by Steve Berry
“They’re maybe a hundred meters down that trail, in another clearing. It’s up to you now.”
He slid from the saddle, gun in hand.
“We have a problem,” Stephanie said. “Is there another way out of here?”
Ely motioned toward the kitchen.
She and Thorvaldsen rushed forward just as the cabin’s front door burst inward. The man barked orders in a language she did not understand. She found the kitchen door and opened it, cautioning Thorvaldsen for quiet. Ely was speaking to the man in the same language.
She slipped outside. Thorvaldsen followed.
Automatic gunfire exploded from inside the cabin and bullets ripped into the heavy timbers behind them.
They fell to the ground as a window exploded. Glass showered outward. Bullets found trees. She heard Ely yell something to their attacker and used that instant to spring to her feet and race around the cabin toward the car. Thorvaldsen remained on the ground, struggling to stand, and she could only hope Ely delayed the guard long enough.
She reached the car, opened the rear door, and gripped one of the automatics.
Thorvaldsen rounded the cabin.
She assumed a defensive position with the car as a buffer, aiming across the hood, and motioned with the gun for Henrik to go right onto the front porch. He veered out of her line of fire, just as the guard appeared, his rifle leveled waist high. He seemed to spot Thorvaldsen first and pivoted to adjust his aim.
She fired twice.
Both bullets found the man’s chest.
She fired twice more.
The guard collapsed to the ground.
Silence gripped her. She did not move until Ely appeared from behind the dead guardsman. Thorvaldsen stepped off the porch. Her gun was still aimed, both hands locked on the stock. Shaking. She’d killed a man.
Her first.
Thorvaldsen walked toward her. “You okay?”
“I’ve heard others talk about it. I told them it was their job. But now I understand. Killing someone is a big deal.”
“You had no choice.”
Ely walked over. “He wouldn’t listen. I told him you weren’t a threat.”
“But we are,” Thorvaldsen said. “I’m sure his orders were for no one to make contact with you. That would be the last thing Zovastina would want.”
Stephanie’s mind began to clear. “We need to leave.”
SEVENTY-THREE
Malone advanced into the woods, black and silent and seemingly filled with threats. He spied a clearing ahead where sunshine spread unaffected by the leafy canopy. He glanced back and did not see Viktor, but understood why the man had disappeared. He heard voices, so he increased his pace, stopping behind a thick trunk near the path’s end.
He saw Cassiopeia. Tied between two trees. Her arms stretched outward. Irina Zovastina standing beside her.
Viktor was right.
Big trouble.
Zovastina was both intrigued and irritated with Cassiopeia Vitt. “You don’t seem to care that you’re about to die.”
“If I cared, I wouldn’t have come with you.”
She decided it was time to give the woman a reason to live. “You asked on the plane about Ely. Whether he was alive. I didn’t answer you. Don’t you want to know?”
“I wouldn’t believe a word you said.”
She shrugged. “That’s a fair statement. I wouldn’t, either.”
She found a phone in her pocket and pushed one of the buttons.
Stephanie heard a ringing. Her gaze shot to the dead man lying on the rocky ground.
Thorvaldsen heard it, too.
“It’s Zovastina,” Ely said. “She calls me on the phone he brings.”
She darted to the body, found the unit, and said to Ely, “Answer it.”
Cassiopeia listened as Zovastina said, “There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Zovastina placed the phone close to her ear. She had no intention of saying anything, but the voice that came from the other side of the call sent an electric shock down her spine.
“What is it, Minister?” A pause. “Minister?”
She could not help herself. The voice confirmed all her doubts.
“Ely. It’s Cassiopeia.”
Silence greeted her.
“Ely? Are you there?” Her eyes burned.
“I’m here. Just shocked. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too.” Emotion surged through her. Everything had changed.
“What are you doing here?” Ely asked.
“Looking for you. I knew … I hoped you weren’t dead.” She tried to maintain a tight grip on her emotions. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’m worried about you. Henrik’s here with a woman named Stephanie Nelle.”
That was news. Cassiopeia tried to shove her apprehension aside and focus. Apparently, Zovastina was unaware of what was happening wherever Ely was being held. “Tell the minister what you just told me.”
Zovastina listened into the phone.
Stephanie heard Ely repeat himself. She understood the shock Cassiopeia must be experiencing, but why did Cassiopeia want Ely to tell the Supreme Minister they were here?
Zovastina said into the phone, “When did your friend Thorvaldsen and this woman arrive?”
“A short while ago. Your guard tried to kill them, but he’s dead.”
“Minister,” a new voice said in her ear, one she instantly recognized.
Thorvaldsen.
“We have Ely.”
“And I have Cassiopeia Vitt. I’d say she has another ten minutes or so to live.”
“We solved the riddle.”
“Lots of talk. From you and Vitt. Anything to back it up?”
“Oh, yes. We’ll be at the grave before nightfall. But you’ll never know.”
“You’re in my Federation,” she made clear.
