Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

“How did he get connected with Malone?” Cassiopeia said.

Daniels shook his head. “Don’t know, but I’m glad Cotton’s the one with him. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to help.”

“We could radio that transport,” Cassiopeia said.

The president shook his head. “No way. We can’t let anyone know we’re in the loop. I want my traitors. And to get them we have to remain silent.”

“And the finalists are,” she said, “Larry Daley and Brent Green.”

Daniels cocked his head. “The winner of that contest gets an all-expense-paid trip straight to federal prison. After I personally kick his ass.”

His habit of command seemed to return.

“You two are all I have to find out the answer to the question of the day. I can’t involve any other agency for obvious reasons. I allowed all this to stay in motion so you’d have an opportunity. Stephanie, I knew you were on to Daley, but thankfully you didn’t act on him. Now we need to find the truth.”

“You actually think the attorney general is involved?” Cassiopeia asked.

“I have no idea. Brent plays that holier-than-thou act to perfection, and maybe he is a God-fearing Bible-toting Christian. But he’s also a man who doesn’t want to leave a position of power and influence to go be ”of counsel‘ window dressing at some Washington law firm. That’s why he stayed for the second term. Hell, everyone else jumped ship-polished up their résumés with all that juicy government experience and cashed in their contacts. Not Brent.“

She felt she needed to say, “He told me that he leaked the Alexandria Link, looking for the traitor himself.”

“Hell, maybe he did. I don’t know. What I do know is that my deputy national security adviser has been bribing Congress. My vice president is plotting with one of the richest men in the world. And two nations in the Middle East, which normally despise each other, are currently working together to stop a fifteen-hundred-year-old library from being found. That about sum it up, Stephanie?”

“Yes, Mr. President. We get the picture.”

“Then find my traitor.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

He smiled at the decisive nature of her question.

“I’ve given that a lot of thought. Let’s have something to eat, then the two of you get some sleep. Both of you look beat. You can rest here in safety.”

“This can’t wait till morning,” she said.

“Has to. You know what makes good grits? Not boiling. It’s the simmering in the pot, with the lid on and the heat down low. That’s what turns rough cornmeal into heaven. Now we’re going to let this simmer for a few hours, then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

VIENNA

THORVALDSEN RETREATED TOWARD THE WINDOW ALCOVE BUT kept his ears trained on the conversation below. That the American vice president was here, at Hermann’s château, raised a host of new possibilities. He quickly glanced at Gary and brought a finger to his lips, signaling for continued quiet.

Glasses clinked below.

“To our friendship,” Hermann said.

“That’s what I like about you, Alfred. Loyalty. It’s in short supply these days.”

“Perhaps your superior might feel the same way.”

The other man chuckled. “Daniels is a fool. He has a simplistic view of life and the world.”

“And would you say that you’re loyal?”

“Absolutely. I’ve suffered through five years of Danny Daniels. Did exactly what he wanted. Smiled. Defended him. Took some heat for him. But I can’t take it anymore. Americans can’t take it anymore.”

“I hope that time wasn’t wasted.”

“I’ve spent the years building coalitions. Making friends. Appeasing enemies. I have everything I need-”

“Except money.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I have ample commitments to get things rolling. My Arab friends are being quite generous.”

“The Order, too, is appreciative of those who show it support. Your president has not been friendly to world business. He seems to like tariffs, trade restrictions, open banking.”

“Which is a whole other problem. I assure you, there are many in Washington who feel differently from Daniels.”

Sounds from below indicated that the two men were sitting down. Thorvaldsen crept close to the railing. Hermann sat in a chair, the vice president on one of the settees. Both men held drinks.

“Israel is trying to find out what’s happening,” the vice president said. “They know the link is exposed.”

“I’ve been informed,” Hermann said. “I have an associate, as we speak, dealing with that.”

“My chief of staff told me that an Israeli surveillance team is missing in Germany and one of their Foreign Office officials was found dead in Rothenburg, suspected of selling information. An assassination squad has been sent to London. Strangely, Tel Aviv actually wanted us to know that.”

“Again, my friend, I’m aware.”

“Then you surely know that one of our former agents, Cotton Malone, is on his way to the Sinai with, of all people, his ex-wife and another man.”

Silence came in response.

“We were curious,” the vice president said. “So the other man’s fingerprints were obtained from a railing he touched while boarding the military plane in Lisbon. He’s an American. James McCollum. You know him?”

“His alias is Dominick Sabre. He works for us.”

“And because you’re my friend, Alfred, I’m going to respectfully say that you’re full of shit. I saw it in your eyes. You didn’t know your man was headed to the Sinai.”

Another pause.

“He’s not required to keep me informed. Results are all that matter.”

“So tell me. What’s he doing with Cotton Malone, and is he going to find that library?”

“You said the Sinai. They’re certainly in a location for that to be possible. Near enough to Alexandria to make transport of the manuscripts in ancient times possible, but also isolated. Trade routes existed there before and after the time of Christ. Pharaohs mined the land for copper and turquoise. Egypt knew the Sinai well.”

“You know your history.”

“Knowledge is a good thing. Especially here.”

“Alfred, this is not some intellectual exercise, I’m trying to fundamentally change American foreign policy. Daniels and I have fought over this. Now I can do something about it. It’s time we show the Arabs the same consideration we’ve always given Israel. And like you with the hired help, I, too, am only interested in results. You and your cohorts want to profit. I want to be in charge.”

“And we want you to have the job.”

“Then tell me, Alfred. When does the president of the United States die?”

Spindly fingers tickled Thorvaldsen’s crooked spine as the vice president’s words sank in.

“You seem to be warming to the idea,” Hermann said.

“You’ve convinced me.”

“And it’s arranged,” Hermann said. “Daniels’s unannounced trip to Kabul will come to a spectacular end.”

“Once he’s in the air,” the vice president said, “I’ll have everything confirmed through the means we discussed. As of now, he leaves next Thursday. Only four people know. Him, me, and our chiefs of staff. Even the Afghan president doesn’t know he’s coming. He’ll be told right before they land. The whole thing is a PR stunt by the White House communications people. Prop up the poll numbers with a rousing trip to the troops.”

“The missiles are already there,” Hermann said. “The deal was made with one of bin Laden’s main deputies. He was most appreciative. This will be their first significant strike at America in several years. We’ve dealt with these devils before, always at arm’s length and with caution, but successfully.”