Steve Berry - The Charlemagne Pursuit

What pleasure to see the sun again. The long winter darkness has ended. The crystal walls come alive with a glitter of colored light. A choir sings a low, sweet, rhythmic chant. The level increases as the sun climbs into a new sky. Trumpets sound the final note and all bow their heads in appreciation of the power of life and strength. The city welcomes the summer season. People play games, attend lectures, visit with one another, and enjoy the Festival of the Year. Each time the central pendulum in the plaza comes to rest, all face the temple and watch as a crystal splashes color across the city. After the long winter, the spectacle is much appreciated. The time of unions arrives and many appear to pledge their love and allegiance. Each accepts a promise bracelet and tells of their pledge to the other. This time brings great joy. To live harmoniously is the goal I am told. But on this occasion three unions required dissolution. Two birthed children and the parents agreed to share responsibility, even though no longer together. The third union refused. Neither wanted the children. So others who had long desired to parent were given the offspring and there was again great joy. • • • I stay in a house where four rooms encircle a courtyard. No windows in any of the walls but the rooms are splendidly lit from above by a crystal ceiling and always remain full of warmth and light. Pipes reach across the city and into every house, like roots trailing on the ground, and bring a never-yielding heat. There are but two rules that govern the house. No eating and no sanitation. The rooms cannot be desecrated by eating, I am told. Meals are taken with everyone in the dining halls. Washing, bathing, and all other sanitation is performed in other halls. I inquire about such rules and I am told that all impure matter is instantly sent from the dining and sanitation halls to the fire that never ends, where it is consumed. That is what keeps Tartarus clean and healthy. The two rules are the sacrifices each person makes for the purity of the city. • • • This gray land is divided into nine Lots, each with a city that radiates from a central plaza, which seems a gathering spot. An Adviser administers each Lot, selected from the people of the Lot through a vote, in which both men and women participate. Laws are enacted by the nine Advisers and inscribed upon the Righteous Columns in the central plaza of each city so that all will know. Solemn agreements are made consistent with the law. Advisers meet once, during the Festival of the Year, in the central plaza of Tartarus, and choose one of their number to be High Adviser. A single rule governs their law: Treat the land and one another as you would want to be treated. Advisers deliberate for the good of all beneath the symbol of righteousness. Atop is the sun, half ablaze in its glory. Then the earth, a simple circle, and the planets represented by a dot within the circle. The cross reminds them of the land, while the sea waves below. Forgive my crude sketch but this is how it appears.

STEPHANIE WAS JARRED FROM HER SLEEP BY THE BEDSIDE PHONE.She glanced at the digital clock. 5:10 AM. Davis lay on the other queen bed, also fully clothed, sleeping. Neither of them had even bothered to unmake their bed before lying down.

She snatched up the receiver, listened for a moment, then sat up."Say that again."

"The man in custody is named Chuck Walters. We've verified that through fingerprints. He has a record, mostly petty stuff, nothing that relates here. He lives and works in Atlanta. We checked his alibi. Witnesses place him in Georgia two nights ago. No question. We interviewed them all and it checks out."

She cleared her head. "Why'd he run?"

"He said a man came charging after him. He's been sleeping with a married woman the past few months and thought it was her husband. We checked with the woman and she confirmed the affair. When Davis approached him, he freaked and ran. When you shot at him he really freaked and tossed the bowling pin. He didn't know what was happening. Then Davis beat the crap out of him. He says he's going to sue."

"Any chance he's lying?"

"Not that we can see. This guy is no professional assassin."

"What was he doing in Asheville?"

"His wife threw him out two days ago, so he decided to come up here. That's all. Nothing sinister."

"And, I assume, the wife confirmed all that."

"That's what we get paid for."

She shook her head. Dammit.

"What do you want me to do with him?"

"Let him go. What else?"

She hung up the phone and said, "It's not him."

Davis was sitting on the side of his bed. The realization dawned within them both at the same time.

Scofield.

And they rushed for the door.

CHARLIE SMITH HAD BEEN PERCHED IN THE TREE FOR NEARLY AN hour. Winter engulfed the limbs with aromatic resin, the thick needles ideal cover among a cluster of tall pines. The early-morning air was bitingly cold, an abundance of moisture only magnifying his discomfort. Thankfully, he'd dressed warmly and chosen his spot with care.

The show last night inside Biltmore house had been classic. He'd organized the charade with great style and watched as the woman not only took the bait, but swallowed the line, rod, reel, and the whole damn boat. He'd needed to know if he was walking into a trap, so he'd called Atlanta and found the operative, whom he'd employed before on other jobs. His instructions had been clear. Watch for a signal and then draw attention to himself. Smith had noticed the man and woman from the lobby earlier when they'd stepped onto the bus that transported the tour group from the inn to the chateau. He'd suspected they might be his problem but, once inside the house, he'd come to know for sure. So he'd given the signal and his man had given an Oscar-worthy performance. He'd stood on the far side of the enormous Christmas tree, in the banquet hall, and watched as all hell broke loose.

His orders to the operative had been clear. No weapons. Do nothing except run. Let them catch you, then plead ignorance. He'd made sure that his man possessed a clean alibi for his whereabouts two nights ago, since he knew everything would be double-checked. The fact that his helper was indeed experiencing marital problems and sleeping with a married woman only aided in the alibi and provided the perfect reasons for fleeing.

All in all, the spectacle had played itself out with perfection.

Now he'd come to finish the job.

STEPHANIE BANGED ON THE DOOR FOR THE CONFERENCE COORDINATOR, and her summons was finally answered. The front desk had provided them the room number.

"Who the hell are-"

Stephanie flashed her identification. "Federal agents. We need to know where that hunt is located this morning."

The woman hesitated a second, then said, "It's on the estate, about twenty minutes from here."

"A map," Davis said. "Draw it, please."

SMITH WATCHED THE HUNTING PARTY THROUGH A PAIR OF BINOCULARS he'd purchased yesterday afternoon at a nearby Target. He was glad he'd kept the rifle from Herbert Rowland's house. It contained four rounds, more than enough. Actually, he'd only need one.

Hunting wild hogs certainly was not for everyone. He knew a little about the sport. Hogs were mean, nasty, and tended to inhabit only densely vegetated areas, off the beaten path. The file on Scofield indicated that he loved hog hunting. When Smith learned yesterday about this jaunt, his mind had quickly formulated the perfect way to eliminate his target.

He looked around. The environment was ideal. Plenty of trees. No houses. Dense woods for miles. Wreaths of mist encircled the forested peaks. Fortunately, Scofield did not bring any dogs-they would have posed a problem. He'd learned from the conference staff that the participants always met at a staging area about three miles from the inn, near the river, and followed a well-marked route. No guns. Only bows and arrows. And they didn't necessarily come back with a hog. More private time with the professor, talking shop, enjoying a winter's morning in the woods. So he'd arrived two hours ago, well before dawn, and made his way down the trail, finally deciding on the highest and best location, near the start of the trek, hoping he'd get an opportunity.