The History Thief: Ten Days Lost (The Sterling Novels)
Page 1
Copyright © 2012 JM Scott
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1479265683
EAN-13:9781479265688
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62347-486-7
DEDICATION
To Sabina, my lovely, lovely wife, who, during the writing of this book, introduced me by surprise one long, sleepless, but wonderful and unforgettable night to the Sea Monkey;
Who stands by me;
Who loves me regardless;
Who encourages me;
Who lets me be me.
To Diedrick, who continues to surprise and inspire me with his energy and commitment and his desire to succeed and to bring a little something extra to this world;
Who serves this country selflessly;
Who seeks continuous challenges;
Who sets the bar high and then raises it higher;
Who has taught me what it means to be a father;
Who has been a better son than imagined.
To the Sea Monkey—to Sonia—who showed her impetuous, energetic side and decided that it was time to be introduced to the world although she still had more than three weeks to go;
Who smiles endlessly;
Who laughs gleefully;
Who stares at me with the biggest eyes one can imagine;
Who reminds me daily what life is truly about.
To the three of you, I dedicate this work.
BOOKS BY JS NAGLE
Sterling Novels:
The Hand of Christ The History Thief: Ten Days Lost
Please Follow the Sterling Novels on Twitter: @SterlingNovels
Please Visit the Sterling Novels Website: SterlingNovels.com
All correspondence may be sent via e-mail to: JMScott@SterlingNovels.com
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
BOOKS BY JS NAGLE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
PART I
CHAPTER ONE: WALDORF ASTORIA HOTEL MANHATTAN
CHAPTER TWO: TYRANNY IS TYRANNY PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER THREE—THREE WEEKS LATER: OPERATION MONGOOSE SOUTHWEST OF JALALABAD, AFGHANISTAN
CHAPTER FOUR: PLACE DAUPHIN PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER FIVE: OPERATION MONGOOSE TARGET: ABU MOHAMMED IBRAHIM
CHAPTER SIX: HOME OF DR. MICHAEL STERLING DEPUTY DIRECTOR OF THE NCS OAKTON, VA
CHAPTER SEVEN: HOME OF SENATOR MATTHEW FAUST GEORGETOWN—WASHINGTON, DC
CHAPTER EIGHT: 6 PLACE DU PARVIS NOTRE DAME ÎLE DE LA CITÉ—PARIS
CHAPTER NINE: BENEATH PONT NEUF ON THE QUAIS
CHAPTER TEN: A FEW MINUTES AGO INSIDE THE SOUTH TOWER
CHAPTER ELEVEN: RER PLATFORM PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER TWELVE: RER LINE B AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: CITRONELLE RESTAURANT 3000 M STREET NW WASHINGTON, DC
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: 1725 RHODE ISLAND AVE NW WASHINGTON, DC
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: NEAR KOFE SOFAID AFGHANISTAN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: POST EXCHANGE, 82ND ABN DIV FAYETTEVILLE, NC
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SEEKING PROOF PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER NINETEEN: CASELLE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT NORTHERN ITALY
CHAPTER TWENTY: THE UNIVERSITY CLUB 1135 SIXTEENTH STREET NW WASHINGTON, DC
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: HOME OF DR. MICHAEL STERLING OAKTON, VIRGINIA
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: TAFT DINING ROOM THE UNIVERSITY CLUB WASHINGTON, DC
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: CIA HEADQUARTERS LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
PART II
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: DUOMO DI TORINO TURIN, ITALY
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: OLD FRIENDS, NEW PROBLEMS OAKTON, VIRGINIA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: CIA HEADQUARTERS LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: WHEN THINGS GO POP OAKTON, VA
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: CNN STUDIOS WASHINGTON, DC
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: JOHNS HOPKINS HOSPITAL BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
CHAPTER THIRTY: OLD DOMINION DRIVE FAIRFAX COUNTY, VA
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: DO YOU SEE ME? ROUTE 267
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY WANT PIAZZA SAN CARLO TORINO, ITALY
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: A STERLING SURPRISE CIA HEADQUARTERS LANGLEY, VA
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: OLD FRIENDS, NEW ENEMIES US GEOLOGICAL SOCIETY
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: JUHU BEACH MUMBAI, INDIA
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: A RUSE IS A RUSE THE UNITED STATES GEOLOGICAL SURVEY
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: A TIME TO RUN MUMBAI, INDIA
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: LEAVING IT ALL BEHIND DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: DISTANT RELATIVES PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER FORTY: HOW TO SATIATE A SOCIOPATH TORINO, ITALY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: FLYING IS FOR BIRDS FLIGHT TP-0104 DC TO LISBON
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: THE BIGGER THEY ARE… AEROPORTO DA PORTELA LISBON, PORTUGAL
