“How are the ribs?” he asked.
“Stiff, but I’ll survive.”
“You’ve had worse.” He sat on the ledge of the porch. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can monitor it from here.” Her silence sufficed as response. “It’s a motley crew,” he continued, “but worth every penny. They’ll get us in and out.”
“If we can find some nondiet soda,” answered Sarah. She sat.
“Ah, yes, Toby. Met him in Benghazi. Good lad. Couldn’t understand why he was roaming around a city that barely had enough electricity to boil water; then I found he’d met someone who was interested in a Mossad tracking system. A certain Colonel.” O’Connell squinted, trying to remember. “I think he made Toby a lieutenant. Might have been a major. Toby just liked the hat.”
Sarah laughed, then stopped.
“You can’t worry about him,” added the Irishman.
“It’s not our computer friend I’m worried about.”
“I know,” he answered. “They had a clear shot and they didn’t take it.” Sarah said nothing. “Chances are, Jaspers is still alive.”
“But for how long?” she asked.
“That’s why we’re going in quiet.” O’Connell paused. “Now, you don’t think I’d tell that lot in there about it, would I? You’ve got Toby. I’ll take care of the professor.”
Sarah smiled. “Alison was right. You’re a nice man, Gaelin. A very nice man.”
The two academics had barely begun to talk when a woman appeared at the door.
“What?” Lundsdorf had barked, his irritation apparent.
“I’m sorry to disturb you—”
“Yes, yes. What is it?”
“Mr. Tieg has just arrived.”
Xander had seen the momentary look of surprise in the old man’s eyes, though Lundsdorf had been quick to recover. “Thank you, Ms. Palmerston. Tell him I will be with him presently.” Turning to Xander, he had added, “Nothing you need concern yourself with. In fact, some time alone might give you the opportunity to consider your … position.”
That had been nearly two hours ago. Since then, Xander had showered, shaved, and dressed, venturing out into the maze of hallways for a tour of the house. Not once, though, had he stopped thinking about Lundsdorf’s words, the enormity of their implication. “I knew from the start, from those first days with your dissertation.” Lundsdorf had spoken with absolute certainty. “Here was the mind I had been waiting for. Here was the spirit to sustain the vision. It was simply a question of when to introduce you to it.” Xander had stood in utter disbelief. “You are the one to succeed me. You are the one who must take the reins.” Even now, having been ushered into a small dining room to face a plate of poached halibut, Xander found it hard to summon an appetite, despite the gnawing pit in his stomach.
As if on cue, Lundsdorf entered, a second man just behind him at the door. “I see they have gotten something for you to eat. Splendid. I trust you are feeling up to it?”
“Not much of an appetite, no.”
“Understandable,” Lundsdorf said as he sat across from Xander, “but you would do well to try a few mouthfuls. Recover your strength.” The second man remained by the door.
“I hear Votapek’s arrived,” said Xander. “Another unexpected guest?”
Lundsdorf smiled. “Try the hollandaise. It is really quite good.”
Xander stared at him. “Have you told them?”
“Told—ah, you mean about our conversation.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’ve considered the ‘position.’ I decline.”
For a moment, Lundsdorf said nothing; then, in his most comforting voice, he spoke. “What a strain this past week must have placed on you. I, too, was hesitant at first. But, as I said, in such matters, there is no choice. Such things demand more of us than perhaps we are able to see. In a less disoriented state, you will look on it quite differently.”
“I see. Read the manuscript and become a disciple?” Xander pushed the plate to the middle of the table. “You seem to forget. I did read it; and I didn’t convert. I’m sure, though, you can find someone equally spirited from within the ranks. Isn’t that what those schools are all about?”
“What you read was a piece of theory written over four hundred years ago. And we both know your mind and heart were not exactly in the right place to appreciate it. You read from the standpoint of uncertainty, from fear. It is not, to say the least, the best position to be in when passing judgment.”
“My judgment—”
“As to choosing from within the ranks,” he continued, “that was never a possibility. After Tempsten, we were forced to revise the curriculum, concentrate on the more immediate goals. We designed schools to produce soldiers, individuals who could carry out the tasks set before them.”
“Mindless automatons.”
“No, that would be unfair. Each of them recognizes the larger end, albeit on a somewhat rudimentary level. It will be another generation before we can produce the types of leaders from whom to choose an overseer. Even now, the new curriculum is showing remarkable results. The past eighteen hours are a testament to that.”
“Very reassuring.”
“Xander,” there was a fatherly tone to his voice, “you have so much to offer. Not just your mind but your compassion, your ability to make people better than they are, to force them to see their own excellence; I have seen it time and again with your students. It is remarkable. And it is that gift you will bring to the theory, that quality which will allow you to temper Eisenreich’s brutal side. The chance to take what is already in place and make even it better than it is.” Lundsdorf paused. “I am giving you the opportunity to improve on what I have created.”
Xander did not answer for a moment. “And you expect me to thank you.”
“To lead during the most crucial period in the entire process? Yes.”
