Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

What a place, he thought.

What a time.

At only two points in human history had knowledge radically expanded on a global scale. Once during the Renaissance, which continued to the present, and the other during the fourth century BCE, when Greece ruled the world.

He thought about the time three hundred years before Christ and the sudden death of Alexander the Great. His generals fought over his grand empire, and eventually the realm was divided into thirds and the Hellenistic Age, a period of worldwide Greek dominance, began. One of those thirds was claimed by a far-thinking Macedonian, Ptolemy, who declared himself king of Egypt in 304 BCE, founding the Ptolemaic dynasty, capitaled in Alexandria.

The Ptolemies were intellectuals. Ptolemy I was a historian. Ptolemy II a zoologist. Ptolemy III a patron of literature. Ptolemy IV a playwright. Each chose leading scholars and scientists as tutors for his children and encouraged great minds to live in Alexandria.

Ptolemy I founded the museum, a place where learned men could congregate and share their knowledge. To aid their endeavors, he also established the library. By the time of Ptolemy III, in 246 BCE, there were two locations-the main library near the royal palace and another, smaller one headquartered in the sanctuary of the god Serapis, known as the Serapeum.

The Ptolemies were determined book collectors, dispatching agents throughout the known world. Ptolemy II bought Aristotle’s entire library. Ptolemy III ordered that all ships in the Alexandria harbor be searched. If books were found, they were copied, the copies returned to the owners, the originals stored in the library. Genres varied from poetry and history to rhetoric, philosophy, religion, medicine, science, and law. Some 43,000 scrolls were eventually housed in the Serapeum, available to the general public, and another 500,000 at the museum, restricted to scholars.

What happened to it all?

One version held that it burned when Julius Caesar fought Ptolemy XIII in 48 BCE. Caesar had ordered the torching of the royal fleet, but the fire spread throughout the city and may have consumed the library. Another version blamed Christians, who supposedly destroyed the main library in 272 CE and the Serapeum in 391, part of their effort to rid the city of all pagan influences. A final account credited Arabs with the library’s destruction after they conquered Alexandria in 642. The caliph Omar, when asked about books in the imperial treasury, was quoted as saying, If what is written agrees with the Book of God, they are not required. If it disagrees, they are not desired. Destroy them . So for six months scrolls supposedly fueled the baths of Alexandria.

Hermann always winced at that thought-how one of humanity’s greatest attempts to collect knowledge might simply have burned.

But what really happened?

Certainly, as Egypt was confronted with growing unrest and foreign aggression, the library became victim to persecution, mob violence, and military occupation, no longer enjoying special privileges.

When had it finally disappeared?

No one knew.

And was the legend true? A group of enthusiasts, it was said, had managed to extract scroll after scroll, copying some, stealing others, methodically preserving knowledge. Chroniclers had hinted at their existence for centuries.

The Guardians.

He liked to imagine what those dedicated enthusiasts may have preserved. Unknown works from Euclid? Plato? Aristotle? Augustine? Along with countless other men who would later be regarded as fathers of their respective fields.

No telling.

And that’s what made the search so enticing.

Not to mention George Haddad’s theories, which offered Hermann a way to further the Order’s purposes. The Political Committee had already determined how the destabilization of Israel could be manipulated for profit. The business plan was both ambitious and feasible. Provided Haddad’s research could be proven.

Five years ago Haddad had reported a visit from someone known as a Guardian. Israel’s spies had conveyed that information to Tel Aviv. The Jews had overreacted, as always, and immediately tried to kill Haddad. Thankfully the Americans had intervened, and Haddad was still among the living. Hermann was equally thankful that his American political sources were now negotiable, recently confirming those facts and adding more, which was why Sabre had moved on Cotton Malone.

But who knew anything? Perhaps Sabre would learn more from the corrupt Israeli waiting in Germany?

The only certainty was George Haddad.

He had to be found.

ROTHENBURG, GERMANY

3:30 PM

SABRE STROLLED DOWN THE COBBLESTONED LANE. ROTHENBURG lay a hundred kilometers south of Würzburg, a walled city encircled by stone ramparts and watchtowers straight out of the Middle Ages. Inside, narrow streets wound tight paths between half-timbered brick-and-stone buildings. Sabre searched for one in particular.

The Baumeisterhaus stood just off the market square, within shouting distance of the ancient clock tower. An iron placard announced that the building had been erected in 1596, but for the past century the three-story structure had hosted an inn and restaurant.

He pushed through the front door and was greeted by the sweet smell of yeast bread and apple-cinnamon. A narrow ground-floor dining hall emptied into a two-story inner courtyard, the whitewashed walls dotted with antlers.

One of the Order’s contacts waited in an oak booth, a thin puny figure known only as Jonah. Sabre walked over and slid into the booth. The table was draped in a dainty pink cloth. A china cup filled with black coffee rested in front of Jonah, a half-eaten Danish on a nearby plate.

“Strange things are happening,” Jonah said in English.

“That’s the way of the Middle East.”

“Stranger than normal.”

This man was attached to the Israeli Home Office, part of the German mission.

“You asked me to watch for anything on George Haddad. Seems he’s risen from the dead. Our people are in an uproar.”

He feigned ignorance. “What’s the source of that revelation?”

“He actually called Palestine in the last few days. He wants to tell them something.”

Sabre had met with Jonah three times before. Men like him, who placed euros ahead of loyalty, were useful, but at the same time they demanded caution. Cheaters always cheated. “How about we stop hedging and you tell me what it is you want me to know.”

The man savored a sip of his coffee. “Before he disappeared five years ago, Haddad received a visit from someone called the Guardian.”

Sabre already knew that, but said nothing.

“He was given some kind of information. A little strange, but it gets even stranger.”

He’d never appreciated the sense of drama Jonah liked to invoke.

“Haddad’s not the first to have had that experience. I saw a file. There have been three others since 1948 who received similar visits from someone called the Guardian. Israel knew about each, but all those men died within days or weeks of the visit.” Jonah paused. “If you recall, Haddad almost died, too.”

He began to understand. “Your people are keeping something to themselves?”

“Apparently so.”

“Over what period of time have these visits occurred?”

“About every twenty years for the past sixty or so. All were academics, one Israeli and three Arabs, including Haddad. The murders were all conducted by the Mossad.”

He needed to know, “And how did you manage to learn that?”

“As I said, the files.” Jonah went silent. “A communiqué came a few hours ago. Haddad is living in London.”

“I need an address.”

Jonah provided it, then said, “Men have been sent. From the assassination squad.”