by Steve Berry
Comparing scriptural landmarks to Hebrew place-names, both in the Old Testament and on the ground, his expert had located biblical places such as Gilgal, Zidon, al-Lith, Dan, Hebron, Beersheba, and the City of David.
He removed the map.
Its image was already loaded on the computer in the meeting hall. The members would soon see what he’d long admired.
Even the question of Jerusalem’s twenty-six gates, identified in Chronicles, Kings, Zechariah, and Nehemiah, had been solved. A walled city would have had no more than four gates, one leading in each direction. So twenty-six was questionable from the start. But the Hebrew word used throughout the Old Testament for “gate” was shaar. That word, like so many, possessed a double meaning, one of which was “passage or mountain col.” Interestingly, there were twenty-six identified openings through the mountain escarpment that separated the identified Jerusalem territory from Judah. He recalled his own amazement when that reality had been explained. The King’s Gate, Prison Gate, Fountain Gate, Valley Gate, and all the others so descriptively labeled in the Old Testament could be linked with near-perfect accuracy—through their proximity to still-existing villages—to mountain passes through the Jordan escarpment located in Asir.
Nothing even remotely close existed in Palestine.
The proof seemed incontrovertible.
The events of the Old Testament had not occurred in Palestine. Instead they’d all happened hundreds of miles to the south in Arabia. And Jerome and Augustine knew that, yet deliberately allowed the errors of the Septuagint not only to remain, but in fact to flourish, further altering the Old Testament so the passages would seem an indisputable prophecy for the Gospels of their New Testament. The Jews were not to enjoy a monopoly on God’s Word. For their new religion to thrive, the Christians needed a connection, too.
So they manufactured one.
Simply finding a Hebrew Bible from before the time of Christ could prove decisive, but a copy of Strabo’s Histories could likewise answer many questions. If the library still existed, he could only hope that one or both would have been preserved.
He stepped over to the glass case that he’d shown the vice president last night. The American had been unimpressed, but who cared? America’s new president would see the havoc they would wreak. Still, he hoped Thorvaldsen would be more impressed seeing them. He reached beneath and pressed the release button. He swung the case open and thought, for a moment, that his eyes were deceiving him.
Empty.
The letters and translations were gone. How? Not the vice president. Hermann had watched his motorcade leave the estate. No one else knew of the hiding place.
Only one possible explanation.
Thorvaldsen.
Anger sent him darting to his desk. He lifted the phone and called for his chief of the guard. Then he opened a desk drawer and removed his gun.
Margarete be damned.
SIXTY-NINE
SINAI PENINSULA
MALONE’S LEGS REMAINED WOBBLY, AND HIS CROTCH ACHED. Pam had said little since their encounter, and McCollum had wisely stayed out of the fight. But Malone couldn’t complain. He’d asked for it and she’d delivered.
He stared in every direction at the desolate serenity. The sun had risen quickly, and the air was heating like an oven. He’d retrieved the GPS unit from his pack and determined that the precise coordinates—28º 41.41N, 33º 38.44E—lay less than a mile away.
“Okay, McCollum. What now?”
The other man slipped a piece of paper from his pocket and read out loud: “Then, like the shepherds of the painter Poussin, puzzled by the enigma, you will be flooded with the light of inspiration. Reassemble the fourteen stones, then work with square and compass to find the path. At noon, sense the presence of the red light, see the endless coil of the serpent red with anger. But heed the letters. Danger threatens one who arrives with great speed. If your course remains true, the route will be sure.
“That’s all there is to the quest,” McCollum concluded.
Malone rolled the cryptic words through his mind.
Pam plopped to the ground and drank some water. “That arbor in England had a Poussin image. What was it? A tomb of some sort with writing on it? Apparently Thomas Bainbridge left a few clues, too.”
He was already thinking the same thing.
“You see that building on the way down?” Malone asked McCollum. “West, maybe a quarter mile. It’s where the coordinates point.”
“Seems the path is clear.”
He shouldered his rucksack. Pam stood. He asked her, “You done proving points?”
She shrugged. “Throw me out of another airplane and see what happens.”
“You two always like this?” McCollum asked.
He started walking. “Only when we’re together.”
Malone approached the building he’d seen from the air. Not much to it. Low, squatty, with a tattered tile roof, its foundations crumbling as if being reclaimed by the earth. The exterior walls stood equal in height and length, broken only by two windows, devoid of anything, about ten feet up. The front door was a decaying slab of thick cedar, hanging askew from black iron hinges.
He kicked it open.
Only a lizard greeted them as it sought refuge across the dirt floor.
“Cotton.”
He turned. Pam was motioning to another outcropping. He stepped toward it, each footfall crunching the parched sand.
“Looks like the tomb in that carving at Bainbridge Hall,” she said.
Good point. And he studied the four-block-high rectangle with a rounded stone top. He examined the sides for carvings, particularly the lettering Et in arcadia ego. Nothing there. Which wasn’t surprising, because the desert would have long ago erased any vestiges.
“We’re at the right coordinates and this thing does look like the same tomb from the arbor.”