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: DEATH IS INEVITABLE LISBON, PORTUGAL
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: INTERROGATION ROOM 4A CIA HQ, LANGLEY
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: THE RESURRECTION SOLAR DO CASTELO
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE BETWEEN TWO CASTLES LISBON, PORTUGAL
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: SHOTS OF ESPRESSO, ONE TO THE NOSE CASTELO COFFEE HOUSE
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: DEAD FISH & TRACKING CHIPS BELÉM TOWER LISBON, PORTUGAL
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: LISTENING IN CIA HQ—LANGLEY, VA
CHAPTER FIFTY: COPS & COFFEE LISBON, PORTUGAL
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: IN CONTROL CIA HQ
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: BELÉM TOWER LISBON, PORTUGAL
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: SOUTH PARKING LOT CIA HQ
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: PUERILE MEANS KID BELÉM TOWER
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: STAMPS & COINS LEAVING LISBON
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: GETTING ANSWERS LANGLEY, VA
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: CALLE OFICIOS, 1 GRANADA, SPAIN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: IT TAKES A THIEF IN THE MAUSOLEUM
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: BOUND & ALONE LOCATION UNKNOWN
CHAPTER SIXTY: BECOMING THE HUNTER TO PARIS: NINE HOURS LEFT
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: CURB APPEAL 67 RUE DU CHABROL
PART III
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO: IN A DARK ROOM CIA HQ
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE: HIS MASTERPIECE THE LOUVRE—PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR: THE WATCHMEN RETURN 67 RUE DU CHABROL
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE: THE FLY’S LAST THOUGHT PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX: KEEPING HER SANITY DR. SONIA STERLING, MD
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN: WHERE THERE’S A THIEF PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: A PERFECT SONATA AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE: A SONATA IMPERFECT PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER SEVENTY: SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE: ONE HOUR, TWO LIVES AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO: SOMETHING’S MISSING AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE: COMPLETE CONTROL AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR: YORK’S DEAD IN THE HOME OF THE THIEF
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE: SOMEONE WOULD DIE IN SONIA’S CELL
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX: DEAD, NOT DEAD AULNAY-SOUS-BOIS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN: AND THEN THERE WERE THREE LEAVING THE BOIS
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT: INTIMATE SECRETS 67 RUE DU CHABROL #4
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE: KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE… LANGLEY, VA
CHAPTER EIGHTY: EVERYONE’S GOING TO ROME AIR FRANCE: FLIGHT 1204
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE: CASTLES, COFFEE, AND BLOOD CASTLE D’CAMINI
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO: REVELATION 14:9 CASTLE D’CAMINI
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THR
EE: THE TOWER OF WINDS THE VATICAN, ROME
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR: THE AMERICAN HOSPITAL OF FRANCE NEUILLY-SUR-SEINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE: THE KING WILL POINT THE WAY THE TOWER OF WINDS
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX: DEBTS & DEMOTIC THE SECRET ARCHIVES
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN: A MOMENT ALONE THE VATICAN
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT: ONE LAST STOP FROM ROME TO PARIS
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE: TWENTY HOURS LATER PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER NINETY: HOT TARMAC, COLD WORDS LE BOURGET AIRPORT PARIS, FRANCE
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE: FROM THE ASHES MOMENTS AGO
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO: HOW CAREERS BEGIN WHILE OTHERS END CANAL 16—PARIS
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE: ALWAYS HEDGE YOUR BETS SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR: NO TURNING BACK
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE: JUDGMENT DAY
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX: BELIEVING ISN’T THE SAME AS TRUSTING OUTSIDE OF LANGLEY
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN: CNN NEWSROOM ATLANTA, GEORGIA
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT: WHY, ALLAH, WHY? KOFE SOFAID, AFGHANISTAN
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ADDITIONAL NOTES:
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again, it is important for me to acknowledge the almighty coffee bean; without it, my days would not start like a Folgers commercial, and—argue to the contrary if you like—I would be less productive and an absolute pain to be around.
