The Charlemagne Pursuit

by Steve Berry

  He stopped.

  Somebody was there. Christl saw it, too.

  Curtains were yanked back.

  A man’s face came into view and his gaze locked onto Malone’s. Then the man glanced right, toward the street, and fled the window, his shadow revealing a rushed exit.

  Malone spotted a car with three men inside, parked across the street.

  “Come on,” he said.

  He knew they needed to leave, and quickly. Thank goodness he still carried the keys to his rental. They rushed to the vehicle and leaped in.

  He fired up the engine and whipped from the parking spot. He slammed the transmission into gear and roared from the hotel, tires spinning on the frozen asphalt. He powered his window down, turned onto the boulevard, and spotted a man in his rearview mirror emerging from the hotel.

  He gripped the gun from his jacket, slowed as he approached the parked car, and fired a shot into the rear tire, which sent three forms inside ducking for cover.

  Then he sped away.

  TWENTY-TWO

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12

  12:40 AM

  MALONE TWISTED HIS WAY OUT OFGARMISCH, USING TO MAXIMUMadvantage its maze of unlit narrow

  streets and his head start on the men who’d been waiting at the Posthotel. He had no way of knowing if they had a second vehicle handy. Satisfied that they were not being pursued, he found the highway leading north that he’d traveled earlier and, following Christl’s instructions, realized where they were headed.

  “Those things you need to show me are in Ettal Monastery?” he asked.

  She nodded. “No sense waiting until morning.”

  He agreed.

  “I’m sure when you spoke with Dorothea there, you were told only what she wanted you to know.”

  “And you’re different?”

  She stared at him. “Totally.”

  He wasn’t so sure. “Those men at the hotel. Yours? Or hers?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said.”

  He downshifted as the highway began to descend back toward the abbey. “A piece of unsolicited advice? You really need to explain yourself. My patience is about gone.”

  She hesitated, and he waited.

  “Fifty thousand years ago a civilization arose on this planet, one that managed to progress faster than the rest of humankind. Leading the way, if you will. Was it technologically developed? Not really, but it was highly advanced.

  Mathematics, architecture, chemistry, biology, geology, meteorology, astronomy. That’s where it excelled.”

  He was listening.

  “Our concept of ancient history has been strongly influenced by the Bible. But its texts dealing with antiquity were written from an insular point of view. They distorted ancient cultures and completely neglected some important ones, like the Minoans. This particular culture I’m talking about is not biblical. They were an oceangoing society with worldwide commerce, possessing capable boats and advanced navigational skills. Later cultures like the Polynesians, the Phoenicians, the Vikings, and finally the Europeans would all develop these skills, but Civilization One mastered them first.”

  He’d read about those theories. Most scientists now rejected the idea of a linear societal development from the Old Stone Age through the New Stone Age, Bronze Age, and Iron Age. Instead, scholars believed that humans developed independent of one another. Proof of that existed even today, on every continent, where primitive cultures still coexisted with advanced societies. “So you’re saying that, in times past, while Paleolithic peoples occupied Europe, more advanced cultures could have existed elsewhere.” He recalled what Dorothea Lindauer told him. “Aryans again?”

  “Hardly. They’re a myth. But that myth may have a basis in reality. Take Crete and Troy. They were long considered fictional, but we now know them to be real.”

  “So what happened to this first civilization?”

  “Unfortunately, every culture contains the seeds of its own destruction. Progress and decay coexist. History has shown that all societies eventually develop the means of their downfall. Look at Babylon, Greece, Rome, the Mongols, Huns, Turks, and too many monarchical societies to even count. They always do it to themselves. Civilization One was no exception.”

  What she said made sense. Man truly did seem to destroy as much as he created.

  “Grandfather and Father both were obsessed with this lost civilization. I must confess, I’m drawn to it, too.”

  “My bookshop is loaded with New Age materials about Atlantis and a dozen other so-called lost civilizations, not a trace of which has ever been found. It’s fantasy.”

  “War and conquest have taken their toll on human history. It’s a cyclical process. Progress, war, devastation, then reawakening. There’s a sociological truism. The more advanced the culture, the more easily it will be destroyed, and the less evidence of it will remain. In more simplistic terms, we find what we look for.”

  He slowed the car. “No, we don’t. Most times we stumble onto things.”

  She shook her head. “The greatest human revelations have all started with a simple theory. Look at evolution. It was only after Darwin formulated his concepts that we started noticing things that fortified the theory. Copernicus proposed a radical new way to view the solar system, and when we finally looked we found out he was right. Before the last fifty years no one seriously believed that an advanced civilization could have preceded us. It was regarded as nonsense. So the evidence has simply been neglected.”