He recalled the hero’s quest. Then, like the shepherds of the painter Poussin, puzzled by the enigma, you will be flooded with the light of inspiration.
He leaned against the tattered stones.
“What now, Malone?” McCollum asked.
Hillocks rose to their north, steadily climbing into barren mountains where black crags cleaved deep paths. The sky burned with a growing glow as the sun crept higher toward midday.
He rolled more of the quest over in his mind.
Reassemble the fourteen stones, then work with square and compass to find the path. At noon, sense the presence of the red light, see the endless coil of the serpent red with anger.
Everything at Belém had been fairly obvious—a mixture of history and technology, which seemed the Guardians’ trademark. After all, the idea was for the invitee to succeed. This part was a challenge.
But not impossible.
He surveyed the dilapidated building and makeshift tomb.
Then he saw them and counted.
Fourteen.
SABRE WONDERED IF HE SHOULD SIMPLY KILL THEM BOTH NOW. Was he close enough to figure the rest out himself? Malone had brought him this far and, exactly as he’d hoped, tapped into his resources to get them from England to Portugal to here.
But he told himself to be patient.
He would never have deciphered the quest himself, much less this quickly. By now the Blue Chair was surely looking for him. The Assembly was in session, so he hoped that would provide a diversion until tomorrow. But he knew how much Hermann wanted to know if this trail seemed promising. He also knew what else the old man was planning and how critical his participation would be over the next week. Three emissaries had been used to negotiate with bin Laden. He’d visit all three, killing two but preserving one.
That person and the library would be his bargaining chips.
But all that assumed there was something here to find.
If not, he’d kill Malone and his ex-wife and hope he could lie his way out of trouble.
MALONE STARED AT ONE SIDE OF THE DILAPIDATED BUILDING. Ten feet up loomed one of the bare op
enings. He walked around to the other side and spied the other portal at a similar height.
He came back to where McCollum and Pam stood and said, “I think I’ve figured it out. The building’s square, as are those two openings.”
“Use square and compass,” Pam said.
He pointed. “Those two openings are the key.”
“What do you mean?” McCollum said. “Going to be kind of tough to get up there.”
“Not really. Look around.” Boulders and rocks littered the sand. “Notice anything about the rocks?”
Pam stepped over to one and squatted down. He watched as she caressed the sides. “Square. About a foot even all around?”
“I’d say that’s right. Remember the clue. Reassemble the fourteen stones, then work with square and compass to find the path. There are fourteen of those things scattered about.”
Pam stood. “Obviously, this quest has a physical part. Not just anyone could reassemble these stones. I assume they’ll provide the boost up to the window?”
He dropped his pack.
So did McCollum, who said, “One way to find out.”
Twenty minutes were needed to gather the fourteen square stones and assemble them into a flat-topped pyramid, six on the bottom, then five, capped by three. If needed, one of the three could be stacked on the remaining two for more height, but Malone estimated the pile was more than tall enough.
He stepped up and balanced himself atop.
McCollum and Pam made sure the tower remained stable.
He gazed through the square opening in the crumbling wall. Through the opposite square, twenty feet away, he spotted mountains half a mile in the distance. At noon, sense the presence of the red light, see the end less coil of the serpent red with anger.
The shrinking building with the battered roof had been deliberately oriented east to west.
This wasn’t a dwelling. No. Like the rose window in Belém, also oriented east to west, it was a compass.
Work with square and compass to find the path.
He checked his watch.
In an hour, he’d do just that.
SEVENTY
MARYLAND
7:30 AM
STEPHANIE DROVE THE SUBURBAN THAT PRESIDENT DANIELS had supplied them. He’d also provided two Secret Service revolvers and spare magazines. She wasn’t quite sure what they were headed into, but apparently he wanted them prepared.
“You realize this truck is probably electronically tagged,” Cassiopeia said.
“We can only hope.”
“And you realize that this whole thing is nuts. We don’t have any idea who to trust, including the president of the United States.”
“No question. We’re pawns on the chessboard. But a pawn can take the king, if properly positioned.”
“Stephanie, we’re bait.”
She agreed, but said nothing.
They cruised into a small town about thirty miles north of Washington, one of countless bedroom communities that encircled the capital. Following the directions given to her, she recognized the name of the glass-fronted restaurant nestled beneath a canopy of leafy trees.
Aunt B’s.
One of Larry Daley’s favorite haunts.
She parked and they stepped inside, greeted by the pungent smell of apple-bacon and fried potatoes. A steaming buffet line was being attacked by eager diners. They bypassed the cashier and spotted Daley sitting alone.
“Get some food,” he said. “On me.” A plate heaped with eggs, grits, and a fried pork chop sat before him.
As agreed, Cassiopeia moved to another table where she could watch the room. Stephanie sat with Daley. “No thanks.” She noticed a colorful sign near the buffet line that showed two oversized pink pigs surrounded by the slogan GET YOUR FAT BACK AT AUNT B’S. She pointed. “That why you eat here? To get your fat back.”