See you in the morning.
Before acknowledging anyone else, I must, first, send a message to the men and women who paint their faces the colors of the surrounding terrain and carry a weapon at the ready; to those that train relentlessly for the day that their country may call upon their service. They are selfless citizen-warriors, often unacknowledged, and serve not for personal wealth nor social gain, but because they believe that they must do that which others are unable or unwilling.
You are not invisible; you are not forgotten; your service is appreciated. While disagreements about what is right or wrong with respect to military intervention often arise and become heated, it doesn’t change that your service is needed, wanted, and deserving of praise.
THANK YOU.
Deserving to be acknowledged, too, are the young faces that find the innocence of their youth sidetracked or dismantled by being a part of the social services system. Your life is harder than those of most of your peers’—but know this: you can overcome this unfortunate twist of your youth by setting your standards high, meeting them, and then setting them even higher. Survival is your father, but knowledge is your mother.
WORK HARD.
Finally, I am grateful to Sr. Mario Gonzales for his fastidious editing, his wonderful suggestions, and his doting on my newborn daughter. Sr. Gonzales is a man who should be enjoying a slower life, but he moves faster than most. I am always impressed with his intelligence, wit, energy, and ability to find the good even when I can’t see it.
PROLOGUE
1578
South of Ksar el Kabir
Morocco, North Africa
He was young.
He was king.
He was going to die.
Sebastian gripped tightly the leather reins in his left hand, as he expertly navigated his fast-moving royal horse through the North African forest. Along the muscled torso and hindquarters of the pure white thoroughbred, a growing layer of sweat glistened. At the layer’s edge, the salt from the sweat dried into a barely discernible frothy, white crust.
As Sebastian urged his horse onward, its hooves struck the ground like the distant thunder of a harsh spring storm. Wave after wave of rippling muscle cascaded through the thick and capable body of the horse. Each of its strong strides blended with the next; its legs were nearly a blur.
Usually majestic in its form, the beast forced an angry, unnatural bellow through its flaring nostrils, releasing a long snort of both steamed breath and pain. Its rider begged more from it; a series of fierce kicks to both ribs reinforced the young king’s demands. The pain from the metal-capped heels stung nearly as deeply as the burning in its powerful, lactic acid-filled muscles. But the burn paled to the fire running torrid through its heaving lungs.
The equine’s eyes bulged forcibly from its orbits as if it were completely aware of the nefarious intentions of the man giving chase and closing in from behind. Biting down on the silver bit between its teeth and without argument, the horse gave in to Sebastian; fast as the wind, its blood scourged even faster through its veins.
Sebastian pressed himself harder against the backside of his steed; they were moving nimbly and competently through the woods of the Cedre Gourard Forest, just south of the Moroccan stronghold of Ksar el Kabir. His chest lay firmly atop the matted and sweat-dampened hair of his royal and pure Lusitanian; through muscle, bone, and hide, he felt the strong thrashing of the animal’s fast-pumping heart. With another vicious kick through his shortened stirrups, Sebastian begged for more speed from his horse. Its mobility and quickness a product of its Neolithic genetics, the Lusitanian horse is as strong as it is noble; the beast bolted forward. Sebastian could feel his own heart pumping, nearly matching, beat for beat, the animal’s rate.
Sebastian dug deep into the precepts of his royal training as he guided the horse over the deeply weathered crust of the escarpment. He had never felt so much pain at once: his eyes were swollen and filled with streaming tears brought forth by the cold and stinging dust-filled morning air; his arms and legs bore an increasing number of deep and long scratches that cut across his body from the dry low-hanging leaves of the sclerophyll forest, and the pain from the arrow that had pierced deep into his right side—just above his kidney—seared acutely through his torso, forcing him to lean heavily on the skills of his left arm. Each strike of the Lusitanian’s hooves reverberated through his body, sending torrents of hurt that mimicked the strike of a slave master’s lash. Ignoring the pain as best he could, Sebastian gripped the reins harder with his left hand, kicked more, and pleaded with his steed to ride beyond its limits.