  “What evidence?”

  She removed Einhard’s book from her pocket. “This.”

  March 800. Charlemagne rides north from Aachen. He’s never before ventured to the Gallic Sea at this time of year, when frigid northern winds pound the shore and fishing is poor. But he insists on this journey. Three soldiers and I accompany him, and the journey takes the better part of a day. Once there, camp is set in the usual location, beyond the dunes, which offers little protection from a strong gale. Three days after arriving sails are seen and we think the boats Danes or part of the Saracenic fleet that threatens the empire north and south. But eventually the king shouts in joy and waits on the beach as the ships raise their oars and smaller boats row ashore carrying the Watchers. Uriel, who rules over Tartarus, leads them. With him are Arakiba, who is over the spirits of men, and Raguel who takes vengeance on the world of luminaries, and Danel, who is set over the best part of mankind and chaos, and Saraqael, who is set over spirits. They wear thick mantles, fur trousers, and fur boots. Their fair hair is neatly trimmed and combed. Charlemagne clasps each in a firm embrace. The king asks many questions and Uriel answers. The king is allowed onto the ships, each fashioned of sturdy timbers and caulked with tar, and he marvels at their sturdiness. We are told they are built away from their land, where trees grow in abundance. They love the sea and understand its ways far better than we do.

  Danel displays for the king maps of places we do not know exist and we are told how their ships find their way. Danel shows us a piece of sharp iron, resting on a sliver of wood, floating in a shell of water, that points the way over the sea.

  The king wants to know how that could be and Danel explains that the metal is attracted to one particular direction and he motioned north. No matter how the shell is turned the iron point always finds that direction. They visit for three days and Uriel and the king talk at length. I strike a friendship with Arakiba, who acts as counselor for Uriel, as I do for the king. Arakiba tells me of his land, where fire and ice live together, and I tell him that I would like to see that place.

  “The Watchers are what Einhard called the people from Civilization One,” she said. “Holy Ones is another term he uses.

  Both he and Charlemagne thought them from heaven.”

  “Who says they were anything other than a culture we already know exists?”

  “Do you know of any society that used an alphabet or language like the one you saw in Dorothea’s book?”

  “That isn’t c
onclusive proof.”

  “Was there an oceangoing society in the ninth century? Only the Vikings. But these weren’t Vikings.”

  “You don’t know who they were.”

  “No, I don’t. But I do know that Charlemagne ordered the book Dorothea showed you buried with him. It was

  apparently important enough that he wanted it kept from everyone, except emperors. Einhard went to a lot of trouble to hide this book. Suffice it to say that there is more in here that explains why the Nazis really went to Antarctica in 1938, and why our fathers went back in 1971.”

  The abbey rose ahead, still illuminated against the limitless night.

  “Park over there,” she said, and he wheeled in and stopped.

  Still no one following them.

  She popped open her door. “Let me show you what, I’m sure, Dorothea didn’t.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  WASHINGTON, DC

  8:20 PM

  RAMSEY LOVED THE NIGHT.HE CAME ALIVE EACH DAY AROUNDsixPM , his best thoughts and most

  decisive actions always formulated after dark. Sleep was necessary, though usually no more than four to five hours—

  just enough to rest his brain, but not enough to waste time. Nighttime also provided privacy, since it was much easier to know if someone was interested in your business at two in the morning as opposed to two in the afternoon. That was why he only met with Diane McCoy at night.

  He lived in a modest Georgetown town house that he rented from a longtime friend who liked having a four-star admiral as a tenant. He electronically swept the two floors for monitoring devices at least once a day—and especially before Diane paid a visit.

  He’d been fortunate that Daniels had selected her as national security adviser. She was certainly qualified, with degrees in international relations and global economics, and politically connected with both the left and right. She’d come from State as part of the shakeup last year when Larry Daley’s career abruptly ended. He’d liked Daley—a negotiable soul—

  but Diane was better. Smart, ambitious, and determined to stick around longer than the three years left on Daniels’ last term.

  Thankfully, he could offer her that chance.

  And she knew it.

  “Things are starting,” he said.

  They were comfortable in his den, a fire crackling in the brick hearth. Outside, the temperature had dropped to the midtwenties. No snow yet, but it was on the way.

  “Since I know little of what those things are,” McCoy said, “I can only assume they’re good.”

  He smiled. “What about on your end? Can you make the appointment happen?”

  “Admiral Sylvian isn’t gone yet. He’s banged up from that motorcycle accident, but is expected to recover.”

  “I know David. He’s going to be down for months. He won’t want his job unattended during that time. He’ll resign.”

  He paused. “If he doesn’t succumb first.”

