by Steve Berry
“What makes you so sure?” Isabel asked.
“I pay attention.”
“All right. I knew they would be here, and they did think us allies.” “Then they’re bigger fools than I am.”
“Maybe not them, but certainly the man who sent them. Can we dispense with the theatrics—on both our parts—and talk?”
“I’m listening.”
“I know who’s trying to kill you,” Isabel said. “But I need your help.”
He caught the first rumors of nighttime outside the bare window frames from air turning colder by the second.
He also caught the drift of her words. “One for the other?”
“I apologize for the deception, but it seemed the only way to attract your cooperation.”
“You should have just asked.”
“I tried that at Reichshoffen. I thought this might work better.”
“Which could have gotten me killed.”
“Come now, Herr Malone, I have much more confidence in your abilities than you seem to.”
He’d had enough. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
He started to leave.
“I know where Dietz was headed,” Isabel said. “Where your father was taking him in Antarctica.”
Screw her.
“Somewhere in this church is what Dietz was missing. What he went there to find.”
His vehemence subsided into hunger. “I’m going to eat dinner.” He kept walking. “I’m willing to listen while I eat, but if it isn’t damn good information, I’m gone.”
“I assure you, Herr Malone, it’s more than good.”
SIXTY-TWO
ASHEVILLE
“You pushed Scofield too hard,” Stephanie told Edwin Davis.
They were still sitting in the alcove. Outside, a glorious afternoon illuminated distant winter forests. To their left, toward the southeast, she caught a glimpse of the main château a mile or so away, perched high on its own promontory.
“Scofield’s an ass,” Davis said. “He thinks Ramsey cares that he’s kept his mouth shut all these years.”
“We don’t know what Ramsey cares about.”
“Somebody is going to kill Scofield.”
She wasn’t so sure. “And what do you propose we do about it?”
“Stick close to him.”
“We could take him into custody.”
“And lose our bait.”
“If you’re right, is that fair to him?”
“He thinks we’re idiots.”
She didn’t like Douglas Scofield, either, but that shouldn’t factor into their decisions. There was one other thing, though. “You realize, we still have no proof of anything.”
Davis checked the clock across the lobby. “I have to make a call.”
He left his chair and approached the windows, nestling into a floral sofa ten feet away, facing away, toward outside. She watched him. He was both troubled and complex. Interesting to know, though, like her, he struggled with emotions. And he didn’t like to talk about them, either.
Davis motioned for her to come closer.
She walked over and sat beside him.
“He wants to talk to you again.”
She cradled the cell phone to her ear, knowing exactly who was on the other end.
“Stephanie,” President Daniels said, “this is growing complex. Ramsey has maneuvered Aatos Kane. The good senator wants me to bestow the Joint Chiefs position on Ramsey. There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen, but I didn’t let Kane know that. I once heard an old Indian proverb. If you live in the river, then you should make friends with the crocodiles. Apparently, Ramsey is practicing that truism.”
“Or it may be the other way around.”
“Which is what really makes this complex. Those two haven’t joined forces voluntarily. Something’s happened. I can kick the can down the street for a few days, but we need to make progress on your end. How’s my boy?”
“Eager.”
Daniels chuckled. “Now you see what I have to put up with from you. Tough to keep a leash on things?”
“You could say that.”
“Teddy Roosevelt said it best. ‘Do what you can with what you have, where you are.’ Stay with this.”
“I don’t think I have much choice, do I?”
“No, but here’s a tidbit. The Berlin station chief for naval intelligence, a captain named Sterling Wilkerson, was found dead in Munich.”
“Which you believe is not coincidental.”
“Crap, no. Ramsey is working something here and over there. I can’t prove it, but I feel it. What about Malone?”
“Haven’t heard from him.”
“Tell me straight up. Do you think this professor is in danger?”
“I don’t know. But I think we ought to hang around till tomorrow, to be sure.”
“Here’s something I didn’t tell Edwin. I need a poker face.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
“I have my doubts about Diane McCoy. I learned a long time ago to pay attention to my enemies ’cause they’re the first to learn your mistakes. I’ve been watching her. Edwin knows that. What he doesn’t know is that she left the building today and drove into Virginia. Right now she’s at Fort Lee, inspecting a warehouse the army leases to naval intelligence. I checked. Ramsey was there himself yesterday.”
Something she already knew, thanks to her staff.
Davis motioned that he was going to get something to drink from a hospitality table near the hearth and with gestures asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head.
“He’s gone,” she said into the phone. “I assume you’re telling me this for a reason.”
“It seems Diane has made friends with the crocodiles, too, but I’m worried she’s going to get eaten.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”
“I do believe you have a mean streak.”
“I have a realist streak.”
“Stephanie, you sound worried.”
“As much as I may object, I have a feeling our man is here.”
“You want help?” Daniels asked.
“I do, but Edwin doesn’t.”
“Since when do you listen to him?”
“This is his show. He’s on a mission.”
“Love is hell, but don’t let it be his downfall. I need him.”
