by Steve Berry
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“You’re involving us deeply in something that, quite frankly, Alfred, I have questions about.”
“What is it you question?”
“What could possibly be so enticing to Jordan, Syria, Egypt, and Yemen to the exclusion of Saudi Arabia?”
“The elimination of Israel.”
Silence gripped the room.
“Granted, that’s a common goal for all those nations, but it’s also impossible. That state is here to stay.”
“That’s what was said about the Soviet Union. Yet when its purpose was seriously challenged, then exposed for the fraud that it was, look what occurred. Dissolution in a matter of days.”
“And you can make that happen?” asked another.
“I wouldn’t be wasting our time if I didn’t think it possible.” One of the other members, a friend of long standing, seemed frustrated with his obliqueness, so he decided to be a bit conciliatory. “Let me offer this. What if the validity of the Old Testament were called into question?”
A few of the guests shrugged. One asked, “So what?”
“It could fundamentally shift the Middle Eastern debate,” Hermann said. “The Jews are intent on upholding the correctness of their Torah. The Word of God and all that. Nobody has ever seriously challenged them. There’s been talk, speculation, but if the Torah was proven wrong, imagine what that does to Jewish credibility. Think how that could incite other Middle Eastern states.”
He meant what he’d said. No oppressor had ever been able to defeat the Jews. Many had tried. The Assyrians. Babylonians. Romans. Turks. The Inquisition. Even Martin Luther loathed them. But the so-called children of God had stubbornly refused to surrender. Hitler might have been the worst. And yet, in his wake, the world merely granted them their biblical homeland.
“What do you have against Israel?” one of the committee members asked. “I’ve questioned from the beginning why we’re wasting time on this.”
The woman had indeed dissented, joined by two others. They were clearly in the minority, and relatively harmless, so he’d allowed their discourse simply as a way to add a semblance of democracy to the process.
“This is about far more than Israel.” He saw he held their collective attention, even his daughter’s. “Played correctly, we may be able to destabilize both Israel and Saudi Arabia. On this, the one is linked to the other. If we can create the appropriate amount of turmoil in both states, control it, then properly time its release, we may be able to irrevocably topple both governments.” He faced the Political Committee chairman. “Have you discussed how our members can exploit that process once we set it into motion?”
The older man nodded. He’d been a friend for decades and was near the top of the list for a place in the Circle. “The scenario we envision is based on the Palestinians, Jordanians, Syrians, and Egyptians all wanting whatever we provide—”
“That’s not going to happen,” said one of the men, another of the dissenters.
“And who would have thought the world would displace nearly a million Arabs and grant the Jews a homeland?” Hermann made clear. “Many in the Middle East said that would not happen, either.” His words came out sharp, so he laced what he was about to say with a tone of compromise. “At the very least we can bring down that silly wall the Israelis have erected to guard their borders and challenge every ancient claim they’ve ever made. Zionist arrogance would suffer, perhaps enough to galvanize the surrounding Arab states into unified action. And I haven’t even mentioned Iran, which would love nothing more than to totally obliterate Israel. This will be a blessing for them.”
“What could do all that?”
“Knowledge.”
“You can’t be serious. All this is based on us learning something?”
He hadn’t expected this frank discussion, but this was his moment. The committee huddled around his dining room table was charged by Order statutes with formulating the collective’s political policy, which was closely intertwined with initiatives from the Economic Committee because, for the Order, politics and profit were synonymous. The Economic Committee had established a goal of increasing revenues for those members desiring to heavily invest in the Middle East by at least 30 percent. A study had been undertaken, an initial euro investment determined, potential profits estimated under current economic and political conditions, then several scenarios envisioned. In the end a 30 percent goal was deemed achievable. But markets in the Middle East were limited at best. The entire region could explode over the most minuscule occurrence. Every day brought another possibility for disaster. So consistency was what the Political Committee sought. Traditional methods—bribes and threats—were not effective with people who routinely strapped explosives to their chests. The men who controlled decisions in places such as Jordan, Syria, Kuwait, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia were far too wealthy, far too guarded, and far too fanatical. Instead the Order had come to understand that a new form of currency needed to be found—one Hermann believed he would soon possess.
“Knowledge is far more powerful than any weapon,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“All depends on the knowledge,” one of the members declared.
He agreed. “Success will hinge on us being able to disseminate what we learn to the right buyers for the right price at the right time.”
“I know you, Alfred,” one of the older men said. “You’ve planned this thoroughly.”
He grinned. “Things are finally progressing. The Americans are now interested, and that opens a whole new avenue of possibilities.”
“What of the Americans?” Margarete asked, impatience in her voice.
Her question annoyed him. She needed to learn not to reveal what she didn’t know. “It seems there are some in power within the United States who want to humble Israel, too. They see a benefit to American foreign policy.”
“How is any of this possible?” one of the committee members asked. “Arabs and Arabs, along with Arabs and Jews, have been warring for thousands of years. What’s so damn frightening?”
