"So I'm in."
"Hey, it's your head and hers," Packard said. "This doesn't come back to Uncle Sam. Just stay out of sight, if that's possible, and report as soon as you know anything."
"I told you, I can do this without being seen, even by Serena. But I'll be watching her."
"As will everybody else. So watch yourself."
Ten minutes later, the twin engines and four blades of the Super Puma Eurocopter were winding up for takeoff as Wanda Randolph walked Conrad across the tarmac and gave him his identification badges.
"Your name is Firat Kayda, a military liaison with us in Turkey, and you're working the EU summit for the delegation from Ankara. It'll take you about an hour in the air from here to there."
Conrad looked at the four Greek airmen in the chopper. They already seemed to be glaring at him, the Turk. "Packard is truly determined to make everybody in this world hate me, isn't he?"
"Well, he tries," said Wanda. "At least this way, the Greeks won't be asking you too many questions on the way over."
36
Serena stepped off her seaplane in Mandraki Harbor at Rhodes and felt like she had stepped back in time to the Crusades. The Palace of the Grandmaster, the fifteenth-century Tower of St. Nicholas, and the Mosque of Sultan completely overwhelmed the contemporary seaside cafes, chic shops, and sleek yachts lining the harbor.
Brother Lorenzo of the Dei, his mouth agape in astonishment, was waiting for her by a silver Mercedes-Benz G55 AMG sport-utility vehicle as she walked toward him, holding the celestial globe from the Americans against her belly and looking like a pregnant woman about to give birth.
She felt naked without the full escort of Swiss Guards she normally had at her disposal. But this was not official Vatican business, and if any agents of the Alignment were watching from rooftops through scopes, it was probably for her protection until she delivered the globes. There was no reason for any sort of smash-and-grab attack.
"The genuine celestial globe," Lorenzo said reverently as he helped her load it into the back. He had no clue where she had gone between Paris and Rhodes and was clearly impressed with her acquisition. "But how?"
She certainly wasn't going to tell him. "Where's Benito?"
"At the convention center with the terrestrial globe and the fake celestial globe."
"Let's go, then."
The Rodos Palace hotel and convention center sat on a hill overlooking Ialyssos Bay and billed itself as Greece's finest and largest convention resort, specially built to host the European heads of state. Serena could see from all the armored vehicles and police outside that this was certainly the case today. Some twenty-seven ministers of the European nations and all their security had descended on the peace summit to discuss and possibly reach some sort of international resolution on the fate of Jerusalem, which they had deemed the key to establishing an independent Palestinian state and peace in the Middle East.
Lorenzo bypassed the main entrance to the complex on Trianton Avenue and rounded the corner to the vehicle inspection point in front of the drop-off lane at the VIP entrance. He popped the rear hatch, lowered his window, and handed to a police officer his license and registration, along with their summit ID badges. Serena watched the officer slide the badges through a card reader while four soldiers surrounded the SUV and passed mirrors under the chassis in search of explosives.
A couple of the soldiers had gathered around the globe and asked that she and Lorenzo step out and explain while the interior cabin of the SUV could be examined.
"It's part of the art for one of the exhibitions at the summit," she said. "We're not even taking it inside. We're picking up another globe at the loading dock outside the Jupiter Ballroom and then taking both of them to the Palace of the Grandmaster for viewing."
"Of course, Sister Serghetti," the officer said. "I am sorry for the inconvenience."
She climbed back inside the SUV, and Lorenzo got behind the wheel and started it up again. Then he drove them all of fifty yards down to the loading entrance outside the Jupiter Ballroom.
In the ballroom, Serena found the EU heads of state seated in front of their national flags around a pentagon of tables beneath Murano crystal chandeliers. Around the leaders was a much larger ring of tables packed with diplomatic staff, international press, and banks of equipment for audiovisual and simultaneous interpretation.