Smith was enjoying the piano music and a crackling fire in the hearth. Lunch had been great. The salad and appetizer were both superb and the soup was delicious, but the fresh lamb with seasonal vegetables had been the best by far.
He’d come upstairs after the man and woman approached Scofield and whisked him away from his meal. He hadn’t been able to hear what was said downstairs or here. He wondered, were these the same two from last night? Hard to say.
For the past few hours Scofield had been approached by one person after another. In fact, the whole conference seemed a lovefest geared toward him. The professor was listed as one of the event’s original organizers. He was the keynote speaker tomorrow night. He was also conducting a candlelight tour through the main mansion this evening. Tomorrow morning was what the brochure called Scofield’s Hog Wild Adventure. Three hours of boar hunting with bow and arrow, in a nearby forest, led by the professor himself. The woman at the registration desk had said the early-morning jaunt was popular, and about thirty folks went along each year. Two more people interested in Dr. Douglas Scofield was not necessarily cause for alarm. So Smith quelled his paranoia and did not allow it to get the best of him. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was shaken from last night.
He watched as the man rose from the sofa and headed for a green-clothed table beside the hearth, pouring himself a glass of ice water.
Smith stood and casually walked over, refilling his teacup from a silver server. The service was a nice touch. Refreshments for guests all day. He added a little Splenda—he hated sugar—and stirred.
Theman retreated toward the alcove, sipping his water, to where
the woman was ending a cell phone call. The fire in the hearth had burned low, barely sputtering now. One of the attendants opened an iron grate and added a few logs. He knew he could follow those two and see where it led, but luckily he’d already decided on amore definitive tack.
Something innovative.
Guaranteed to produce results.
And fitting for the great Douglas Scofield.
Malone reentered the L’arlequin and headed for its restaurant, where colorful rugs covered an oak-planked floor. His entourage followed him inside and peeled off their coats. Isabel spoke with the man who’d worked the registration desk earlier. The attendant left, closing the restaurant doors behind him. Malone shucked his jacket and gloves and noticed that his shirt was damp from perspiration.
“There are only eight rooms upstairs,” Isabel said, “and I’ve let them all for the night. The owner is preparing a meal.”
Malone sat on one of the benches that lined two oak tables. “Good. I’m hungry.”
Christl, Dorothea, and Werner sat opposite him. Henn stood off to the side, holding a satchel. Isabel assumed a position at the head of the table. “Herr Malone, I’m going to be truthful with you.”
“I seriously doubt that, but go ahead.”
Her hands tightened and her fingers eagerly tapped the tabletop.
“I’m not your child,” he said, “and I’m not in the will, so get to the point.”
“I know that Hermann visited here twice,” she said. “Once before the war, in 1937. The other time in 1952. My mother-in-law told Dietz and I about the trips shortly before she died. But she knew nothing of what Hermann did here. Dietz himself came about a year before he disappeared.”
“You’ve never mentioned that,” Christl said.
Isabel shook her head. “I never realized a connection between this place and the pursuit. I only knew that both men visited. Yesterday, when you told me about here, I immediately realized the link.”
The adrenaline rush from the church had drained, and Malone’s body felt heavy with fatigue. But he needed to focus. “So Hermann and Dietz were here. That’s of little use since, apparently, only Hermann found anything. And he didn’t tell anybody.”
“Einhard’s will,” Christl said, “makes clear that you clarify this pursuit by applying the angel’s perfection to the lord’s sanctification. That gets you from Aachen to here. Then only those who appreciate the throne of Solomon and Roman frivolity shall find their way to heaven.”
Dorothea and Werner sat silent. Malone wondered why they were even here. Maybe they’d already played their part in the church? He pointed at them and asked, “Have you two kissed and made up?”
“Is that important to anything?” Dorothea asked.
He shrugged. “Is to me.”
“Herr Malone,” Isabel said. “We must solve this challenge.”
“Did you see that church? It’s a ruin. There’s nothing there from twelve hundred years ago. The walls are barely standing and the roof is new. The flooring is cracked and crumbled, the altar eroding away. How do you plan to solve anything?”
Isabel motioned and Henn handed her the satchel. She unbuckled its leather straps and removed a tattered map, the paper a pale rust color. She carefully unfolded and laid the sheet, maybe twenty-four by eighteen inches, flat on the table. He saw that it was not of any country or continent, but was a sectional representation of a jagged coastline.
“This is Hermann’s map, used during the 1938 Nazi expedition to Antarctica. It’s where he explored.”
“There’s no writing,” he said.
Locations were denoted by Δ’s. X’s seemed to note mountains. A □ pinpointed something central, and a route was shown to and from, but not a single word anywhere.
“My husband left this behind when he sailed for America in 1971. He took another drawing with him. But I know exactly where Dietz was headed.” She held up a second folded map from the satchel. Newer, blue, titled International Travel Map of Antarctica, Scale 1:8,000,000. “That information is all on here.”
