The Library of the Kings: A Tom Wagner Adventure

by Roberts, M. C.

  The third soldier, the one behind Tom and Hellen, pressed his gun to the back of Tom’s head.

  “Tu me connais. I like a little drama.”

  Noah was on the brink of tears. What had happened? He spun his wheelchair around to look at Tom.

  “Nobody move,” Cloutard called out.

  “Everybody stop!” Ossana barked, and the two soldiers by the wall, who had been edging slowly toward the exit, came to an abrupt halt.

  “What the fuck have you done?” Noah hissed. He stared into Tom’s face with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

  “You’re not the only ones who can make plans,” Tom said with a touch of mockery. “After that little fiasco in Washington, where you turned out to be a backstabbing psychopath and all-around asshole, I called Cloutard and we figured it out. He flew here a few hours before we did. With a little assist from the Vatican, we contacted the local clergy and replaced the real Ark with a duplicate.”

  “A duplicate?!” Noah yelped, and the cleft between his eyes deepened.

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Hellen said. “You should do better research. Every church in Ethiopia has a duplicate of the Ark of the Covenant. A building isn’t a church if it doesn’t have one. The real one is far away, and very safe.”

  Noah’s face froze, as did Ossana’s.

  “And just in case it wasn’t already clear: you’re all under arrest,” Tom shouted.

  Noah laughed out loud and the soldier behind Tom jabbed his rifle barrel harder into the back of his head.

  Suddenly a radio crackled to life, but all that came from it was static. Everyone turned toward the entrance, where the sound had come from. A moment later, the first bullet flew, then all hell broke loose. Marcello gunned down the soldier on the left and Giuliano shot the man on the right, then they both took cover behind the stone block. Quick as a cobra, Ossana grabbed Cloutard’s gun hand and punched him in the nose with her right fist. He fell to the cavern floor, and Ossana threw herself on top of him.

  Automatic fire whistled over Noah’s head and ricocheted off the stone block hiding Marcello and Giuliano. Tom moved as fast as Ossana: he dropped and slammed his elbow into the groin of the man behind him, then grabbed the soldier’s rifle and pulled down, hurling the man over his shoulder. A blur of punches left the man unconscious, and Tom had his rifle.

  He jumped up and spun around, rifle at the ready, but stopped himself just in time.

  Noah sat with his back to the entrance, facing the cavern. Behind him was the soldier whose arrival a few moments earlier had triggered the chaos. The man had his rifle pointed straight at Tom. Marcello and Giuliano now rushed to Cloutard’s aid, and together they overpowered Ossana. Cloutard held his bleeding nose. He still had the Luger and he trained it on Ossana again, freeing up Marcello and Giuliano, who took aim at Noah and the soldier at the entrance.

  In the turmoil Noah had managed to drag Hellen onto his lap, and now had one arm around her neck as his pistol dug into her temple. Hellen let out a stifled scream.

  “Stop!” Tom shouted furiously, his rifle trained on Noah. “It’s over, Noah. Let her go,” he said, his voice hard and unwavering.

  Noah had quickly realized the hopelessness of the situation. His dream had been destroyed. All he could do now was save his life.

  “Get me out of here,” he hissed at the soldier behind him. Marcello and Giuliano edged forward as soon as Noah’s wheelchair began to roll. Seeing them move, Noah squeezed Hellen’s neck harder. She was struggling even to breath now, and her eyes radiated panic.

  “Stay where you are. Let him go,” Tom commanded Cloutard’s confederates. He looked deep into Hellen’s terrified eyes, trying to make her understand: you’re not going to die here. I promise you that. The soldier dragged Noah’s wheelchair backwards into the passage. Noah held Hellen in an iron grip and dragged her with him. Tom followed as they disappeared into the passage, his rifle still at his shoulder.

  “Noah, what are you doing?” Ossana screamed. She was back on her feet again, standing in front of Cloutard with her hands in the air.

  “What did you expect?” said Cloutard, in a muffled, nasal voice. “He betrayed us, too.” He pinched his nose with his free hand to stop the bleeding.

