Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

He and I discussed certain things, which I shall with ease be able to explain to you in detail-things which will give you, through Monsieur Poussin, advantages which even kings would have great pains to draw from him, and which, according to him, it is possible that nobody else will discover in the centuries to come. And what is more, these are things so difficult to discover that nothing now on this earth can prove of better fortune nor be their equal.

Quite a statement-and puzzling, too. But what Bainbridge erected in his garden is even more puzzling. After completing The Shepherds of Arcadia, for some inexplicable reason, Poussin painted its reverse image in what has been labeled The Shepherds of Arcadia II. This is what Thomas Bainbridge chose for his marble bas-relief. Not the original, but its counter part. Bainbridge was clever, and for two hundred years his monument, ripe with symbolism, stood in obscurity.

Malone read on, his mind lost in a maze of possibilities. Unfortunately, Haddad did not reveal much more. The remainder of the notes dealt with the Old Testament, its translations, and its narrative inconsistencies. Not a word about what Haddad may have noticed that had generated so much interest. Nor was there any message from a Guardian. No details of any hero’s quest, only a fleeting reference at the end of one of the notebooks.

In the drawing room of Bainbridge Hall is more of Bainbridge’s arrogance. Its title is particularly reflective. The Epiphany of St. Jerome. Fascinating and fitting, as great quests often begin with an epiphany.

A bit more flesh to the bones, but still a lot of unanswered questions. And he’d learned that wrestling with questions that possessed no answers was the fastest way to immobilize the brain.

“What are you reading?”

He glanced up. Pam was still lying in the bed, head on the pillow, eyes open.

“What George left.”

She slowly sat up, cleared the sleep from her eyes, and checked her watch. “How long have I been out?”

“An hour or so. How’s the shoulder?”

“Sore.”

“It will be for a few days.”

She stretched her legs. “How many times were you shot, Cotton? Three?”

He nodded. “You don’t forget any of them.”

“Neither did I. If you recall, I took care of you.”

She had.

“I loved you,” she said. “I know you may not believe that. But I did.”

“You should have told me about Gary.”

“You hurt me with what you did. I never understood why you had to screw around on me. Why I wasn’t enough.”

“I was young. Stupid. Full of myself. It was twenty years ago, for God’s sake. And after, I was sorry. I tried to be a good husband. I really did.”

“How many women were there? You never said.”

He wasn’t going to lie. “Four. One-night stands, every one of them.” Now he wanted to know. “And you?”

“Just one. But I saw him for several months.”

That stung. “You loved him?”

“As much as a married woman could love somebody other than her husband.”

He saw her point.

“Gary came from that.” She seemed to be wrestling with a question mark that kept appearing from her past. “When I look at Gary a part of me is sometimes angry for what I did-God help me-but a part of me is grateful, too. Gary was always there. You came and went.”

“I loved you, Pam. I wanted to be your husband. I was really sorry for what I did.”

“It wasn’t enough,” she muttered, eyes to the floor. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I came to realize that it would never be enough. That’s why we stayed separated five years before we divorced. I wanted our marriage, but then again I didn’t.”

“You hated me that bad?”

“No. I hated myself, for what I did. It’s taken me years to come to that realization. Take it from one who knows, a person who hates herself is in a lot of trouble. She just doesn’t know it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Gary when it happened?”

“You didn’t deserve the truth. At least, that’s what I thought. Only in the past year have I realized the mistake. You screwed around, I screwed around, but I got pregnant. You’re right. I should have told you way back. But that’s maturity talking and, like you said, we were both young and stupid.”

She went silent. He did not intrude.

“That’s why I stay angry at you, Cotton. Can’t cuss myself out. But it’s also why I finally told you about Gary. You do realize that I didn’t have to say a word and you would have never known a thing? But I wanted to make it right. I wanted to make peace with you-”

“And with yourself.”

She slowly nodded. “Most of all.” Her voice broke.

“Why’d you come after me at Haddad’s? You knew there’d be shooting.”

“Let’s just say it was another foolish move.”

But he knew better. Time to tell her the truth. “You can’t go home to Atlanta. A man was following you in the airport. That’s why I came back.”

Her face was fixed in a brooding stare. “You should have told me.”

“Yeah, I should have.”

“Why would someone be following me?”

“Getting ready for another opportunity. Maybe a loose end that needed tying up.”

He saw she understood his meaning.

“They want to kill me?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. That’s the problem. We’re guessing.”

She lay back down on the bed, apparently too tired, sore, and bewildered to argue. “What are you going to do? Haddad’s dead. The Israelis should go away.”

“Which gives us an open-field run to find whatever it is George was looking for. That hero’s quest. He left this stuff on purpose. He wanted us to go.”

She settled her head on the pillow. “No. He wanted you to go.”

He saw her wince in pain. “Let me get you some ice for that shoulder. It’ll help.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

He stood, grabbed the empty bucket, and headed for the door.

“I would like to know what’s worth dying for,” she said.

He stopped. “You’d be surprised how little it can be.”

“I think I’ll call Gary while you’re gone,” she said. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Tell him I miss him.”

“He’s okay there?”

“Henrik will take good care of him. No worries.”

“So where are we going to start looking?”

Good question. But then, as he stared across the room at the contents of the satchel, he knew there was only one answer.

LONDON

9:00 PM

SABRE STARED OUT THE WINDOW INTO THE NIGHT. HIS OPERATIVE, who’d been waiting at Heathrow Airport for Malone to arrive, had followed the ex-agent to this apartment, which sat on a solid block of gabled buildings that surely coddled neat lives, good order, and careful privacy.

Typical British.

His operative had also heard shots from inside the building and watched a shootout ensue between Malone and another man-Malone’s ex-wife nicked by one of the bullets. The assailant had then fled, and Malone and his ex-wife had returned inside before leaving with a leather satchel.

That had been hours ago, and he hadn’t heard from his operative since. Of course he’d been on a flight from Cologne to London most of that time, but still, she should have reported something by now.

He was tired, but energized, as his goal crept ever closer.

He’d easily gained entrance to George Haddad’s apartment, wondering if Haddad would be there, but no one had been inside. Maps dotted the walls. With his penlight he’d examined the odd assortment, but the locations-the Middle East-were not surprising. Many of the books and sheaves of ill-arranged papers were likewise on the subject of the day.