He’d established a lofty goal for both himself and the Order, but a voice inside him said that his diligence was about to be rewarded. So he stared down the men and women seated before him and declared, “I should know the answer to that question before the weekend ends.”
THIRTY-NINE
WASHINGTON, DC
3:30 AM
Stephanie sat in the chair, exhausted. Brent Green faced her from the sofa. He was actually slouching, which she’d never seen him do before. Cassiopeia had fallen asleep upstairs. At least one of them would be rested. She certainly wouldn’t. It seemed like forty-eight days instead of forty-eight hours since she’d last been here, not trusting Green, leery of what he had to say, angry at herself for placing Malone’s son in jeopardy. And though Gary Malone was now safe, the same doubts about Brent Green swirled through her mind, especially considering what he’d told her a few hours ago.
The Israelis’ main conduit is Pam Malone.
She cradled a Diet Dr Pepper that she’d found in Green’s refrigerator. She motioned with the can. “You actually drink these?”
He nodded. “Taste just like the original, but no sugar. Seemed like a good concept to me.”
She smiled. “You’re a strange fellow, Brent.”
“I’m just a private man who keeps what he likes to himself.”
She was heart-sore and mind-weary, wrestling a deep anxiety that wanted to jar her attention away from Green. They’d intentionally left all the lights off to convey to any watchful eyes that the house’s occupant was down for the night.
“You thinking about Malone?” he asked through the dark.
“He’s in trouble.”
“Nothing you can do until he calls in.”
She shook her head. “Not good enough.”
“You have an agent in London. What are the chances of finding Cotton?”
Not likely. London was a big city, and who knew i
f Malone was there? He could have left for anywhere in Britain. But she didn’t want to think about impossibilities, so she asked, “How long have you known about Pam?”
“Not long.”
She resented being kept out of the loop and decided that to get something she was going to have to give. “There’s another player in your game.”
“I’m listening.” Green’s tone indicated that his interest was piqued. Finally she knew something he didn’t.
She told him what Thorvaldsen had said about the Order of the Golden Fleece.
“Henrik never said a word about that to me.”
“Gee, that’s a shocker.” She downed another swallow of her soft drink. “He tells only what he wants you to know.”
“Did they kidnap Malone’s son?”
“They’re at the top of my list.”
“That explains things,” Green said. “The Israelis have been unusually cautious throughout this entire operation. We dangled the link, hoping their contact here would take the bait. For several years, privately, their diplomats have made inquiries concerning George Haddad. We didn’t fool them entirely when Malone hid him away. They sifted through the remains of that ruined café, but the bomb did a thorough job. Yet even after we tossed the link out there for them to notice, the Israelis played everything close.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Malone’s son being taken baffled us. That’s why I delayed our meeting when you first called with the news.”
“And I thought it was simply because you didn’t like me.”
“You do take patience to endure, but I’ve learned to adapt.”
She grinned.
Green reached for a crystal dish on the coffee table that contained salted nuts. She was hungry, too, so she grabbed a handful.
“We knew Israel wasn’t the culprit in Gary Malone’s abduction,” Green said. “And we were curious why they stayed so quiet when it happened.” He paused. “Then, after you called me, I was told about Pam Malone.”
She was listening.
“She became involved with a man about three months ago. A successful lawyer with an Atlanta firm, a senior partner, but also a Jewish patriot. Huge supporter of Israel. Homeland Security believes that he’s helped finance one of the more militant factions in the Israeli government.”
She knew American money had long fueled Israeli politics. “I had no idea you were that involved with things on a daily basis.”
“Again, Stephanie, I’m many things you don’t realize. I have a public image, which is demanded. But when I took this job I didn’t intend to be a talking head. I’m the chief law enforcement officer of this country, and I do my job.”
She noticed that he hadn’t eaten any of his nuts. Instead, with his right palm open flat, the dark form of his left hand was picking through them.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Finding halves.”
“Why?”
“More salt on those.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you have a whole peanut, the middle isn’t salted. But if the nut is split and salted, then there’s twice the salt.”
“You’re not serious.”
He plucked a nut and tossed it into his mouth.
“Why does half a nut have more salt than a whole?”
“Aren’t you paying attention?” he asked in an amused tone. “Two salted halves, joined, have more salt than a single whole.” He tossed another into his mouth.
She couldn’t decide if he was serious or just aggravating her, but he continued to search for halves. “What do you do with the whole ones?”
“Save them to the end. I only eat them as a last resort. But I’ll trade you a whole for a half.”
She liked this Brent Green. A touch of playfulness. A dry sense of humor. Suddenly she felt protective of him. “You want those arrogant fools in the White House just as bad as I do. You’ve heard the talk about you. They call you the Right Reverend Green. They withhold things. They use you only to further their image.”
“I’d like to think I’m not that petty.”
“What’s petty about sticking it up their ass? If anybody needs it, they do. The president included.”
“I agree.” He brushed peanut debris from his hands and kept chewing. She was indeed starting to appreciate the man sitting across from her.
