The Alexandria Link

by Steve Berry

  “My daddy used to tell my mama that he never called her a bitch to her face.” He threw her a glare. “Which was true, too.”

  She said nothing.

  “I went to a lot of trouble to have you flushed from that museum. That’s one of my favorite places. I love airplanes and space. Studied everything about them when I was younger. Great thing about being president. You can go watch a launch whenever you want.” The president crossed his legs and leaned back in the rocker. “I have a problem, Stephanie. A serious one.”

  “That makes two of us. I’m unemployed and, according to your deputy national security adviser, under arrest. And didn’t you fire me?”

  “I did. Larry asked me to, and I agreed. But it needed to be done, so you could be here now.”

  Cassiopeia sat forward. “I wondered. But now I know. You’re working with the Israelis, aren’t you? I’ve been trying to piece it together. Now it makes sense. They came to you.”

  “I’m told your father was one of the smartest men in Spain. Built a financial empire from nothing. One you now run.”

  “Not my strong point.”

  “But I hear you’re an excellent shot, brave as hell, with a genius IQ.”

  “And at the moment I find myself in the middle of a political mess.”

  Daniels’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “A mess. That’s exactly what we have. And you’re right, Israel did contact me. They’re irritated with Cotton Malone.”

  Stephanie knew Daniels was partial to Malone. Two years before, Malone had been involved with a murder trial in Mexico City—the victim a DEA supervisor, Daniels’s college roommate, murdered execution-style. She’d sent Malone to ensure a conviction, but during a lunch break he’d found himself in a crossfire that resulted in the death of the Mexican prosecutor and Henrik Thorvaldsen’s son. Malone shot the assailants and came home with a bullet in his shoulder, but got the conviction. When he’d wanted to resign early in return for what he’d done, Daniels had personally allowed him out of his navy commission.

  “What about you, sir?” she asked. “Irritated with Malone, too?”

  “Sir? Now that’s a first. I’ve noticed the few times we’ve been together, you never use that word.”

  “Didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”

  “Stephanie, I pay real close attention to a great many things. For example, just a short while ago Cotton Malone called the Magellan Billet. Of course, you’ve been busy, so the call was routed to Brent Green, on the attorney general’s personal order.”

  “Thought Daley was in charge?”

  “I did, too. Why’d Green do that?”

  “How do you know he did?” Cassiopeia asked.

  “His phones are tapped.”

  Had Stephanie heard right? “You have his phones bugged?”

  “Damn right. Him and a few others. And, yes, one of those is Larry Daley.”

  Ripples of uncertainty spread through her and she forced her mind to concentrate. This puzzle apparently came with a lot of pieces.

  “Stephanie, I’ve worked my whole life to get here. It’s a position where one person can really do something. And I’ve done all right. Unemployment is at its lowest in thirty years. Inflation is nonexistent. Interest rates are modest. I even pushed through a tax cut two years ago.”

  “With Larry Daley yanking Congress’s chain. Hard to lose.” She could not resist. This man may be president, but at the moment her bullshit-tolerance level was well below zero.

  Daniels rocked in silence, staring out into the dense woods. “You remember Rocky III.”

  She did not answer.

  “I loved those movies. Rocky was always pounded to the breaking point, then that great music played, trumpets and all. He’d see everything clearly, grab a second wind, and beat the crap out of the other guy.”

  She listened with amusement.

  “In Rocky III he finds out that Mickey, his trainer, was arranging easy fights. Sure wins. Just so Rocky could keep his title and wouldn’t get hurt. Stallone played that great. He wants to fight Mr. T, but Mickey says no, he’ll kill you. Rocky gets furious when he realizes he may not be as good as he thought he was. Of course, Mickey dies and Rocky finally KOs Mr. T.”

  The president’s words carried a tone of respect.

  “Daley is my Mickey,” he said in a near whisper. “He fixed my fights. I’m like Rocky. I don’t like it.”

