Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

That one might prove more difficult to kill than he’d first thought. But at least he was armed. He’d kept the gun from the monastery, as had Malone, along with spare magazines. When he’d awoken in the church, after being knocked unconscious, his gun was still there. Which he’d found curious.

What had been the point of that attack?

Who cared?

At least he was ready.

MALONE YANKED THE LINES AND DIRECTED HIS DESCENT. THE jumpmaster at the air base in Lisbon had told him that the new chutes were different, and he was right. Slow, smooth ride. They hadn’t been wild about Pam-a novice who wasn’t even going to know she was jumping until it was too late-but since the command to cooperate had come straight from the Pentagon, no one argued.

“Damn you, Cotton,” he heard Pam scream. “Damn you to hell.”

He glanced below.

She was five hundred feet from the ground.

“Just let your legs buckle when you hit,” he called out. “You’re doing fine. The chute will do the work.”

“Screw you,” she yelled back.

“We used to do that. Didn’t work out. Get ready.”

He watched as she hit and skidded into the earth, the chute collapsing behind her. He saw McCollum release his rigger sack, which unraveled before him, then find the ground, staying on his feet.

Malone tightened his steering lines and slowed his descent to nearly a stall. He released his rigger sack and felt his boots scrape the sand.

He, too, finished standing up.

Been awhile since he’d last jumped, but he was glad to know that he could still do it. He released his harness and wiggled free of the straps.

McCollum was doing the same.

Pam still lay on the ground. He walked over, knowing what was coming.

She sprang to her feet. “You sorry son of a bitch. You threw me out of that damn plane.” She was trying to lunge for him but she hadn’t released her harness, the billowing chute acting like an anchor, restricting her movements.

He stayed just out of reach.

“Are you out of your mind?” she yelled. “You never said a frickin‘ word about jumping out of a plane.”

“How did you think we were going to get here?” he calmly asked.

“Ever heard of landing?”

“This is Egyptian territory. Bad enough we had to jump in daylight. But even I thought a night jump cruel.”

Rage filled her blue eyes, an intensity he’d actually never seen before.

“We had to get here so the Israelis didn’t know. Landing would have been impossible. I’m hoping they’re still following that watch of yours, which leads nowhere.”

“You’re a moron, Cotton. An absolute frickin‘ moron. You threw me out of that plane.”

“I did, didn’t I.”

She started to fumble with her harness, trying to release her body from the chute’s hold.

“Pam, are you going to calm down?”

She continued to search for the release clamp, then stopped.

“We had to get here,” he said. “That transport was perfect. We just jumped out along the way; nobody’s the wiser. This is pretty barren territory, less than three people per square mile. It’s doubtful we were seen. Like I said before. You always wanted to know what I did. Okay. Here it is.”

“You should have left me in Portugal.”

“Not a good idea. The Israelis might consider you a loose end. You’re better off disappearing with us.”

“No. You don’t trust me. So I’m better off here where you can watch me.”

“That thought did occur to me, too.”

She was silent for a moment, as if comprehension was dawning. “All right, Cotton,” she said in a surprisingly calm tone. “You’ve made your point. We’re here. In one piece. Now could you get me out of this thing?”

He stepped close and unsnapped the harness.

She raised her arms and allowed the pack to hit the ground. Then she popped her right knee into his crotch.

Electrifying pain soared through his spine and found his brain. His legs trembled and he crumpled to the ground.

The breath left him.

Been awhile since he’d been racked.

He folded himself into the fetal position and waited for the misery to subside.

“Hope that was good for you, too,” she said, walking away.

VIENNA

9:28 AM

HERMANN ENTERED HIS LIBRARY AND SHUT THE DOOR. HE hadn’t slept well, but there was little he could do until Thorvaldsen made a mistake. When that happened he’d be ready. Sabre might be gone, but Hermann still employed a cadre of men who would do precisely what he wanted. His chief of the guard, an Italian, had made it clear on more than one occasion that he’d like Sabre’s position. Never had he seriously considered the request, but with the Talons of the Eagle away, he was in need of assistance, so he’d told the man to stand by.

He was going to try diplomacy first. That always was preferable. Perhaps he could reason with Thorvaldsen once the Dane saw that demonstrating to the world the Old Testament had been manipulated could be an effective political tool-if managed properly. Many times throughout history, chaos and confusion had been translated into profit. Anything that jostled the Middle East affected oil prices. Knowing that was coming would be invaluable. Controlling its extent, unimaginable. Order members stood to reap enormous profits.

And their newfound ally in the White House would benefit, too.

But to accomplish all this he needed Sabre.

What was he doing in the Sinai?

And with Cotton Malone.

Both seemed to him good signs. Sabre’s plan had been to entice Malone to go after the Alexandria Link. After that, success depended on Malone. Either they would learn what they could and then eliminate Malone, or partner up and see where he led. Apparently, Sabre had chosen the latter.

For several years he’d thought about what would happen once he was gone, as he knew that Margarete would be the ruin of the family. Even worse, she was oblivious to her incompetence. He’d tried to teach her, but every effort failed. Truth be known, he liked the fact that Thorvaldsen had taken her. Maybe he could be rid of the problem? But he doubted it. The Dane was not a murderer, no matter how much bravado he liked to portray.

He’d actually come to like Sabre. The man showed promise. He listened well and acted swiftly, but never haphazardly. He’d often thought Sabre might make an excellent successor. No more Hermanns were left. And he must ensure that the fortune endured.

But why had Sabre not checked in?

Was something more happening?

He flushed his doubts away and concentrated on the immediate concern. The Assembly would meet again later. He’d tantalized the members yesterday with the plan. Today he’d drive the point home.

He stepped over to a folio built into the lower portion of a bookcase. Inside, he kept the map he’d commissioned three years ago. The same scholar he’d retained to confirm Haddad’s theory about the Old Testament had also mapped his findings. He’d been told how site after biblical site fit perfectly with the geography of Asir.

But he’d wanted to see for himself.

Comparing scriptural landmarks to Hebrew place-names, both in the Old Testament and on the ground, his expert had located biblical places such as Gilgal, Zidon, al-Lith, Dan, Hebron, Beersheba, and the City of David.

He removed the map.

Its image was already loaded on the computer in the meeting hall. The members would soon see what he’d long admired.

Even the question of Jerusalem’s twenty-six gates, identified in Chronicles, Kings, Zechariah, and Nehemiah, had been solved. A walled city would have had no more than four gates, one leading in each direction. So twenty-six was questionable from the start. But the Hebrew word used throughout the Old Testament for “gate” was shaar. That word, like so many, possessed a double meaning, one of which was “passage or mountain col.” Interestingly, there were twenty-six identified openings through the mountain escarpment that separated the identified Jerusalem territory from Judah. He recalled his own amazement when that reality had been explained. The King’s Gate, Prison Gate, Fountain Gate, Valley Gate, and all the others so descriptively labeled in the Old Testament could be linked with near-perfect accuracy-through their proximity to still-existing villages-to mountain passes through the Jordan escarpment located in Asir.