Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

“And I know you’re a bigot.”

A bolt of anger rocked him. “You’ve never spoken to me like this before.”

“I’ve always known how you felt, Alfred. Your anti-Semitism is obvious. You try to shield it-after all, there are several Jews in the Order-but it’s clear.”

Time to end all pretense. “Your religion is a problem. Always has been.”

Thorvaldsen shrugged. “No more so than Christianity. We just gave up our warring ways and watched while Christians killed more than enough in the name of the risen Lord.”

“I’m not a religious man. You know that, Henrik. This is about politics and profit. And those Jews in the Order? That’s what they care about, too. Not one voiced any opposition in the Assembly. Israel is an impediment to progress. Zionists are terrified of the truth.”

“What did you mean about the Christians also being involved?”

“If the Library of Alexandria is found, there are texts that could well expose the entire Bible for the fraud that it is.”

Thorvaldsen did not seem convinced. “You might find that result a bit difficult to obtain.”

“I assure you, Henrik. I’ve thought this through completely.”

“Where is the Talons of the Eagle?”

He threw the Dane a look of approval. “Well done. But he’s outside your control.”

“But not yours.”

He decided to make his point. “You cannot win this. You have my daughter, but that won’t stop me.”

“Perhaps I need to make myself clear. My family endured the Nazi occupation of Denmark. Many of them were killed and we killed many Germans. I’ve faced challenge after challenge. I personally care nothing for Margarete. She’s an arrogant, spoiled, unintelligent woman. My friend Cotton Malone, his son, and my adopted homeland are my concern. If I need to kill her, then I shall.”

Hermann had worried about threats from outside, but the most immediate concern had now arisen from within. This man needed placating. At least for a short while.

“I can show you something.”

“You need to stop this.”

“There’s more at stake here than simply furthering our business interests.”

“Then show me.”

“I’ll have it arranged.”

MARYLAND

4:50 PM

STEPHANIE SAT IN THE REAR SEAT OF A SUBURBAN, CASSIOPEIA beside her. They motored through the main gate without stopping, the SUV whizzing past armed guards. They’d driven north from Washington into the rugged Maryland countryside. She’d immediately known their destination.

Camp David. The presidential weekend retreat.

Past more guards and another checkpoint, the vehicle stopped before an elegant log cabin engulfed by trees and wrapped in a covered porch. They climbed out into a cool afternoon. The Secret Service agent from the museum waved, and the front door opened.

President Robert Edward Daniels Jr. stepped from the cabin.

She knew the president never used his birth name. Long ago he’d adopted the tag Danny. A gregarious soul with a booming baritone voice, Danny Daniels was blessed with a God-given ability to win elections. He’d served as a three-term governor and a one-term senator before claiming the presidency. His reelection last year to a second term had come easily.

“Stephanie, great of you to come,” Daniels said as he hopped down the porch steps. The president was dressed in jeans, a twill shirt, and boots.

She gathered her courage and stepped forward. “Did I have a choice?”

“Not really. But it’s still good you came. Been having some trouble, I’m told.”

Daniels added a cool chuckle, but she was not in the mood-not even from the leader of the free world. “Thanks to your people.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now, that remains to be seen. You haven’t even heard what I have to say. And the new look? The hair and clothes? I like it.”

Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned to Cassiopeia.

“You must be Ms. Vitt. I’ve heard a lot about you. Fascinating life you have. And that castle you’re reconstructing in France? I’d love to see it.”

“You should come. I’ll show you.”

“I’m told you’re building it just like they did six hundred years ago. Amazing.”

Stephanie realized Daniels was sending her a message. They were here, and he was informed, so lighten up.

Okay. Time to see where this was headed.

“Contrary to what you think, Stephanie,” Daniels said, “I’m not an idiot.”

They were sitting on the front porch of the cabin, each in a high-backed wooden rocker. Daniels worked his with vigor, the floorboards straining from his thick six-foot-three-inch frame.

“I don’t think I ever called you an idiot,” she said.

“My daddy used to tell my mama that he never called her a bitch to her face.” He threw her a glare. “Which was true, too.”

She said nothing.

“I went to a lot of trouble to have you flushed from that museum. That’s one of my favorite places. I love airplanes and space. Studied everything about them when I was younger. Great thing about being president. You can go watch a launch whenever you want.” The president crossed his legs and leaned back in the rocker. “I have a problem, Stephanie. A serious one.”

“That makes two of us. I’m unemployed and, according to your deputy national security adviser, under arrest. And didn’t you fire me?”

“I did. Larry asked me to, and I agreed. But it needed to be done, so you could be here now.”

Cassiopeia sat forward. “I wondered. But now I know. You’re working with the Israelis, aren’t you? I’ve been trying to piece it together. Now it makes sense. They came to you.”

“I’m told your father was one of the smartest men in Spain. Built a financial empire from nothing. One you now run.”

“Not my strong point.”

“But I hear you’re an excellent shot, brave as hell, with a genius IQ.”

“And at the moment I find myself in the middle of a political mess.”

Daniels’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “A mess. That’s exactly what we have. And you’re right, Israel did contact me. They’re irritated with Cotton Malone.”

Stephanie knew Daniels was partial to Malone. Two years before, Malone had been involved with a murder trial in Mexico City-the victim a DEA supervisor, Daniels’s college roommate, murdered execution-style. She’d sent Malone to ensure a conviction, but during a lunch break he’d found himself in a crossfire that resulted in the death of the Mexican prosecutor and Henrik Thorvaldsen’s son. Malone shot the assailants and came home with a bullet in his shoulder, but got the conviction. When he’d wanted to resign early in return for what he’d done, Daniels had personally allowed him out of his navy commission.

“What about you, sir?” she asked. “Irritated with Malone, too?”

“ Sir ? Now that’s a first. I’ve noticed the few times we’ve been together, you never use that word.”

“Didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”

“Stephanie, I pay real close attention to a great many things. For example, just a short while ago Cotton Malone called the Magellan Billet. Of course, you’ve been busy, so the call was routed to Brent Green, on the attorney general’s personal order.”

“Thought Daley was in charge?”

“I did, too. Why’d Green do that?”

“How do you know he did?” Cassiopeia asked.

“His phones are tapped.”

Had Stephanie heard right? “You have his phones bugged?”

“Damn right. Him and a few others. And, yes, one of those is Larry Daley.”

Ripples of uncertainty spread through her and she forced her mind to concentrate. This puzzle apparently came with a lot of pieces.