  “And you didn’t know?” she asked.

  He shook his head with an odd mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “I was working on nailing him myself when I discovered that you were investigating. Using a call girl? Imaginative. My people weren’t as creative. I have to say, when I was told, my opinion of you changed that day.”

  She needed to know, “How did you know I was doing it?”

  “My guys love wiretaps and video. So they listened and watched. We knew about the flash drives. And we also knew his hiding place. So we were just waiting.”

  “That investigation was months ago. Why didn’t you move on him?”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  The answer was obvious. “I can’t fire him. You can.”

  Daniels planted both feet on the deck and balanced on the rocker’s edge. “Scandal is a tough thing, Stephanie. There’s nobody in this country who’s going to believe that I didn’t know what Daley was doing. I had to take him out, but with no fingerprints.”

  “So Daley needed to do it to himself,” Cassiopeia said.

  Daniels faced her. “That was the preferable way. But Larry specializes in survival. And I have to say, he’s good at it.”

  “What’s he got on you?” Stephanie asked.

  Her audacity seemed to please rather than anger him. “Other than those compromising pictures of me with a goat, not all that much.”

  She grinned. “It had to be asked.”

  “Yes, it did. I see what they say about you, Stephanie. Aggravating you can be. How about we return to my question, which neither of you seems to think is important. Why did Brent Green want to talk directly with Cotton?”

  She recalled what Daley said in the museum. “Daley told me Brent is bucking to be the next vice president.”

  “Which brings us to the purpose of this gathering.” Daniels leaned back and started rocking again. “I like to play the good ol’ boy. Part of my Tennessee hill country upbringing. It’s one reason I love Camp David so much. Reminds me of home. But now it’s time to be president. Somebody accessed our secured files and managed a look at the Alexandria Link. Then they leaked that information to two foreign governments, both of which are now in an uproar. The Israelis are really pissed. Yes, publicly it sounds like we’re at each other’s throats. But privately, I like those folks. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to screw with Israel on my watch. Unfortunately, I have some in this administration who think otherwise.”

  She wanted to ask who, but decided to let him talk.

  “Something has been placed in motion, which all started when Cotton Malone’s boy was taken. Luckily, with Malone, these folks have no idea who they’re dealing with. He’ll give ’em fits. Which gives us an opportunity to flesh things out. One of my uncles used to say, Want to kill snakes? Simple. Set fire to the underbrush and wait for them to slither out. Then you can whack their heads off. That’s what we’re going to do here.”

  Cassiopeia shook her head. “Like I said, what you have, Mr. President, is a mess. I’ve only been involved for a day or two, but I have no idea who’s telling the truth.”

  “Including me?”

  Cassiopeia’s emerald eyes tightened. “Including you.”

  “That’s good. You should be suspicious.” His voice rang of sincerity. “But I need your help. That’s why I fired you, Stephanie. You needed freedom of movement. Now you have it.”

  “To do what?”

  “Find my traitor.”

  SIXTY

  VIENNA

  11:20 PM

  THORVALDSEN LED GARY FROM THE CHTEAU’
S SECOND FLOOR down to ground level. He’d heard nothing more from Alfred Hermann since their brief conversation earlier. Gary had spent the evening with a few of the other guests. Two members had brought their teenage children, and Hermann had arranged for them to dine in the greenhouse at the rear of the mansion.

  “That was neat,” Gary said. “Butterflies land right on your plate.”

  Thorvaldsen had visited the schmetterlinghaus several times and also found it fascinating. He’d even thought of adding one to Christiangade.

  “They’re remarkable creatures that require great care.”

  “Place was like a tropical forest.”

  Neither one of them could sleep. Gary was apparently a night person, too. So they made their way into Hermann’s library.