“Except that we were able to enter, take your prisoner, and leave with him without you ever knowing.”
“But you made a point to tell me.”
“The only thing you have that I want is Cassiopeia. Call back if you want to bargain.”
And the call ended.
“You think that was smart?” Stephanie asked Thorvaldsen.
“We have to keep her off balance.”
“But we don’t know what’s happening there.”
“Tell me what I don’t know.”
She could see Thorvaldsen was worried.
“We have to trust that Cotton is handling things,” he said.
Zovastina fought the feeling of uneasiness that swept through her. These people fought hard, she’d give them that.
She freed a knife from its leather sleeve. “Your friends are here. And they have Ely. Unfortunately, contrary to what Thorvaldsen may think, he has nothing I want.”
She stepped close to the bundle of rope. “I’d much prefer to watch you die.”
Malone saw and heard everything. Ely Lund was apparently on the phone. He saw how Cassiopeia had been affected, but he also realized that someone else had come onto the call. Henrik? Stephanie? They were surely with Lund by now.
He could wait no longer. He rushed from his hiding place. “That’s enough.”
Zovastina stood with her back to him. He saw that she’d stopped her assault on the ropes.
“The knife,” he said. “Let it go.”
Cassiopeia watched him with a look of anticipation. He felt it, too. A bad feeling. Almost as if he’d been expected.
Two men stepped from the trees, weapons trained on him.
“Mr. Malone,” Zovastina said, as she turned toward him with a grim look of satisfaction on her face. “You can’t kill us all.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
Vincenti stepped into his library, closed the door, and poured himself a drink. Kumis. A local specialty he’d come to enjoy. Fermented mare’s milk. Not much alcohol but quite a buzz. He downed the shot in one swallow and savored its almond aftertaste.
; He poured another.
His stomach growled. He was hungry. He should tell the chef what he wanted for dinner. A thick slab of teriyaki horse steak would be good. He’d come to like that local specialty, too.
He sipped more Kumis.
Everything was about to unfold. His intuition from all those years ago had proven correct. All that stood in the way was Irina Zovastina.
He stepped to his desk. The house was equipped with a sophisticated satellite communications system, with direct links to Samarkand and his corporate headquarters in Venice. Drink in hand, he saw an e-mail had arrived from Kamil Revin about a half hour ago. Unusual. Revin, for all his joviality, distrusted any form of communication save face-to-face, with him controlling the time and location.
He opened the file and read the message.
THE AMERICANS WERE HERE.
His tired mind snapped alert. Americans? He was about to hit “Reply” when the study door burst open and Peter O’Conner rushed in.
“Four helicopter gunships bearing down on us. Federation.”
He darted to the windows and gazed west. At the far end of the valley four dots pricked the bright sky, growing larger.
“They just appeared,” O’Conner said. “I’m assuming this is not a social call. You expecting anyone?”
He wasn’t.
He returned to the computer and deleted the e-mail.
“They’ll be on the ground in less than ten minutes,” O’Conner said.
Something was wrong.
“Is Zovastina coming for the woman?” O’Conner asked.
“It’s possible. But how would she know this fast?”
Zovastina would never have imagined what he was planning. True, she distrusted him as he distrusted her, but there was no reason for any show of force. Not now, anyway. Then there was Venice, and what happened when he’d moved on Stephanie Nelle. And the Americans?
What didn’t he know?
“They’re swinging around to land,” O’Conner said from the windows.
“Go get her.”
O’Conner dashed from the room.
Vincenti slid open one of the desk drawers and removed a pistol. They’d yet to hire the full security contingent the estate would ultimately require. That would all be done in the coming weeks, while Zovastina occupied herself preparing for war. He’d planned to use that diversion to its fullest.
Karyn Walde entered the library, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. Standing, on her own. O’Conner followed.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Better than I have in months. I can walk.”
Already, a doctor was en route from Venice who would treat her secondary infections. Lucky for her, they were remediable. “It’ll take a few days for your body to start a full recovery. But the virus is right now being assaulted by a predator against which it has no defense. As, by the way, are we.”
O’Conner assumed a position at the window. “They’re on the ground. Troops. Asians. Looks like they’re hers.”
He faced Walde. “Seems Irina may want you back. We’re not sure what’s happening.”
He stepped across the room to a built-in bookcase with ornate glass-fronted doors. The wood had come from China, along with the craftsman who’d made the piece. But O’Conner had added something extra. He pressed a button on a pocket controller and a spring-loaded mechanism above and below the cabinet released, allowing the heavy case to rotate one hundred and eighty degrees. Beyond was a lighted passageway.
Walde was impressed. “Like in a damn horror movie.”
“Which is what this may become,” he said. “Peter, see what they want and express my regrets that I wasn’t here to greet them.” He motioned to Walde. “Follow me.”
Stephanie’s hands still shook as she watched Ely drag the body around to the rear of the cabin. She still did not like the fact that Zovastina knew they were in the Federation. Not particularly smart to alert a person with the kind of resources at her disposal. She had to trust that Thorvaldsen knew what he was doing, particularly since his butt was on the line, too.