  “You can’t just leave me behind,” Ossana screamed down the tunnel after Noah and the soldier.

  “We’ll come back for you. I promise,” Noah shouted back.

  A moment later, Hellen came stumbling back into the cavern. Behind her, a grenade rolled down the passage.

  “Take cover!” she screamed. Tom spotted the danger instantly. He threw the rifle aside, grabbed Hellen and dragged her behind the altar on which the duplicate Ark stood. Cloutard threw himself on top of Ossana, and the two mafiosi took cover behind the stone block again.

  A deafening explosion shook the entire cavern, collapsing the entrance to the long passage. The shockwave swept the Ark off the altar; it flew over Ossana and Cloutard and slammed into the stone block.

  As the smoke and dust settled, they began to gather themselves. Tom was the first on his feet again. He helped Hellen up and made sure she wasn’t injured.

  “Get off me,” Ossana snapped at Cloutard, who merely smiled as he got to his feet.

  “Just like old times,” he said, patting the dust from his suit. “But a simple ‘thank-you’ was too much to ask, even then.” He ignored Ossana’s outstretched hand.

  Still lying on the floor, Ossana unexpectedly let out a cruel burst of laughter and looked up at Tom. “We’re trapped. Now your priests are going to drown like rats. It looks like we’re going to be here for a while,” she said.

  Marcello and Giuliano pulled Ossana to her feet and cable-tied her hands behind her back.

  Tom looked at his watch, and laughed confidently back at her. “They should be drying off about now. I don’t think Vittoria would have had too many problems sorting that out.”

  Suddenly, in the distance, they heard a muffled explosion.

  “Correction. Now they should be safe,” Tom said, and his smile widened. “And now, for the record: you’re under arrest.”

  Ossana only glowered.

  With Cloutard’s help, Tom hoisted the Ark back onto its altar and replaced the lid.

  “Thank God that was only a replica,” he said as he inspected the Ark. It had suffered some damage, certainly, but was still in one piece.

  “If Noah only knew that he went straight past the real Ark of the Covenant just a few minutes ago . . .” Hellen said and shook her head. She gathered up the three stone fragments— miraculously, they seemed no more damaged than before—and replaced them in the small suitcase.

  “How do you think you’re going to get out of here?” Ossana asked. She was their prisoner but she still acted as if she had the upper hand.

  “How do you think I got in, ma chérie?” Cloutard said with a wink, clearly enjoying the chance to exact a little revenge on Ossana. “Follow me, mes amis!” He laughed wholeheartedly and disappeared through an unobtrusive gap in the wall behind the stone block.

  79

  Arlington National Cemetery, Virginia, USA

  “Typical funeral weather,” Tom said to Hellen as they climbed out of the car and opened their umbrellas. It was chilly for May; the wind was blowing hard, slinging the rain almost horizontally across the cemetery hill. Arlington National Cemetery lies to the southwest of Washington D.C., separated from it by the Potomac River. To the southeast it borders on the grounds of the Pentagon. The cemetery itself is characterized by its white gravestones, equally spaced, row on row, that cover the gently rolling hills. Each year more than five thousand funerals take place at the cemetery, and three state funerals have been held there: for Presidents William Howard Taft and John F. Kennedy, and also for General John J. Pershing. Admiral Scott T. Wagner’s funeral was kept small, as he had requested in his will. Only a few of his close friends—among them Tom, Cloutard and Hellen—and a small contingent of Navy personnel were present. And, of cour
se, the president of the United States with his Secret Service detail. The eulogy was delivered by the president himself.

  “I had no idea your uncle was a Medal of Honor recipient,” Hellen whispered when the president had finished his speech.

  “Neither did I,” Tom admitted. “Uncle Scott kept his cards close to his chest.”

  “That seems to run in the family,” Hellen replied. She laid her hand on Tom’s arm in consolation and smiled at him.