  Thorvaldsen had heard earlier that the Blue Chair intended to meet with the Economic Committee. Those discussions should go on for a while, which would give him time to read and prepare. Tomorrow’s Assembly would be one of decision. Debate needed to be to the point and accurate. Everyone would leave on Sunday. The Assembly was never a prolonged affair. Staff and committees narrowed issues to only the ones that required a collective vote. These were then presented, discussed, and resolved—the Order’s course set for the coming months until spring.

  So he needed to be ready.

  The cavernous library was two stories tall and encased with shiny walnut paneling. A black marble fireplace flanked by baroque figurines and a French tapestry dominated one wall. Built-in shelves sheathed the remaining three top-to-bottom, the room crowned with a dramatic ceiling painting that made it appear open to the sky.

  A spiral staircase corkscrewed a path to the upper shelves. He clung to a slick iron rail and slowly climbed the narrow risers.

  “What are we doing here?” Gary asked when they reached the top.

  “I want to read something.”

  He knew of the podium in Hermann’s library, upon which was displayed a magnificent Bible. Hermann had boasted that the edition was one of the earliest printed. Thorvaldsen approached the ancient tome and admired its elaborate cover.

  “The Bible was the first book created when printing was finally perfected in the fifteenth century. Gutenberg produced many Bibles. This is one. As I told you earlier, you should read it.”

  Gary stared at the book and Thorvaldsen knew the lad could not appreciate the significance. So he said, “These words changed the course of human history. They altered humankind’s social development and forged political systems. This and the Koran may be the two most important books on the planet.”

  “How can words be that important?”

  “It’s not simply words, Gary. It’s what we do with them. After Gutenberg began mass printing, books quickly spread. They weren’t cheap, but by 1500 they were common. More access to information meant more dissent, more informed discussion, more widespread criticism of authority. Information changed the world. Made it a different place.” He motioned at the Bible. “And this book changed everything.”

  He carefully opened the front cover.

  “What language is that?” Gary asked.

  “Latin.” He scanned the index.

  “You can read it?”

  He smiled at the incredulous tone. “I was taught as a child.” He tapped the boy’s chest. “You ought to learn, too.”

  “What would I do if I did?”

  “For one thing, you could read this Bible.”

  He motioned at the index. “Thirty-nine books. Jews revere the first five. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. They tell the tale of the ancient people of Israel from the creation of the world, through the Great Flood, the Exodus from Egypt, the wanderings in the desert, to the giving of the Law to Moses at Sinai. Quite an epic.”

  He knew that to Jews those writings meant a great deal. As did the next division, prophets—Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings—which recounted the story of the Israelites from their crossing the River Jordan, to the conquest of Canaan, the rise and fall of their many kingdoms, and their defeat at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians.

  “These books,” he said to Gary, “supposedly tell us how history unfolded for the people of Israel thousands of years before Christ. They were a people whose destiny was tied directly to God and the promises He made.”

  “But that was a long time ago?”

  He nodded. “Four thousand years in the past. Yet Arabs and Jews have warred with one another ever since trying to prove them true.”

  He slowly paged through to Genesis and found the passage he’d come to study. “The Lord said to Abram, lift up now your eyes and look from the place where you are northward and southward and eastward and westward, for all the land which you see, to you I will give it, and to your seed forever.” He paused. “Those words have cost millions their lives.”

  He silently read again the six most important words.

  “What is it?” Gary asked.

  He stared at the boy. How many times had Cai asked him the same thing? His son not only had practiced their faith, but had learned Latin and read the Bible, too. He’d been a good man. But another victim of senseless violence.

  “The truth is important,” he said, more to himself than Gary.

  From the place where you are.

  “Have you heard from Dad?” Gary asked.

  He gazed at the boy and shook his head. “Not a word. He’s off looking for something quite like what surrounds us. A library. One that may hold the key to understanding these biblical words.”

  A commotion below caught his attention. The library’s door opened, and voices could be heard. One he recognized—Alfred Hermann.

  He motioned, and they retreated to where the upper shelves were broken by a window alcove. The downstairs was dimly lit by an odd assortment of lamps, the upper balcony by recessed ceiling fixtures. He signaled for Gary to be silent. The boy nodded.