Ely emerged from the cabin’s front door, followed by Thorvaldsen. He held an arm full of books and paper. “I’ll need these.”
She was watching the lane leading back to the highway. All seemed quiet. Thorvaldsen came up beside her. He noticed her shaking hand and calmly grasped it. Neither of them said a word. She still held the gun, her palm sweaty. Her mind needed to focus, so she asked, “What exactly are we going to do?”
“We know the location,” Ely said. “Klimax. So let’s go see what’s there. It’s worth a look.”
She fought to recall Ptolemy’s words and repeated them, “Climb the god-built walls. When you reach the attic, gaze into the tawny eye, and dare to find the distant refuge.”
“I remember the riddle,” Ely said. “I need to check some information, spur my memory, but I can do that along the way.”
She wanted to know, “Why did Zovastina go after the elephant medallions?”
“I pointed out a connection between a mark on the medallions and the riddle. A symbol, like two Bs joined to an A. It’s on one side of the medallion and in the riddle. They had to be significant. Since there were only eight known, she said she’d acquire them all for comparison. But she told me she was going to buy them.”
“Not hardly,” Stephanie said. “I’m still baffled. All of this is over two thousand years old. Wouldn’t anything that existed have been found by now?”
Ely shrugged. “Hard to say. Let’s face it, the clues have not been out in the open. It took X-ray fluorescence to find the important stuff.”
“But Zovastina wants it. Whatever it is.”
Ely nodded. “In her mind, which I always thought was a little weird, she’s Alexander, or Achilles, or some other epic hero. It’s a romantic vision she seems to enjoy. A quest. She believes there might be some sort of cure out there. She talked about that a lot. That was most important to her, but I don’t know why.” Ely paused. “I won’t say that it wasn’t important to me, too. Her enthusiasm became infectious. I actually started to believe there might be something to find.”
She could see he was troubled by all that had happened, so she offered, “You might be right.”
“That would be amazing, wouldn’t it?”
“But how could there be any connection between St. Mark and Alexander the Great?” Thorvaldsen asked.
“We know that Alexander’s body was in Alexandria up to 391 CE, when paganism was finally outlawed. But there’s no mention of it ever again, anywhere, after that. St. Mark’s body reappears in Alexandria around 400 CE. Remember, pagan relics were routinely adopted for Christian purposes.
“There are lots of examples I’ve read about from Alexandria. A bronze idol of Saturn in the Caesareum was melted down to cast a cross for the patriarch of Alexandria. The Caesareum itself became a Christian cathedral. My theory, from reading everything I could on St. Mark and Alexander, was that some fourth-century patriarch conceived a way to not only preserve the corpse of the city’s founder, but to furnish Christianity with a potent relic. A win/win. So Alexander simply became St. Mark. Who’d know the difference?”
“Sounds like a long shot,” she said.
“I don’t know. You tell me Ptolemy left something in that mummy in the basilica that led you straight here. I’d say theory is now firmly entrenched in reality.”
“He’s right,” Thorvaldsen said. “It’s worth going south to take a look.”
She didn’t necessarily agree, but any place was preferable to here. At least they’d be on the move. But something occurred to her. “You said the area where Klimax is located is now privately owned. We could have trouble gaining access.”
Ely smiled. “Maybe the new owner will let us have a look around.”
SEVENTY-FIVE
Malone was trapped. He should have known. Viktor had led him straight to Zovastina.
“Come to save Ms. Vitt?”
He still held
the gun.
Zovastina motioned. “Who do you plan to kill? Choose between the three of us.” She pointed at her guardsmen. “One of them will shoot you before you can shoot the other.” She displayed her knife. “And then I’ll cut these ropes.”
All true. His options were limited.
“Take him,” she ordered the guards.
One of the men rushed forward, but a new sound captured Malone’s attention. Baying. Growing louder. The guard was ten feet away when goats rushed from the other path that led back to the buzkashi field. First a few, then the entire herd exploded into the clearing.
Hooves thumped the earth.
Malone spotted Viktor atop a horse, keeping the oversized animals bunched, trying not to break their advance. A lumbering pace increased into a rush, the rear shoving the front, forcing the confused goats forward. Their unexpected appearance seemed to generate the desired effect. The guards were momentarily confused and Malone used that instant to shoot the one in front of him.
Another pop and the second guard dropped to the ground.
Malone saw that Viktor had fired the shot.
The goats crowded the clearing, milling into one another, still baffled, slowly realizing the only way out was through the trees.
Dust stirred the air.
Malone spotted Zovastina and pushed his way through the stinking animals toward her and Cassiopeia.
The herd retreated into the woods.
He arrived just as Viktor slid from the saddle, gun in hand. Zovastina stood with her knife, but Viktor was holding her at bay, a few feet from the ropes that anchored the two bent trees.
“Drop the knife,” Viktor said.
Zovastina seemed shocked. “What are you doing?”