She reached into the satchel and brought out two final objects, both sheathed inside plastic bags. The books. One from Charlemagne’s grave, which Dorothea had shown him. The other from Einhard’s tomb, which Christl had possessed.
She tabled Christl’s and lifted Dorothea’s.
“This is the key, but we can’t read it. The ability to do that is here, in that monastery. I fear that, though we know where to go in Antarctica, the trip would be unproductive unless we know what’s on these pages. We must have, as Einhard wrote, a full comprehension of heaven.”
“Your husband went without one.”
“His mistake,” Isabel said.
“Can we eat?” Malone asked, tired of listening to her.
“I understand you’re frustrated with us,” Isabel said. “But I came to make a bargain with you.”
“No, you came to set me up.” He stared at the sisters. “Again.”
“If we discover how to read this book,” Isabel said. “If it seems worth the trip, which I believe it will be, then I assume you’ll be going to Antarctica?”
“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“I want you to take my daughters with you, along with Werner and Ulrich.”
“Anything else?” he asked, almost amused.
“I’m quite serious. It’s the price you’ll pay to know the location. Without that location, the trip would be as futile as Dietz’s.”
“Then I guess I won’t know, because that’s insane. We’re not talking about a romp in the snow. This is Antarctica. One of the toughest places on earth.”
“I checked this morning. The temperature at Halvorsen Base, which is the closest landing strip to the location, was minus seven degrees Celsius. Not all that bad. The weather was also relatively calm.”
“Which can change in ten minutes.”
“You sound like you’ve been there,” Werner said.
“I have. It’s not a place where you want to hang out.”
“Cotton,” Christl said. “Mother explained this to us earlier. They were headed for a specific location.” She pointed to the map on the table. “Do you realize that the submarine could be lying in the water near that location?”
She’d played the one card he’d been dreading. He’d already assumed the same thing. The court of inquiry’s report had noted NR-1A’s last known location—73° S, 15 ° W, approximately 150 miles north of Cape Norvegia. That could now be matched with another reference point, which might be enough to allow him to find the sunken vessel. But to be able to do that, he had to play ball.
“I assume that if I agree to take along these passengers, I won’t be told anything until we’re in the air?”
“Actually, not until you’re on the ground,” Isabel said. “Ulrich was trained in navigation by the Stasi. He’ll direct you, once there.”
“I’m positively crushed at the lack of faith you have in me.”
“About as much as you have in me.”
“You realize that I won’t have the final say on who goes. I’ll need help from the US military to get there. They may not allow anybody else.”
Her morose heavy face lightened by a fleeting smile. “Come now, Herr Malone, you can do better than that. You’ll have the power to make things happen. Of that I’m sure.”
He faced the others sitting across the table. “Do you three have any idea what you’re getting into?”
“It’s the price we have to pay,” Dorothea said.
Now he understood. Their game wasn’t over.
“I can handle it,” Dorothea said.
Werner nodded. “I can, too.”
He stared at Christl.
“I want to know what happened to them,” she said, her eyes downcast.
So did he. He must be insane.
“Okay, Frau Oberhauser, if we solve the pursuit, you have a deal.”
SIXTY-THREE
Ramsey opened the hatch and exited the helicopter
. He’d flown directly from Washington to Fort Lee in the chopper that naval intelligence maintained around-the-clock at administrative headquarters.
A car waited for him and he was driven to where Diane McCoy was being held. He’d ordered her detainment the moment Hovey had informed him of her visit to the base. Holding a deputy national security adviser could present a problem, but he’d assured the base commander that he’d assume full responsibility.
He doubted there’d be any fallout.
This was McCoy’s jaunt, and she wasn’t about to involve the White House. That conclusion was fortified by the fact that she’d made no calls from the base.
He left the car and entered the security building, where a sergeant-major escorted him to McCoy. He entered and closed the door. She’d been made comfortable in the chief of security’s private office.
“About time,” she said. “It’s been nearly two hours.”
He unbuttoned his overcoat. He’d already been told she’d been searched and electronically swept. He sat in a chair beside her. “I thought you and I had a deal.”
“No, Langford. You had a deal for you. I had nothing.”
“I told you that I would make sure you were a part of the next administration.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“Nothing in this world is a certainty, but I can narrow the odds. Which I’m doing, by the way. But recording me? Trying to get me to admit things? Now coming here? This is not the way, Diane.”
“What’s in that warehouse?”
He needed to know, “How did you learn about it?”
“I’m a deputy national security adviser.”
He decided to be partially honest with her. “It contains artifacts found in 1947 during Operation Highjump and again in ’48 during Operation Windmill. Some unusual artifacts. They were also part of what happened to NR-1A in ’71. That sub was on a mission concerning those artifacts.”
“Edwin Davis talked to the president about Highjump and Windmill. I heard him.”
“Diane, surely you can see the damage that could be done if it was revealed that the navy did not search for one of its subs after it sank. Not only didn’t it search, but a cover story was fabricated. Families were lied to, reports falsified. You might have been able to get away with that then—different times—but not today. The fallout would be enormous.”