the crowd.

  Preston and his two men were standing at the exit, scrutinizing everyone again. As the train left the station, Eva and the boy chatted animatedly in Greek. Preston’s eyes flickered over them, then paused to stare a long time at Eva as they walked past. Judd found himself holding his breath.