Steve Berry - The Alexandria Link

“Don’t want to be here when they wake up.”

Neither did he. “We must keep these letters, and I’m afraid our host will never allow that.”

“What about his daughter? He didn’t seem to care about her.”

“I don’t believe he ever did. Taking her was just something unexpected that caused him to pause long enough for us to act.” He thought of his own dead son. “Men like Alfred care little for family.”

And how awful that must be. He missed his wife and his son. Seeing Gary Malone rush to his defense had both frightened and pleased him. He patted the boy on his shoulder.

“What is it?” Gary asked.

“Your daddy would be proud.”

“Hope he’s all right.”

“Me, too.”

Three cars sped down the main drive and rounded the paved lane. They stopped at the château, and men emerged from the first and third vehicles, each dressed in a dark suit. A quick survey of the surroundings and one of the men opened the rear door of the middle car.

The vice president of the United States climbed out into the afternoon sunshine, dressed casually in a pullover shirt beneath a navy blazer.

Thorvaldsen and Gary stood twenty yards away and watched as security men flanked the vice president and they all strolled toward the château’s main entrance. Halfway, the vice president stopped and changed directions.

Heading straight for them.

Thorvaldsen watched the man with a mixture of anger and disgust. This ambitious fool seemed willing to do anything.

“Not a word, lad,” he said to Gary. “Remember, ears open, mouth shut.”

“I’ve figured that out.”

“You must be Henrik Thorvaldsen,” the vice president said as he came close and introduced himself.

“I am. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“None of that sir stuff, okay? You’re one of the wealthiest men in the world and I’m just a politician.”

“What is the saying? One heartbeat away from the presidency?”

The American chuckled. “That’s it. But it’s still a rather dull job. I do get to travel, though, and I enjoy coming to places like this.”

“And what brings you here today?”

“Alfred Hermann and I are friends. I came to pay my respects.”

Another car cruised down the drive. A light-colored BMW with a uniformed driver. Thorvaldsen motioned and the car headed his way.

“Are you leaving?” the vice president asked.

“We have to go into town.”

The American motioned at Gary. “And who is this?”

Thorvaldsen introduced them, using Gary’s real name, and they shook hands.

“Never met a vice president before,” Gary said.

The BMW stopped and the driver emerged, rounding the car and opening the rear door for Thorvaldsen.

“And I never met the son of Cotton Malone,” the vice president said.

Thorvaldsen now realized they were in trouble. Which was doubly confirmed when he spotted Alfred Hermann parading their way, his chief of the guard in tow.

The vice president said, “Brent Green sends his regards.”

And Thorvaldsen saw Green’s betrayal in the man’s hard eyes.

“I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere,” the VP said in a low tone.

Hermann arrived and shoved the car’s rear door shut. “Herr Thorvaldsen will not need the ride. You may go.”

Thorvaldsen was going to protest, make a scene, but he noticed that the chief of the guard assumed a position beside Gary. A gun beneath the man’s jacket was pointed straight at the boy.

The message was clear.

He faced the driver. “That’s correct. Thanks for coming.”

Hermann relieved him of the atlas. “Your options are rapidly fading, Henrik.”

“I would say so,” the vice president said.

Hermann seemed puzzled. “Why are you here? What’s happening?”

“Bring them both inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”

SINAI PENINSULA

MALONE WAITED UNTIL GEORGE HADDAD WAS SAFE BEHIND the bookshelf’s end cap, where he and Pam had assumed a defensive position.

“Back from the dead?” he said to Haddad.

“Resurrection can be glorious.”

“George, that man wants to kill all of you.”

“I gathered. Lucky you’re here.”

“And what if I don’t stop him?”

“Then this entire endeavor would have been a waste.”

He needed to know, “What’s back there?”

“Three more halls and the Reading Room. Each like this one. Not many places to hide.”

He recalled the directory. “I’m just supposed to shoot it out with him?”

“I got you here. Now don’t disappoint me.”

Anger swelled in him. “There were simpler ways of doing this. He could be bringing reinforcements.”

“I doubt that. But I have eyes outside watching to see if anyone else enters the farsh. I’m betting he’s alone and will stay that way.”

“How do you know that? The Israelis have been all over us.”

“They’re gone.” Haddad pointed across the hall. “He’s all that remains.”

Malone caught sight of McCollum dashing through the archway and disappearing deeper into the library. Three more halls and the Reading Room. He was about to violate a multitude of the rules that had kept him alive for twelve years with the Magellan Billet. One was clear- Never go in unless you know how you’re going to get out. But something else he’d learned also occurred to him. When things go bad, anything can hurt you, including doing nothing.

“Know this,” Haddad said. “That man was responsible for your son being taken. He also destroyed your bookshop. He’s as much to blame for you being here as I am. He would have killed Gary, if need be. And he’ll gladly kill you.”

“How do you know that about Gary?” Pam asked.

“The Guardians have access to a wealth of information.”

“And how did you get to be Librarian?” Malone asked.

“Complicated story.”

“I bet it is. You and I are going to have a long talk when this is over.”

Haddad grinned. “Yes, my old friend, we’ll have that long talk.”

Malone pointed at Pam and spoke to Haddad. “Keep her here. She doesn’t follow orders well at all.”

“Go on,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”

He decided to quit arguing and rushed forward down the aisle. At the exit, he stopped to one side. Twenty feet ahead another chamber opened. More towering walls, rows of stone shelving, letters, images, and mosaics from floor to ceiling. He crept forward, but hugged the corridor’s polished sides. He entered the second hall and again took cover at the end of one of the shelf rows. The room was more square than the first, and he noticed a mixture of scrolls and codices.

No sign of movement. This was damn foolish. He was being drawn deeper. At some point McCollum would turn and fight, and on his terms.

But when?

HADDAD WATCHED PAM MALONE. BACK IN LONDON HE’D tried to assess her personality, wondering what she was even doing there. The Guardians had assembled personal information on Cotton Malone, things Haddad knew little about-Malone rarely talked about his wife and family. Theirs had been an academic friendship, spurred by a love of books and a respect for knowledge. But he knew enough, and the time had come to use that knowledge.

“We have to go back there,” he said.

“Cotton said to stay here.”

He allowed his gaze to bore into her. “We have to go back there.” And to prove his point, he removed a pistol from beneath his cloak.

Surprisingly, she did not flinch. “I saw when you looked at McCollum.”

“That the name he gave you?”

She nodded.

“His name is Sabre and he’s a killer. I meant what I said in my apartment in London. I have a debt to pay, and I don’t plan for Cotton to pay it for me.”