  When the Navy chaplain had finished his service, seven sailors stepped forward and fired a three-volley salute in honor of their fallen comrade. Afterward, the flag, which had been held above the coffin during the chaplain’s ceremony by the eight members of the coffin team, was folded into the traditional triangle. The coffin team was accompanied by a trumpeter who played “Taps”. The flag was then handed over to Tom, accompanied by salutes.

  After Tom had received the condolences of those present, one of the Secret Service men came to him. “The president would like a word, sir,” the man said politely, pointing in the direction of a small stand of trees where the president was chatting with a Navy admiral. Cloutard and Hellen looked at Tom in surprise. Tom screwed his mouth to one side and followed the Secret Service man.

  “Mister Wagner, I’d like once again to express my condolences,” the president said. “The loss of Admiral Wagner is a loss for all Americans. He did a tremendous amount for our country, and he was never one to talk up his achievements.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Tom said. “That certainly sounds like my uncle.”

  “Let’s walk for a minute,” the president said, and he stepped away without waiting. Tom followed, and two Secret Service men shadowed them at a discreet distance.

  “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve read your file.”

  “My file?” Tom said, raising his eyebrows, although even as he said it he realized that the CIA would have a file on every one of his uncle’s family members and friends.

  “You’ve been right where you need to be more than once. That thing with the diamond in Vienna, then that incident in Barcelona last year, and now the recovery of the . . .” he paused “. . . the artifact. You’re good. Even by our standards, you’re an outstanding operative, one I’d rather see fighting for me than against me.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I would like you to take your uncle’s place. I’d like you to work for the CIA, reporting directly to me.”

  Tom stopped walking. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “I doubt I’m a particularly suitable candidate for the CIA, Mr. President.”

  “That’s where we disagree, Mr. Wagner. I need people able to think a little outside the proverbial box.” He gave Tom a wink. “And I think you fall into that category.”

  “Thank you, sir, but this comes as quite a surprise.”

  “Oh, I’m aware of that. What I have in mind is not your typical CIA agent role. The kind of assignments I’d want you for don’t come up often. That means, for now, that nothing will change for you. I’ll be in touch personally the minute something comes up.”

  Tom had no idea exactly what the president meant, but there was only one thing to say: “Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”

  “There’s one condition, Mr. Wagner.”

  Tom looked at the president inquiringly.

  “No one, and I mean absolutely no one, can know that you work for me and the CIA. It doesn’t matter how close you are to that person, you have to maintain absolute secrecy about our agreement. Can you assure me of that?”

  Tom swallowed and glanced back over his shoulder to where Hellen and Cloutard were talking and waiting for him. Things between Hellen and himself were only just starting to thaw, and now he was supposed to keep this secret to himself? Would he have to lie to her? Was it worth it? The president snapped him out of his gloomy thoughts.

  “Mr. Wagner?”

  Tom cleared his throat. “My apologies, sir. You can count on me, of course,” he said, although he had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he spoke.

  They had reached the president’s car. “You’ll be hearing from me,” the president said as he climbed into his limousine. Tom waited until the convoy had departed before he returned to Hellen and Cloutard.

  Hellen looked at him. “Everything okay? What did the president want?” she asked.

  “Just to pass on his condolences in person,” said Tom. He knew already that he wouldn’t be able to keep the secret for long.

  80

  A conference room on the 26th floor, Vienna International Center, Vienna, Austria

  Hellen knew this conference room only too well. It was here that Count Palffy had first asked her to work for Blue Shield.

  “I’ve never been to the UNO City before,” said Tom, peering out over the Danube toward the Kahlenberg. “It’s not exactly pretty from the outside.”

  “Très moche,” Cloutard murmured—ugly as sin. He clearly did not feel very at home in the sparsely furnished conference room. Luxury and style were more to his taste than bland offices, break rooms, and conference facilities with musty-smelling air conditioning.

  “It’s just how they built things in the seventies,” Hellen said.

  Cloutard shook his head and drank a mouthful of coffee from the cup that he’d just been served. He grimaced.

  “This must be the only bad coffee in Vienna. Terriblement!” he complained loudly, just as his cell phone pinged. He looked at the display.