  He listened.

  The other man was speaking English.

  An American.

  “This is important, Alfred. Actually, it’s beyond important. It’s vital.”

  “I’m aware of your situation,” Hermann said. “But it’s no more vital than ours.”

  “Malone is on his way to the Sinai. You said that would be okay.”

  “And it will. Can I pour you some cognac?”

  “You trying to calm me down?”

  “I’m trying to pour you some cognac.”

  He motioned for Gary to stay put while he crept from the alcove, risking a quick glance beyond the ornate iron railing. Alfred Hermann stood below, pouring from a decanter. Standing beside him was a younger man, maybe early fifties, dressed in a dark suit. His head was crowned by a thick fleece of blond hair. The face was clean-shaven, energetic, cherubic—perfect for a portrait painter or an actor.

  Which wasn’t far from the mark.

  Thorvaldsen knew this man.

  The vice president of the United States.

  SIXTY-ONE

  CAMP DAVID, MARYLAND

  STEPHANIE REGISTERED THE PRESIDENT’S WORDS. “WHAT DO YOU mean your traitor?”

  Daniels threw her a troubled look. “Someone in this government is messing with me. They’re advancing their own policies, furthering their own goals, thinking I’m either too lazy, too pathetic, or too dumb to know. Now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the ringleader. My so-called loyal vice president. He’s an ambitious sucker.”

  “Mr. President—” she said.

  “Now, that’s a first, too. Mr. President. Maybe we’re making some progress in our relationship.”

  “I’ve had my reservations about you and this administration.”

  “That’s the problem with career bureaucrats. Us politicians come and go. But you people stay, and stay, and stay. Which means you have lots to compare with. Unfortunately for me, Stephanie, you’re turning out to be right on this one. I’m surrounded by traitors. My vice president wants this job so bad he can’t stand it. And to get it, he’s willin
g to make a deal with the devil.” Daniels paused, and she did not interrupt his thoughts. “The Order of the Golden Fleece.”

  Had she heard right?

  “He’s there. Right now. Meeting with its head. A man named Alfred Hermann.”

  She had seriously underestimated Danny Daniels. Just as she had Brent Green. Both men were quite informed. Cassiopeia rocked in her chair, but Stephanie could see she was listening closely. She’d told Cassiopeia about the Order.

  “My father was a member,” Cassiopeia said.

  That had not been mentioned earlier when they’d talked.

  “For many years he and Henrik attended together. I chose not to continue the membership after his death.”

  “Good move,” Daniels said. “That group has been linked to a number of global instabilities. And they’re good. No fingerprints anywhere. Of course, the key players usually end up dead. Like any good gang, they have an enforcement arm. A man called the Talons of the Eagle. Typical Europeans. A hired gun with a grand title. They’re the ones who took Malone’s boy.”

  “And you’re just now telling us?”

  “Yes, Stephanie, I am. One of the prerogatives of being the head of the free world is I can pretty much do what I damn well please.” He threw her a dissecting glance. “There’s a lot going on here. Happening fast. From several angles. I’ve done the best I can under the circumstances.”

  She drew him back to the point. “What’s the vice president doing with the Blue Chair?”

  “Blue Chair? Good to see you’re informed, too. I was hoping you were. The VP is selling his soul. That Order is after, of all things, the Library of Alexandria. They’re looking for proof of a theory, and though I thought the whole thing bizarre, apparently there’s more to it.”

  “What do the Israelis say?” Cassiopeia asked.

  “They don’t want anything found. Period. Leave it alone. Seems the Order has been squeezing the Saudi royal house for decades and now they’ve decided to just swirl everything up. Get the Jews and Arabs all riled. Not a bad play, actually. We’ve been known to do the same thing. But this will escalate. Fanatics are impossible to predict, whether they be Arab, Israeli—” He paused. “—or American.”