“I see.” Xander seemed to nod in agreement. “So crucial that you didn’t think it necessary to explain any of this to me beforehand? What were you afraid of—that I’d find implementing the theory lunatic even if I hadn’t stumbled onto it myself? Or am I talking in terms of choice again?”
“I was afraid of nothing. If you were thinking a bit more clearly, you would see that as well.”
“So when exactly were you planning to introduce me to the manuscript? You discovered my extraordinary gifts fifteen years ago. What took so long?”
“Actually, it was to have been four years ago.” Lundsdorf reached over and took a spear of asparagus. “When you first showed an interest. That article you wrote on the myth of Eisenreich was quite inventive, especially given your limited resources. But then Fiona fell ill. It was not the time. Understandably, you associated anything to do with Eisenreich with her. It was very difficult, I can assure you.”
Xander waited, then spoke. “I’m sorry Fiona’s death was such an inconvenience for you.”
Lundsdorf remained silent for a long moment. “I can understand—”
“No, you can’t.” There was no emotion in his voice. “Please don’t mention her again.”
Neither said a word. Xander was the first to break the silence. “So when did you intend to bring me into the fold?”
“A great irony, that.” Lundsdorf dipped his finger into the hollandaise and sampled the sauce. “No doubt Miss Trent told you about Arthur Pritchard.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately, I misjudged his curiosity, or perhaps, I should say, his ambition. He was not content with the role I had given him. Hence Miss Trent. He thought she could find him the manuscript, explain his future place. When she would not, he exposed her to us, no doubt thinking—given her past—that she would try to eliminate me, thus leaving him free to become overseer. Had she not arrived at your door, you and I would have sat down with the manuscript on your return from Milan. Fortuna, however, had other plans. In that regard, Signore Machiavelli might very well have been right.”
“A week before? That’s
when you were going to tell me?”
“Oh, I might not have told you at all … but then Pescatore began to publish his articles, and it became imperative that you and I talk. I knew you would speak with him in Florence. He told me so himself. It seemed an appropriate moment.” He took another spear. “There would have been time.”
“Why kill Carlo?”
“Again with Pescatore.” Lundsdorf looked genuinely surprised by the remark. “Was he such a friend that you feel the need to press this point?”
“Just a man’s life,” answered Xander, “that’s all.”
“Oh, I see,” nodded Lundsdorf. “And the life you took was justified? The man on the train from Frankfurt?”
“If you can’t see the difference … I was protecting myself.”
“And I was protecting something far greater than one life. How easily you have taken on the role of moralist. I do not think it suits you.”
“Perhaps because it’s not in keeping with your usual company.”
The smile disappeared. Lundsdorf returned to the asparagus.
“And the same for Ganz and Clara?”
“By then, it was a matter of security, but yes. I needed to know what you had found. Mrs. Huber was … the most obvious choice. I knew you would send it to her. Her death was … a mistake. You might find some solace in knowing that the woman responsible is no longer capable of such things.”
“I don’t.”
“Pity.”
Xander waited before speaking. “So once again, everything had to be just right for me to appreciate the manuscript. So much for my ‘genius’ if you thought you had to hold my hand while I read it.”
“Not at all. I have known you for fifteen years, Xander. I have seen your mind develop, have helped to guide it in that development. You can be assured, I know exactly what it is that compels you.”
“You always thought you knew what I wanted. That was the problem.”
Lundsdorf pulled the rubber-banded Machiavelli from his pocket and placed it on the table. “I, too, have always been rather fond of our Italian friend. The tapes from last night only confirm what I have known all along. Even now, you are growing more and more intrigued—”
“I’ve formed my opinion of your ‘vision,’ whatever you think those tapes tell you, and no amount of intellectual jousting is going to change that.”
“Xander”—Lundsdorf again in gentler tone—“when the chaos has run its course, you will understand why the manuscript is our only hope for a future. You will embrace its promise of permanence.”
“Along with its promise of manipulation, brutality, hatred?”
“Tame the theory, Xander. Temper it. You alone can do this. We both know that men will never abandon their aggression, nor their penchant for hatred. If, on the other hand, we can find a way to direct those appetites to a positive end, then we must accept the responsibility to do so. You have spoken of choices—I agree. I am telling you that chaos is inevitable. The question arises: If we do not step in, then who? The military? It is, as you know, the most likely response. Foist chaos on a people and you have but limited time before they run to their generals for protection. Would you prefer that?” He paused. “Remember Cincinnatus. He had no love of power, no desire to rule, but Rome called him to serve, and he obeyed. Sadly, he abandoned his post too soon, and the generals returned. You will have the power, Xander, you alone to shape the process whereby we may tame the worst that is within us. Surely you can see the nobility in that.”
“In the same way that Votapek, Sedgewick, and Tieg do?” Xander watched as the warmth slipped from Lundsdorf’s eyes. “How foolish of me to think that it’s the promise of power that draws them, not their ‘nobility.’” Something suddenly struck him. “That’s why they’re here, isn’t it? That’s why the surprise visits. It’s time to see who’s in control.”
“I said that need not concern you.”
“Are they as eager for me to take the reins as you are?”
“It is of no consequence.”