  Thank you. The operation was successful. My daughter is already recovering. I owe you. Farid.

  Cloutard smiled.

  “What are we even doing here?” Tom asked.

  “You’re here to hear my proposal,” a voice said. All three, who had been gazing out the window, turned in unison to see Hellen’s mother enter the conference room, with a small stack of files in her arms.

  “Proposal?” Hellen said, instantly on guard. “What kind of ‘proposal’ is this, Mother?”

  Tom had already met Hellen’s mother several times. He decided to just take a seat and stay in the background for the moment. Cloutard did the same—he could see certain parallels between Mrs. de Mey and his own mother. Best not to say anything. Only Hellen remained standing, kicking her right foot back and forth nervously.

  “Before I get to that, I have some important news. The Egyptian authorities have turned up some information about the man Tom shot in self-defense in the museum.”

  Hellen looked first at her mother, then at Tom.

  “Arno?”

  “That’s not his real name, I’m afraid. The Egyptians have checked with Interpol, the Germans and MI6 and have uncovered quite a lot about him. Dozens of false identities, a list of crimes and a definite connection to AF.”

  Hellen’s mother paused and looked at her daughter. “When it comes to men, Hellen, your choices leave a lot to be desired. You’ve never been much good at picking them.”

  Hellen did not know what to say to that. Her emotions were rioting. She had loved Arno, but with all that had happened she had hardly had any time to deal with his death. At first, she had ignored the fact that Tom had been forced to fire in self-defense. She had also ignored the possibility that Arno had not found his way into her life by chance. Now everything made a little more sense, but she would still need some time to work through it. She gave Tom a quick glance, which he studiously ignored. Hellen decided not to ask any further questions. She looked ruefully at Tom, formed an inaudible “Sorry” with her lips and lowered her eyes. It was time to stop torturing herself about Arno . . . or whatever his name was.

  “Well, then. On to the real reason I wanted to talk to you.”

  Theresia de Mey tossed three files onto the conference table.

  Tom already knew what the documents were: most likely reports about his escapades in recent years.

  “You’ve done good work,” Mrs. de Mey said, looking from face to face. “You’re a ra
ther unorthodox team, admittedly, and you have even more unorthodox methods, but your success speaks for itself.”

  She tossed another file onto the table. Hellen raised her eyebrows.

  “Mother, where did you get that? That’s Nikolaus’s file.”

  “Which one?” Tom asked.

  “Count Nikolaus Palffy III, in his capacity as president of Blue Shield and as my predecessor, put this file together,” Hellen’s mother said. “It contains a long list of mythical and historical objects, archeological phenomena and lost treasures that are a little on the exotic side.”

  “As exotic as the Philosopher’s Stone?” said Cloutard, although he already knew the answer.

  “Absolutement, Monsieur Cloutard,” Theresia de Mey replied.

  Hellen had picked up the file; she now sat down at the conference table and began to go through it. “This is incomplete. I saw this file about a year ago, at the UNESCO conference in Vienna. There was a lot more in it then.”

  “We know,” her mother said. “The actual file was stolen from Palffy’s house. This is an older version of it.” Tom could already see where this was going. Hellen too, it seemed.

  “Mother, please don’t tell me you want us to track down the artifacts and treasures Nikolaus collected in that file and find them for Blue Shield.”

  Hellen’s mother smiled and said nothing.

  “Never!” Hellen said. “You’re a terrible boss. There’s no way I’m going to work with you breathing down my neck the whole time.”

  Tom laid a calming hand on Hellen’s arm. “Let’s just listen to what your mother has to say.”

  “Yes. You can still be outraged after that,” Cloutard added.

  “Monsieur Cloutard has kindly diverted a large sum of money from AF.”

  Cloutard smiled, though he looked to be in some pain. Tom and Hellen could not hide their amazement.

  “Noah also lied to us about that,” Cloutard said. “The money he showed us did not come from Mossad. It came from a black account operated by AF, which I then . . . appropriated.”