She made her way behind the press area, glancing up now and then to see the image of a talking head flash across the large screen over the stage. She could only guess how many of those faces belonged to the Thirty. Whoever her counterparts of the Alignment turned out to be, Serena was convinced that the message of the Templar globes and this EU summit were connected symbiotically. The origins of the globes had been traced to King Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem, after all, and it was the future of that city under discussion in this ballroom.
She found Benito backstage with the globes, which were disregarded by all the technical people moving to and fro as mere set pieces and part of the show, somebody else's responsibility.
Midas was there, too, and he wasted no time. "You have something for me?"
Serena removed the Shekel of Tyre from her pocket and handed it to him.
He didn't take her word for it and took out some sort of pocket-sized device to shine an infrared light on it. "The ancients used some kind of polymer material on the coins. The effect is like an invisible UV stamp. See?" he said. He showed her the coin under the light, and to her amazement, she saw four arrowlike markers emblazoned at the cardinal points around the bust of Baal. They made a cross, and she recognized it as the adopted flag of the island's Knights of St. John.
Midas held up his infrared device and said accusingly, "I used this on your celestial globe here, too. It's a fake."
"I have the real one in my car outside. You were to give me further instructions?"
Midas seemed pleased. "You are to take the globes to the west entrance of the Palace of the Grandmaster at three o'clock, where you will be met by a nameless Greek attache and directed to a chamber where you will present the globes to Uriel," he told her. "You have ten minutes."
She left Lorenzo and the faux celestial globe at the convention center and climbed into the back of the SUV with the two genuine globes. Benito pulled onto the access drive, and the police waved them through the exit gate.
Uriel, she thought. Serena had never heard that name among the Thirty. But she knew that Uriel was the name of the angel in Genesis who guarded the gate to the Garden of Eden with a flaming sword after God kicked Adam and Eve out of paradise. Conrad's information about the Flammenschwert weapon was beginning to make sense, and she was eager to find out who this Uriel could be.
As they drove toward the Palace of the Grandmaster, she could tell Benito was impressed with her acquisition of the genuine celestial globe but concerned all the same.
"And Signor Yeats?" he asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
"With the Americans," she answered.
Benito bit his tongue, but Serena could read his eyes: That man will hate you for the rest of your life, you cold, heartless bitch. Well, he wouldn't say that. Benito didn't swear, and he knew more than anybody else what was necessary. He seemed sad all the same, though.
But she had come to Rhodes to unmask the Alignment. In a few minutes she would deliver the globes, as promised. In a few hours she would attend tonight's Council Meeting of the Thirty. Then everything she had worked for and sacrificed-including a life with Conrad-would pay off once and for all.
37
The Greek pilot brought the Super Puma Eurocopter over Rhodes at nine hundred feet, steering clear of the EU summit's security red zones below and following an alternative glide path to the airstrip. The skies were clear and offered Conrad a spectacular view of the island below.
"Security zones?" Conrad asked in broken English with the best Turkish accent he could make up. His attempt was so bad it actually worked, cracking up one of the Greeks. Another,
named Koulos, decided to help the confused Turk get a lay of the land.
"The red inner-security zones are around the Palace of the Grandmaster in the Old Town down there, and the Rodos Palace hotel and convention center are in New Town over there," Koulos shouted in English above the whir of the rotor blades. "They are linked by the harbor drive. Only authorized personnel or security assigned to those zones can pass through the checkpoints."
Conrad nodded.
"The walls of Old Town outside the Palace of the Grandmaster are the perimeter of the yellow outer-security zone. No vehicles without proper registration and full inspection are allowed through the gates."
Conrad pulled out the military BlackBerry Packard had given him with the GPS tracking program. He called up the satellite map of Rhodes from Google Earth and tried to find the pulsing blue dot that represented the celestial globe Packard had given Serena. The glare from the sun outside the chopper windows made it too difficult to read the screen until they landed and he jumped off onto the tarmac.
That was when he got the fix: The globe was in the red zone at the convention center, hopefully with the other two.