“Tell me more about Pam,” she said.
“She and the lawyer have dated for about three months. We know he’s connected to Heather Dixon. They’ve met several times.”
She was perplexed. “I’m missing something. How would the Israelis assume Pam would be involved with any of this? She and Malone have been estranged for a long time. They hardly speak. And you said yourself you don’t think they kidnapped Gary.”
“The Israelis had to know something we didn’t. They anticipated all this, knew it would happen, and knew that Pam Malone would connect with Cotton. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She was intentionally cultivated. Now tell me about this Order of the Golden Fleece. I think the Israelis knew they were involved, too, and that the boy, at some point, would be taken. Maybe they were planning to do it themselves?”
“Pam’s a spy?”
“The extent of her involvement is a mystery. And unfortunately the lawyer in Atlanta she was dating died the day before yesterday.” Green paused. “Shot in a parking garage.”
Nothing new. The Middle East routinely ate its own.
“What do you know about him?” she asked.
“We were looking at his participation in a money-for-arms deal. Tel Aviv publicly says it’s trying to stop those, but privately they encourage the practice. I’m told the lawyer made all the moves on Pam. Spent a lot of time with her. Gave her gifts. That sort of thing. For someone who wants people to think she’s tough, Pam Malone is simply lonely and vulnerable.”
She caught something in his tone. “That describe you, too?”
Green did not immediately answer, and she wondered if she’d crossed his emotional line. Finally he said in low whisper, “More than you know.”
She wanted to explore that path and was about to make an attempt when footsteps pounded down the stairway. Cassiopeia’s outline appeared in the doorway.
“We have company. A car just pulled up to the curb.”
Green stood. “I saw no headlights.”
“It came dark.”
Stephanie was concerned. “Thought you were asleep.”
“Somebody has to watch out for you two.”
The phone rang.
No one moved.
Another ring.
Green stepped through the darkness, found the cordless receiver, and answered. Stephanie noticed that his tone feigned sleep.
A few moments of silence.
“Then by all means, come in. I’ll be down in a moment.”
Green clicked off the unit.
“Larry Daley. He’s outside and wants to see me.”
“That’s not good,” Stephanie said.
“Maybe not. But get out of sight and let’s see what the devil wants.”
FORTY
LONDON
8:15 AM
Malone loved the Savoy. He’d stayed there a few times on the U.S. and British governments’ dimes. One thing about the Magellan Billet—the perks had been as plentiful as the risks. He hadn’t visited in several years, but he was glad to see that the late-Victorian hotel still projected its grand mixture of opulence and naughtiness. A night in a room facing the Thames, he knew, cost more than most people in the world earned in a year. Which meant their savior apparently liked to travel in style.
They’d quickly departed Bainbridge Hall, stealing the cleaning crew’s van, which he’d parked a few miles from the train station. There they’d caught the 6:30 train back to London. All had been quiet at Paddington Station, and he’d avoided taxis, taking the Tube to the Savoy.
Pam’s shoulder seemed okay. The bleeding from Bainbridge Hall had stopped.
Inside the hotel he found a house phone and asked to be connected to room 453.
“You move fast,” said the voice on the other end of the line.
“What do you want?”
“At the moment, I’m hungry. So breakfast is my main priority.”
Malone caught the message. “Come on down.”
“How about the café in ten minutes? They have a lovely buffet.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
The man who appeared at their table was the same one from two hours ago, only now sporting olive chinos and a tan twill shirt. His clean-shaven, handsome face brimmed with goodwill and civility.
“Name’s McCollum. James McCollum. People call me Jimmy.”
Malone was too tired and suspicious to be friendly, but he stood. The handshake was firm and confident. The other man’s eyes, the color of jade, stared back, eager. Pam stayed seated. Malone introduced himself and her, then came straight to the point. “What were you doing at Bainbridge Hall?”
“You could at least thank me for saving your life. I didn’t have to do that.”
“Just happen to be in the neighborhood?”
The man’s thin lips curled into a grin. “You always like this? No foreplay, just right to it?”
“You’re dodging my question.”
McCollum slid out a chair and sat. “I’m starving. How about we get some food and I’ll tell you all about it?”
Malone did not move. “How about you answer my question.”
“Okay, in the interest of goodwill. I’m a treasure hunter on the trail of the Library of Alexandria. I’ve been searching for whatever remains of it for more than a decade. I was at Bainbridge Hall because of those three men. They killed a woman four days ago, a damn good source, so I stayed on their trail hoping to learn who they’re working for. Instead they led me to you.”
“You said back at the estate you have information I don’t. What makes you think that?”
McCollum shoved back his chair and stood. “I said I might have some information you don’t. Look, I don’t have the time or patience for this. I’ve been at that estate before. You’re not the first to go there. Each one of you amateurs knows a kernel of truth mixed with a lot of fantasy. I’m willing to bargain with some of what I know to learn the tiny shred that you may know. That’s all, Malone. Nothing more sinister.”