Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

“You shot that man yesterday without a hint of remorse,” Pam said. “That’s scary, Cotton.”

“Gary’s safety was at stake.”

“That what you used to do?”

“All the time.”

“I’ve seen all the death I want to see.”

So had he.

They kept walking. He could tell she was thinking. He’d always known when her brain was churning.

“I didn’t mention it yesterday,” she said, “with all that happened, but I have a new man in my life.”

He was glad, but wondered why she was telling him. “Been a long time since we were concerned with each other’s business.”

“I know. But he’s kind of special.” She lifted her arm and displayed her wrist. “He gave me this watch.”

She seemed proud of it, so he indulged her. “A TAG Heuer. Not bad.”

“I thought so, too. Surprised the heck out of me.”

“He treat you good?”

She nodded. “I enjoy my time with him.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“I only mention it to let you know that maybe it’s time we made peace.”

They entered the terminal, crowded with people. Time they parted ways.

“Mind if I come along with you?” she asked. “My plane to Atlanta doesn’t leave for seven hours.”

He’d actually been rehearsing his goodbye, intent on keeping it nonchalant. “Not a good idea. I need to do this alone.” He didn’t have to say what they were both thinking. Especially after yesterday.

She nodded. “I understand. I just thought it’d be a good way to pass the afternoon.”

He was curious. “Why would you want to come? Thought you wanted away from all this?”

“I almost got killed over that link, so I’m curious. And besides, what am I going to do in this airport?”

He had to admit she looked great-five years his junior, but she looked even younger. And her countenance was too much like the old Pam, at once helpless, independent, and appealing, for him to be flippant. The features on her freckled face, the blue eyes, sent a rush of memories through his brain, ones that he’d fought hard to repress, especially since August when he’d found out about Gary’s parentage.

He and Pam had been married a long time. Shared a life. Good and bad. He was forty-eight years old, divorced more than a year, separated for nearly six.

Maybe it was time he got over it. What happened happened, and he’d been no angel.

But brokering a peace would have to wait, so he simply said, “You get on back to Atlanta and stay out of trouble, okay?”

She smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

“That’s impossible for me. But I’m sure that new man in your life would like to have you home.”

“We still need to talk, Cotton. We’ve both avoided the subject.”

“We will, but after all this. How about a truce till then?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll let you know how things go, and don’t worry about Gary. Henrik will look after him. He’ll be well protected. You have the phone number, so check on him whenever.”

He threw her a cheerful wave to match his grin, then drifted toward the terminal exits and a taxi. He hadn’t brought a bag. Depending on how long he stayed, he’d buy some things later, after he found the link.

But before leaving the building he needed to check one more thing.

At the exit doors he approached an information counter and plucked a city map from its holder. He casually turned and studied it, allowing his gaze to drift from the map to the stream of people flowing through the broad terminal.

He’d expected String Bean to be waiting for him to leave, if indeed he was following.

Instead, his problem tailed Pam.

Now he was concerned.

He tossed the map on the counter and headed across the terminal. Pam entered one of the many cafés, apparently intent on passing the time with a meal or a coffee. String Bean assumed a position in a duty-free shop where he could clearly observe the café.

Interesting. Apparently Malone wasn’t the flavor-of-the-day.

He, too, entered the café.

Pam was sitting in a booth, and he walked over. Surprise flooded her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Changed my mind. Why don’t you come along?”

“I’d really like that.”

“One condition.”

“I know. My mouth stays shut.”

STEPHANIE ALLOWED THORVALDSEN’S WORDS TO AGAIN PLAY across her mind. Then she calmly asked, “You’re a member of the Order of the Golden Fleece?”

“For thirty years. I always thought it nothing more than a way for people with money and power to mingle with one another. That’s what we do most of the time-”

“When you’re not paying off politicians or bribing for contracts.”

“Come now, Stephanie. You know the way of the world. I don’t make the rules. I just play by the ones in place.”

“Tell me what you know, Henrik. And please, no bullshit.”

“My investigators traced the two dead men from yesterday to Amsterdam. One has a lady friend. She told us that her lover worked regularly for another man. Once she managed to see him, and from her description I believe I’ve seen him, too.”

She waited for more.

“Interestingly, for many years now, at Order functions, I’ve heard quite a bit about the lost Library of Alexandria. The occupant of the Blue Chair, Alfred Hermann, is obsessed with the subject.”

“You know why?”

“He believes there’s much we can learn from the ancients.”

That she doubted, but she needed to know, “What’s the connection between the two dead men and the Order?”

“The man the woman described has been present at Order functions. Not a member. An employee. She didn’t hear his name, but her boyfriend once used a term I’ve heard before, too. Die Klauen der Adler. ”

She silently translated. The Talons of the Eagle. “You going to tell me more?”

“How about when I’m sure?”

Back in June, when she’d first met Thorvaldsen, he hadn’t been all that forthcoming, which had only fueled the already existing friction between them. But since then she’d learned not to underestimate the Dane. “Okay. You said the Order’s main interest was the Middle East. What did you mean?”

“I appreciate you not pressing.”

“Got to start cooperating with you sometime. Besides, you weren’t going to tell me anyway.”

Thorvaldsen chuckled. “We’re a lot alike.”

“Now, that scares me.”

“It’s not all that bad. But to answer your question about the Middle East, unfortunately the Arab world only respects strength. They also know how to deal, however, and they have much to bargain with, especially oil.”

She couldn’t argue with that conclusion.

“Who’s the Arab’s number one enemy?” Thorvaldsen asked. “America? No. Israel. That’s the thorn in their side. There it sits. Right in the middle of their world. A Jewish state. Partitioned out in 1948 when nearly a million people were, if you believe the Arab line, forcibly displaced. Land Palestinians, Egyptians, Jordanians, Lebanese, and Syrians had claimed for centuries was simply surrendered by the world to the Jews. The nakba, the catastrophe, they called it. A fitting name.” Thorvaldsen paused. “For both sides.”

“And war immediately broke out,” Stephanie said. “The first of many.”

“Every one of them, thankfully, won by Israel. For the past sixty years the Israelis have clung to their land, and all because God told Abraham that it was to be so.”

She remembered the passage Brent Green had quoted. 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.