Conrad signed for his police motorcycle as Firat Kayda. Though the bike belonged to the police department, it wasn't an official police motorcycle and had no siren. When he reached the convention center, his ID badge worked beautifully, and he was able to glide through the checkpoint to the main entrance of the hotel, allegedly to meet his Turkish superiors.
He followed the GPS signal through the hotel atrium and into the airy exhibition area where all kinds of "green" technology companies promised to turn the Middle East into a tropical paradise for investment and generate fat profits to European investors. "More than oil" seemed to be the theme, highlighting the commercial benefits of peace in the region.
The bright sunlight provided him with the perfect excuse to keep his sunglasses on, like many others, and look nondescript as he passed a spectacular circular staircase toward the Delphi Amphitheater.
He stopped outside the door and put away his BlackBerry. The security guard glanced at his badge and nodded.
Conrad slipped into the back of the three-level amphitheater, which was packed with almost six hundred delegates. Up on the stage, speaking from the podium before an impressive array of flat-panel screens flashing all sorts of logos and graphics, was Roman Midas.
What does he have to say that any of these people want to hear? Conrad unconsciously shrank back against the wall with a group of bystanders who couldn't find seats. He felt like a convict in a police lineup for Midas to pick out. But all the lights and attention were on Midas now, and Conrad doubted the man could see anyone beyond the front row.
"It's the new alchemy," Midas proclaimed. "Water springing forth from the desert."
High-definition graphics showed how the same deep-mining technology that Midas Minerals amp; Mining had used to extract oil from the "world's most difficult to reach substrata" could now be harnessed to extract water from the hidden rivers and aquifers of the Sinai Peninsula.
Midas said, "The dust bowl becomes the bread basket of the Middle East, freeing the region from dependence on foreign agriculture and offering local populations the opportunity to grow and export more than oil."
The names of various Israeli and Arab partners popped up on the screens to underscore the international cooperation of this "consortium of leading industries" to "rid the Middle East of its dependence on oil."
Well, that's a new one, Conrad thought as he slowly made his way along the curving back wall of the room. He suspected he would come upon a door leading to a projection booth or control room of some kind, which was probably as obscure a place as any to store the globes until they could be moved. He couldn't imagine them alone without armed security. But the only door that appeared was the other rear exit.
He stepped out of the amphitheater into the bar reception area and saw the celestial globe standing there like some piece of art with a young man in a suit and collar-a priest's collar.
Worse, the priest had recognized him.
Damn, Conrad thought as he marched up to the priest.
The priest began, "Dr. Yeats-"
"Shut up," Conrad said quietly, and glanced around. "What the hell is going on?"
"You needn't worry," the priest said drily. "This isn't the globe you gave her. This is a fake. She took the real one with her after she removed the tracker and put it inside this one."
"Where is she…Lorenzo?" Conrad said, reading the priest's ID badge.
Lorenzo had suddenly taken a vow of silence.
Conrad pressed him. "She's in danger."
The priest screwed up his eyes at Conrad. "From whom?"
"Last time, Lorenzo."
"She's at her three o'clock appointment," Lorenzo said. "Do I need to call security?"
"No, but I'm taking this." Conrad took the globe off its pedestal and walked off with it, leaving an open-mouthed Lorenzo behind.
Outside, Conrad opened the globe, tossed the tracker, and strapped the globe to the back of his motorcycle. Then he pulled out his BlackBerry and called Wanda Randolph.
"Report," said Wanda.
"Tell Packard she found the tracker. But she's still with the packages. I need you to hack the security system here and see when was the last time her ID badge was scanned."
"Copy that," Wanda said.
Conrad looked at his watch. It was 3:05. He was worried he was too late.
Wanda rang him back two minutes later. "She passed through the checkpoint at Liberty Gate in the Old Town. She's going to the Palace of the Grandmaster with two packages. They're listed only as 'art' on the system."