Xander smiled. For the first time in days, he smiled. “You really think you can control all of this, don’t you? Me, Votapek, Tieg—the manuscript says it must be so, and therefore it will be so. One virtuous man to make the world right. One man to make a virtue of brutality and deception.”
“You are not thinking clearly.”
“Things have never been clearer.” Xander paused. “Theory—that’s all it is.” He picked up the Machiavelli. “All this is. All it can ever be.”
“No, Xander, you know—”
“What I know—what you have taught me—is that to see it any other way is madness. No matter how seductive. And I will have nothing to do with it.”
“You will—”
“You’ll have to kill me, you know that, don’t you?” Lundsdorf did not answer. “Tieg? Votapek? Have they disappointed you as well? Oh, but then who will lead us out of the chaos? Now there’s a practical dilemma.”
“You need time—”
“There is no time. You’ve seen to that, for the past eighteen hours.”
“No!” Lundsdorf barked, the first hint of frustration in his voice. “I will not permit you to do this. When the time comes, you will accept your role. You must take the time to consider more carefully.”
Calmly, Xander pushed back his chair and stood. “No. That’s not going to happen.” He tossed the Machiavelli onto the table and moved to the door.
“You will reconsider,” answered Lundsdorf, regaining his control. Busy with the asparagus, he added, “Oh, yes, I meant to tell you. There will be no last-minute attempts to interfere. Miss Trent is dead.”
Xander stopped for a moment, his back to Lundsdorf. If nothing else, he had no intention of giving Lundsdorf the pleasure of a reaction. Slowly, he stepped past the guard, only to notice a second man off in the shadows, thin to the point of frailty, a set of nervous eyes trying to avoid contact. Xander recognized him instantly. Anton Votapek. And he knew he had heard every word. Without acknowledging him, Xander continued down the corridor.
The first car left at 7:07, the second eight minutes later. Only Alison had remained at the cabin. O’Connell had mentioned another woman, someone who would arrive to take care of her. He had not explained; Sarah had not asked.
Each operative wore a turtleneck and black wool hat, the clothing pulled to the limits so as to leave a minimum of flesh revealed. And each carried a revolver fitted with a silencer, strapped tightly in a holster at the waist. Knives hung on the side of the belt, garroting wire coiled innocently through an open loop—the usual fare for such expeditions, worn with the familiarity of men well schooled in the art of infiltration. Sarah felt strangely at ease in her own gear, although her ribs made it impossible to carry anything on her shoulder, even the weight of a pack too much to sustain. Toby had taken hers without too much of a fuss.
It was 7:57 when the first car pulled to a stop along a stretch of road half a mile from the compound. The three men and Sarah got out and waited while O’Connell drove into the gulley between highway and wood; five minutes later, the car lay hidden under branches and foliage, plastic reflector caps from the lights tossed into the trees. In single file, they began to walk.
Jonas Tieg entered the study, an all-too-familiar knot in his stomach. The pain had grown less acute over the years, but it had remained an essential part of the ritual, a connection to a past beyond which he had never quite moved. Willingly or not, Tieg became the frightened twelve-year-old all over again, the old man behind the desk aware of his pupil, never choosing to acknowledge him. Tonight, however, that would change.
Without looking up from his book, Lundsdorf spoke. “I thought you were leaving, Jonas. You should be in California for the next few days. Or does your television show not need you?”
“I can leave in the morning,” answered Tieg, taking the chair across from Lundsdorf.
“I would prefer it if you were to leave tonight.” Only now did the old man look up. “I will
be closing off access to the lab within the next hour or so. Again, it would be best if you were not here when that occurs.”
“I was hoping to—”
“I have heard your concerns, and I trust you understood my answer. Do I make myself clear?”
“Absolutely,” answered Tieg, “except you forgot to tell me how important Jaspers will be in our future.” He spoke with little emotion. “Obviously, my insecurities weren’t as far-fetched as you led me to believe.”
Lundsdorf placed the book on the desk and sat back, his hands clasped in his lap. “You have been listening to things that do not concern you.”
“I’m a little tired of being treated like a child.”
“And I am tired of treating you as such, but you rarely leave me any other choice. This business with Jaspers—”
“Is unacceptable,” Tieg cut in. “He must be eliminated.”
“Really? To soothe your ego?”
“To make certain that an old man’s fantasy doesn’t get in the way of fifty years of work.”
“Fantasy?” Lundsdorf smiled. “Tell me, Jonas, when I am gone, will you understand how to coordinate the three spheres—”
Now Tieg began to laugh. It was a response Lundsdorf never expected, enough to silence him. “The three spheres?” continued Tieg, no humor in his voice. For some reason, the knot in his stomach had disappeared. “I’m already coordinating the three of us, or weren’t you aware of that? Larry doesn’t make a move without me, and Anton … well, Anton, as you know, does what he’s told. So there’s really no need for Professor Jaspers, is there? As I understand it, even he realizes that, whatever motives he might have for declining your generous proposition. Unfortunately, it isn’t yours to offer anymore.”
“I see,” he replied. “And you have had this planned for some time, yes?”
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