  McCoy smiled. She was a placid blonde with a capable air and eyes that beamed with confidence. He liked that about her. Modest bearing. Simple. Cool. Yet dangerous as hell. She sat, back straight, in the chair and nursed a whiskey soda.

  “I almost believe you can make Sylvian’s death happen,” she said.

  “What if I can?”

  “Then you’d be a man worthy of respect.”

  He laughed. “The game we’re about to play has no rules and only one objective. To win. So I want to know about Daniels. Will he cooperate?”

  “That’s going to depend on you. You know he’s no fan, but you’re also qualified for the job. Assuming, of course, there’s a vacancy to fill.”

  He caught her suspicion. The initial plan was simple: Eliminate David Sylvian, secure his spot on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, serve three years, then start phase two. But he needed to know, “Will Daniels follow your advice?”

  She sipped more of her drink. “You don’t like not being in control, do you?”

  “Who does?”

  “Daniels is the president. He can do what he pleases. But I think what he does here depends on Edwin Davis.”

  He didn’t want to hear that. “How could he be a factor? He’s a deputy adviser.”

  “Like me?”

  He caught her resentment. “You know what I mean, Diane. How could Davis be a problem?”

  “That’s your flaw, Langford. You tend to underestimate your enemy.”

  “How is Davis my enemy?”

  “I read the report on Blazek. Nobody named Davis died in that sub. He lied to Daniels. There was no older brother killed.”

  “Did Daniels know that?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t read the inquiry report. He told me to do it.”

  “Can’t you control Davis?”

  “As you so wisely note, we’re on the same level. He has as free access to Daniels as I do, per the president’s order. It’s the White House, Langford. I don’t make the rules.”

  “What about the national security adviser? Any help there?”

  “He’s in Europe and not in the loop on this one.”

  “You think Daniels is working directly with Davis?”

  “How the hell would I know? All I know is Danny Daniels isn’t a tenth as stupid as he wants everyone to believe he is.”

  He glanced at the mantel clock. Soon the airwaves would be filled with the news of Admiral David Sylvian’s untimely death, attributable to injuries sustained in a tragic motorcycle accident. Tomorrow another death in Jacksonville, Florida, might be a local news story. Much was happening, and what McCoy was saying troubled him.

  “Involving Cotton Malone in this could also be problematic,” she said.

  “How? The man’s retired. He just wants to know about his father.”

  “That report should not have been given to him.”

  He agreed, but it shouldn’t matter. Wilkerson and Malone were most likely dead. “We just used that foolishness to our advantage.”

  “I have no idea how that was to our advantage.”

  “Just know that it was.”

  “Langford, am I going to regret this?”

  “You’re welcome to serve out Daniels’ term, then go to work for some think tank writing reports that nobody reads.

  Ex–White House staffers look great on the letterhead, and I hear they’re paid well. Maybe one of the networks would hire you to spout out ten-second sound bites on what other people are doing to change the world. Pays good, too, even if you look like an idiot most of the time.”

  “Like I said. Am I going to regret this?”

  “Diane, power has to be taken. There’s no other way to acquire it. Now, you never answered me. Will Daniels

  cooperate and appoint me?”

  “I read the Blazek report,” she said. “I also did some checking. You were on Holden when it went to Antarctica to search for that sub. You and two others. The top brass sent your team under classified orders. In fact, that mission is still classified. I can’t even learn about it. I did discover that you went ashore and filed a report on what you found, delivered personally, by you, to the chief of naval operations. What he did with the information, nobody knows.”

  “We didn’t find anything.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  He gauged her assault. This woman was formidable—a political animal with excellent instincts. She could help and she could hurt. So he shifted. “You’re right. I am lying. But believe me, you don’t want to know what really happened.”

  “No, I don’t. But whatever it is may come back to haunt you.”

  He’d thought the same thing for thirty-eight years. “Not if I can help it.”

  She seemed to be restraining a surge of annoyance at his avoidance of her inquiries. “It’s been my experience, Langford, that the past always has a way of returning. Those who don’t learn, or can’t remember it, are doomed to repeat it. Now you have an ex-agent involved—a damn good one, I might add—who has a personal stake in this mess.

&n
bsp; And Edwin Davis is on the loose. I have no idea what he’s doing—”

  He’d heard enough. “Can you deliver Daniels?”

  She paused, taking in his rebuke, then slowly said, “I’d say that all depends on your friends on Capitol Hill. Daniels needs their help on a great many things. He’s doing what every president does at the end. Thinking legacy. He has a legislative agenda so, if the right members of Congress want you on the Joint Chiefs, then he’ll give it to them—in return, of course, for votes. The questions are easy. Will there be a vacancy to fill, and can you deliver the right members?”