“I like the place. Reminds me of my mother’s cooking. I know you find this hard to believe, but I am a person.”
“Why aren’t you running the Billet? You’re in charge now.”
“It’s being handled. We have a more pressing problem.”
“Like saving your ass.”
He sliced his pork chop. “These things are great. You should eat something. You need a little fat back, Stephanie.”
“So nice of you to notice my trim figure. Where’s your girlfriend?”
“I have no idea. I assume she was sleeping with me to see what she could learn. Which was nothing. I was doing the same thing. Again contrary to what you think, I’m not a complete idiot.”
Per Daniels’s suggestion, she’d called Daley two hours before and requested the meeting. He’d eagerly agreed. What bothered her was why Daniels, if he actually wanted her to talk to Daley, had interrupted the encounter at the museum. But she simply added that quandary to the growing list. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”
“Time for a reality check, Stephanie. The stuff you have on me? Keep it. Use it. I don’t care. If I go down, so does the president. Truth be told, I wanted you to find it.”
She found that hard to believe.
“I knew all about your investigation. That whore you sent my way? I’m not that weak. Do you think that’s the first time a woman has tried to learn things on me? I knew you were digging. So I made it easy for you to find what you wanted. But you took your time.”
“Nice try, Larry. But that dog doesn’t hunt here.”
He worked on a combination of eggs and grits. “I know you’re not going to believe any of this. But for once could you forget you hate my guts and just listen?”
That’s why she’d come.
“I’ve been doing some snooping. Lot of crap swirling. Strange stuff. I’m not privy to the inner circle, but I’m close enough to cop a feel. When I found out you were looking at me, I figured you’d move on me at some point—and when you did, we could deal.”
“Why didn’t you just ask for my help?”
“Get real. You can’t stand to be in the same room with me. You’re going to help me? I figured once you peeped into the window and saw what was happening, then you’d be a lot more receptive. Like you are right now.”
“You still bribing Congress?”
“Yeah. Me and about a thousand other lobbyists. Hell, it should be an Olympic sport.”
She glanced at Cassiopeia and saw nothing that triggered alarm. Families and older couples populated the many tables.
“Forget all that. It’s the least of our concerns,” Daley said.
“I didn’t know we had any concerns.”
“Much more is happening.” He gulped a few swallows of orange juice. “Damn, they load this stuff with sugar. But it’s good.”
“If you eat like this all the time, how do you stay so thin?”
“Stress. Best diet in the world.” He tabled the glass. “There’s a conspiracy going on, Stephanie.”
“To do what?”
“Change the president.”
This was new.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He shoved the plate aside. “The vice president is in Europe attending an economic summit. But I’ve been told that he left his hotel last night late and went to meet with a man named Alfred Hermann. Supposedly a courtesy visit. But the VP is not a courteous man. He does things for a reason. He’s met with Hermann before. I checked.”
“And discovered that Hermann heads an organization called the Order of the Golden Fleece.”
A look of amazement flooded Daley’s face. “I knew you’d be a help. So you already know about it.”
“What I want to know is why any of that is important.”
“This group cultivates political influence and they have reach all over the world. Hermann and the VP have been friends awhile. I’ve heard talk about him and the Order, but the VP keeps his thoughts fairly close. I know he wants to be president. He’s gearing up to run, but I think he may be looking for a shortcut.”
Daniels had said nothing about this subject.
She nodded.
“On one are some digital recordings of telephone conversations. Only a few, but damn interesting. They’re with the VP’s chief of staff—a true asshole if ever there was one. He funneled the Alexandria Link directly to Alfred Hermann.”
“And how did you manage to learn that?”
“I was there.”
She kept her face blank.
“Right there with him. So I documented the whole encounter. We met Hermann in New York five months ago. Gave him everything. That’s when I brought Dixon in.”
That was new, too.
“Yeah. I went to her and told her what was happening with the link. I also told her about the meeting with Hermann.”
“That wasn’t real bright.”
“Seemed so at the time. The Israelis were the only ally I could muster. But they thought the whole thing to Hermann was some kind of backchannel to cause them problems. All I got was Dixon as my babysitter.” He swallowed more juice. “Which wasn’t all bad.”
“Now I’m getting sick.”
Daley shook his head. “It was about a month later when the VP’s chief of staff and I were alone. Asshole that he is, he still likes to brag. That’s what usually gets guys like that in trouble. We’d had a few drinks and he made some comments. By then I was suspicious, so I kept a pocket recorder on me. I got some good stuff that night.”
Cassiopeia stood from her table and walked toward the glass wall. Outside, cars came and went in the shaded parking lot.
“He talked about the Twenty-fifth Amendment. How he’d been studying it, learning details. He asked me what I knew about it, which wasn’t much. I acted disinterested and drunk, though I was neither.”
She knew what the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the Constitution said.
In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President.
SEVENTY-ONE
SINAI PENINSULA
MALONE CHECKED HIS WATCH: 11:58 AM. HE’D ALREADY glanced through the two openings once and seen nothing. Pam and McCollum stood below him as he balanced atop the fourteen stones.
