Clive Cussler - The Navigator

Less than an hour later, the Citation was airborne and heading west at five hundred miles an hour.

“How was Istanbul?” Zavala said as the plane sped over the Aegean.

Austin told him about the encounter with Buck and his gang at Topkapi, the mad dash into the harem, and the rescue by Cemil and his men.

“The harem ! Wish I could have been there,” Zavala said.

“Me too. We could have used you when the shooting started,” Austin said.

“That’s not what I had in mind. I wish I could have been there when the harem was full of beautiful women.”

Austin should have known better than to expect any sympathy from his womanizing friend.

“I understand there’s an opening for a eunuch,” Austin said.

Zavala clamped his knees together. “Ouch,” he said. “Thanks but no thanks. I think I’ll go up and chat with the pilot.”

Austin grinned at his partner’s discomfort. His light mood only lasted a moment. Buck and Ridley were dead and their cohorts neutralized, but if Austin’s suspicions about Viktor Baltazar were correct there would be more hard-eyed men in his future.

Even worse, the baby-faced killer was still on the loose.

Chapter 34

ANGELA FELT AS IF someone had walked over her grave.

There was no reason for the icy coldness between her shoulder blades. She often stayed after hours and had never felt nervous about working alone; there was something comforting about being surrounded by the wisdom of the ages.

She thought she had heard a voice call out. She wasn’t sure. She had been focused on the Meriwether Lewis material.

The only other person in the building was her boss. Perhaps Helen Woolsey had said good night.

Angela sat back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been playing a waiting game, hoping Woolsey would leave the building by the time the Trouts returned. She could barely contain her excitement. She had much to tell them.

She cocked her ear. Silence. Something didn’t seem right.

Angela rose from her chair and walked across the silent reading room. She stepped into a darkened corridor and flicked on the light switch. The hall remained in darkness. She’d have to call the building superintendent in the morning. She started down the corridor, walking toward the glow that seeped out around the edges of Helen’s door.

She stopped and knocked softly. No reply. Helen must have forgotten to turn off her light. Angela opened the door and entered the office, only to freeze in midstep.

Woolsey was still at her desk, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her head angled back like a broken doll. Her mouth was wide open, and dead eyes stared at the ceiling. Reddish purple bruises marred her pale throat.

A silent scream echoed inside Angela’s skull. She put her hand to her mouth and fought the impulse to vomit.

She slowly backed out of the office. Her instinct was to run toward the front door. She stared down the unlit corridor, but a primeval sense of danger stopped her from bolting into the gloomy shadows. Instead of heading for the entrance, she sprinted back into the interior of the building.

Adriano’s hulking figure stepped from the gloom. He had jammed the light switch with a pocketknife and had expected the young woman to panic and rush into his arms. But she had turned and run the other way like a rabbit retreating into its warren.

Adriano’s blood was up after killing the Watcher. That had been easy. The thought of a challenge cheered him. The kill was much more enjoyable when it came at the end of a hunt.

He passed Woolsey’s office and glanced in at his handiwork. Woolsey had been the latest in a long line of Watchers embedded in the Philosophical Society. The Watcher system went back centuries. Watchers were quietly engaged in centers of learning around the world, their only job to sound the alarm at the first hint that the Secret had been uncovered.

Two centuries before, another philosophical society Watcher had warned of Jefferson’s findings. The Watcher was one of the academics Jefferson had asked to translate the words on the vellum. The destruction of Jefferson’s papers was supposed to have ended his quest, but the connection to Meriwether Lewis was discovered and that loose end had to be tied up by assassins dispatched to the LouisianaTerritory.

Woolsey could not have known that her first call as a Watcher had set in motion the chain of events that would lead to her demise. Her job was to report any serious queries about Phoenician voyages to America. She had dutifully relayed news of the Jefferson file. By the time she received instructions to turn the file over to a courier, a State Department representative had come by to collect the Jefferson material. She angrily put the blame on her assistant, but was told not to mention the incident to Angela. When she called again to report the Trouts’ visit to Angela, she sealed her death warrant.

Woolsey was told to make sure Angela stayed late. Adriano had showed up at the museum after hours, dispatched the librarian, and unsuccessfully tried to ambush her assistant.

He continued along the corridor, methodically trying each door. The offices were all locked. He came to a four-way intersection and sniffed the air like a keening hound.

Click.

The sound of a latch closing was barely audible. Adriano’s senses were at their height during a hunt. He turned to his right, following the passageway to a door, which he opened, and stepped into a dark room.

Adriano had never been in the library but knew its layout well. After Angela had discovered the file, he had sent people to scout out the building. He considered himself a professional and wanted to acquaint himself with a potential killing field.

He knew that the darkened room housed thousands of books stacked on tall bookshelves that were laid out in parallel rows.

Angela had ducked between two rows when she heard the door open and close. She had been headed toward an exit at the rear of the room. She was sure the pounding of her heart would give her away.

Adriano hit the wall switch and the room was flooded with light.

Angela dropped to her hands and knees and crawled to the end of the row, then along a narrow aisle between the ends of the shelves and the wall.

Adriano’s hunter’s ears picked up the shuffle of knees and palms brushing the floor.

He strolled along the aisle. He took his time, pausing to peer between the rows of bookshelves before going on. He could have found Angela in a second, but he wanted to prolong the hunt and increase the terror of his prey as long as he could.

After checking out several rows, he saw an object on the floor and walked between shelves for a closer look. It was a shoe. Another lay a few feet away. Angela had slipped into her stocking feet to muffle the sound her movement.

Adriano chuckled softly and flexed his fingers.

“Come to me, Angela,” he crooned like a mother calling for its child.

At the unexpected sound of her name, Angela scrambled to her feet and ran for the exit door. Quick steps padded behind her. A hand reached out and grabbed the back of her blouse. She screamed and pulled free. Adriano had purposely let her go. He liked to play with his victims.

Angela ducked between stacks and plastered her back against a bookshelf.

Adriano turned down the next row of shelves and his baby face peered over the tops of the books.

“Hello,” he said.

Angela turned and saw the round blue eyes. She tried to scream, but the sound was caught in her throat.

“Angela.”

A woman’s voice had called her name.

Adriano’s first instinct was to attack the intruder. He advanced toward the sound of the voice. He would batter the newcomer to the floor, quickly dispose of her, and then return to Angela.