But Conrad had hung up at "Grandmaster," kick-started his bike, and roared off toward the fortress.
38
Back at the hotel and convention center, Lorenzo crossed the atrium lobby and approached the commanding officer at the security desk. He was an ambitious priest, and Dr. Yeats had given him a golden opportunity to accelerate his rise within the Dei even as he attempted to protect his superiors.
"I just saw the fugitive who murdered Mercedes Le Roche," Lorenzo said breathlessly. "Conrad Yeats the American. He is here at the summit."
The Greek looked at Lorenzo's badge and collar and decided to take the report seriously enough to ask further questions. "Was he wearing a badge, Father?"
"Yes," said Lorenzo helpfully. "The name was Firat Kayda, and it had a red security stripe for access to the inner zones. Holy Mother of God, maybe this American killed Kayda and has taken his place to kill someone here!"
"Please, Father. Do not repeat this. We will investigate."
Lorenzo detected a dismissive tone in the Greek official's voice. "You're not going to do any such thing, are you?"
The officer picked up a phone. "Firat Kayda," he said, and hung up.
"That's all?" Lorenzo said.
"Please wait, Father."
The officer attended to some papers with the other officers while Lorenzo watched, burning with anger. A minute later, the Greek saw his frown and looked at a computer terminal. "Here it is," he said, looking at a time-stamped video clip of the moment Kayda had passed through the hotel checkpoint. A concerned expression took hold on the Greek's face as the facial-recognition program kicked in. "There is a high degree of probability that you are correct."
"At last," Lorenzo said.
The Greek started typing furiously. "I am flagging his name and attaching the video for when he presents himself at a checkpoint. He'll be refused entry and arrested immediately."
"Don't forget that he is armed and dangerous, Officer. He has killed and may kill again."
The Greek looked up warily. "Thank you very much, Father. You have been most helpful."
Lorenzo made the sign of the cross and walked away.
39
Vadim was sitting inside the Peugeot parked opposite the Palace of the Grandmaster. He looked past the vehicle ID badge dangling from his rearview mirror
to see the silver Mercedes SUV drive through.
He reached back and pulled down the rear seat to access the trunk. Squirming next to the blocks of C4 plastic explosives was a bound, gagged, and badly beaten Abdil Zawas. Vadim had brought the Egyptian to Rhodes directly from Bern hours before the security checkpoints had been set up. Since this car had been registered to a resident for several years, the security forces sweeping the Old Town yellow zone hadn't opened its trunk.
Abdil was waking up a little sooner than Vadim wanted. The streets were so narrow and cars so few that he couldn't afford to have somebody walk by while Abdil banged his head and feet to draw attention.
"Siesta isn't over," Vadim said, and removed an injection pen from his pocket. "We have to keep you alive long enough for the coroner to pronounce your proper cause of death as a martyr for Allah." He delighted at the look of horror in Abdil's eyes. The pen was filled only with a concentrated dose of trazodone to put him to sleep. Nothing painful, unfortunately, and it was a shame to think that the Egyptian wouldn't be awake for his final moments.
"Don't you wonder how many of your little sluts will miss you when you're gone?" Vadim asked, injecting the trazodone into Abdil's thick neck. "I think you'll miss them more where you're going."
Abdil's eyes rolled around in panic even as his eyelids grew heavy. In a few minutes it would all be over for the late, great Abdil Zawas.
"I'm going to make you famous, Abdil," Vadim told the Egyptian. "You're about to open a new front on the war against Jews and Crusaders. Look at this clip that's about to be posted on YouTube. Recognize yourself?"
Vadim was about to play the video on his BlackBerry when the device began to ring. It was Midas.
"Security says Yeats is alive and on Rhodes," Midas barked. "She has betrayed the Alignment."
"You seem surprised," Vadim said. "Your plan was always to kill her as soon as she delivered the globes. She knows too much. More than I do. Nothing has changed. Yeats won't make it in time to interfere."
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