With the passing of each moment, the taste of salt in the air grew; Sebastian knew the coastline was drawing nearer. He could almost hear the waves lapping against the rocks and see his royal vessel, along with the safety it would bring.
Confidence was beginning to brew within, but it would be short-lived.
A horrible stroke of bad luck sprang forth from the thick growth at the base of the thin-canopied trees in the form of a small-bodied, but ominously racked, white-speckled Barbary stag. Surprised, the royal horse violently slid across its hind legs while simultaneously rearing upward. Had it not done so, Sebastian certainly would have been thrown forcibly forward from his mount, but the quickness of the horse’s sudden rise smashed Sebastian’s chest deeper into the spine of the Lusitanian’s back.
Both beast and stag stared upon one another; both animals were momentarily frozen and unsure about what to do next. An unprovoked second rear of the horse turned the animal around and sent the stag bounding lithely back into the trees.
As the horse returned all four of its hooves to the earth, Sebastian could see the heavy outline of the Theatine monk who had pulled the string of the bow that belonged to the arrow embedded into his side.
The monk sat upon his own panting horse and had placed a fresh arrow into his bow; the string was fully drawn. The tension from the compressive force resonated through the archer’s impressive and formidable arms as the stored energy overtly begged to be released. The monk let out a slow breath, narrowed his eyes at his target, and released the string from the tips of his well-trained fingers; the arrow screamed as it parted the morning air. Within moments, the razor-sharp broadhead arrow found its mark and split the breast of the royal beast; its four blades penetrated through muscle, tendon, and bone to its final target. The thick walls of the Lusitanian’s heart were no match for the long-shafted arrow and its oversized and heavily serrated steel head.
At impact, the beast screamed for its life, knowing inst
inctively that it was over. One final, but involuntary, rear sent the horse awkwardly upright and spilled both rider and animal heavily to the earth. On its side, the horse uncontrollably convulsed all four of its legs outward, letting out one final and long gurgling breath as the beating of its heart ceased.
Above, throughout the canopy of the forest, the matriarch of a troop of macaques shouted a flurry of gregarious heckling, as she ordered the other macaques to scoop up the younger monkeys and flee.
Momentarily stunned, Sebastian crawled unsteadily to the Lusitanian. Through the columns of steam that floated upward from its corpse, he could see the hallmarks of death drizzling from its lips and in the tongue, hanging limp out of the corner of its mouth. Sebastian steadied his weight with his left hand pressed into the dry and crumbling earth. He placed his right hand upon the matted, white hide of the animal’s belly but felt what his eyes didn’t want to comprehend: he felt death.
“Get up,” commanded the monk.
Weary and resigned, young King Sebastian the First of Portugal turned his head toward the Theatine monk and quietly eyed the man that had been his sworn protector since birth. Hesitating for a moment, Sebastian gathered his strength, and, with difficulty, rose from the ground. A wave of pain from the arrow still embedded in his right side shot though his torso; he staggered slightly but found his balance. Made heir to the throne while still in his mother’s womb, King Sebastian had been carefully and meticulously educated in all matters necessary for a future king to master. Although confused at the treachery of the man standing before him, Sebastian was not shocked. His incestuous heritage had suffered a long history of barbarous acts and deception.
Sebastian took a deep breath but found it difficult to swell his ribcage fully. He panted slightly and asked, “Why, Mauricio, why have you betrayed the Order and the crown? Why have you betrayed me?”
“The Order of Christ is to be no more; you will be the last of its masters, Sebastian,” replied the monk. “Now, release your sword and turn around.”
Slowly, the king complied and undid his buckle; the sword fell to the earth. Before turning around, Sebastian lifted his head toward the monk and forced his eyes into his protector’s. The Theatine’s eyes showed neither shame nor remorse.