The Alexandria Link

 

SEVENTY-NINE



SINAI PENINSULA



SABRE COULD NOT BELIEVE HIS GOOD FORTUNE. HE'D FOUND the Library of Alexandria. All around him were scrolls, papyri, parchments, and what the old man called codices-small, compact books, the pages brittle and brown, each one lying flat on the shelves beside the next, like bodies.



"Why is the air so fresh?" he wanted to know.



"Ventilation fans move the dry air from outside into here, where it's cooled by the mountain. Another innovation added in recent decades. The Guardians before me were ingenious. They took their charge seriously. Will you?"



They stood in the third room, named Eternity, another mosaic hieroglyph-a squatting man, his arms raised like a referee signaling a touchdown-high on the wall. More shelved codices spanned its length, with narrow aisles in between. The Librarian had explained that these were books from the seventh century, just before the original Library at Alexandria was sacked for the final time by Muslims.



"Much was retrieved in the months leading up to that change in political rule," the Librarian said. "These words exist nowhere else on this planet. Facts and events, what the world regards as history, would change if these were studied."



He liked what he was hearing. It all translated into one thing-power. He needed to know more, and quickly. Malone may well have forced another Guardian to show him through the maze. But his adversary could also just wait until he came out. That seemed more logical. Sabre had marked each of the doors they'd taken with an X scratched into the stone. Finding his way out would be easy. Then he'd deal with Malone.



But first he needed to know what Alfred Hermann would have asked.



"Are there manuscripts here about the Old Testament?"



HADDAD WAS PLEASED THAT HIS GUEST HAD FINALLY COME TO the point of his visit. He'd gone to a lot of trouble to make this happen. After his faked death in London, he'd waited, the apartment wired for sound and video, and watched to see if anyone else came. Sure enough, the man holding a gun on him had found the information left on the computer and the audiotape.



At Bainbridge Hall, Haddad had then waited for Malone, since the material he'd stashed beneath his bed had pointed straight there. Sabre's coming had been a bit of a surprise. His killing of the two men whom he'd sent into the mansion in the first place only confirmed the man's ill intentions.



One of the Guardians had managed to follow Malone to the Savoy Hotel and witnessed a breakfast with Sabre. Then those same eyes had watched as the two, plus Malone's ex-wife, boarded a flight to Lisbon. Since Haddad himself had fashioned the quest Malone was taking, he'd known exactly where the three were headed.



Which was why Adam and Eve were sent to Lisbon. To make sure that nothing prevented Malone and his new ally from making their way to the Sinai.



Haddad had thought the threat would be from governments-Israeli, Saudi, or American. But now he realized the greatest danger was from the man standing two meters away. He hoped Sabre was working for himself. And watching the expectancy in the other man's words and actions, he was now sure that the threat was containable.



"We have many texts concerning the Bible," he said. "That was a subject the library took a great interest in studying."



"The Old Testament. In Hebrew. Are there manuscripts here?"



"Three. Two supposedly copied from earlier texts. One an original."



"Where?"



He motioned to the doorway from which they'd entered. "Two rooms back. The Room of Province. If you intend to be the Librarian, you're going to have to learn where materials are stored."



"What do those Bibles say?"



He feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?"



"I've seen letters. From Jerome and Augustine. They talk of the Old Testament being changed. That the translations were altered. There were other invitees, four, who studied that, too. One, a man five years ago, a Palestinian, who said that the Old Testament was a record of the Jews not in Palestine, but somewhere else in Saudi Arabia. What do you know about that?"



"A great deal. And those men are correct. The translations of the accepted Bible are wrong. The Old Testament is indeed a record of the Jews in a place other than Palestine. West Arabia, in fact. I have read many manuscripts here in the library that prove the point. I have even seen maps of ancient Arabia that indicate biblical locations."



The gun came level and pointed straight at him. "Show me."



"Unless you're capable of reading Hebrew or Arabic, they will mean nothing."



"One more time, old man. Show me or I'll kill you and take my chances with your employees."



He shrugged. "Simply trying to be helpful."



SABRE HAD NO IDEA IF THE SHEETS AND CODICES SPREAD OUT before him were what Alfred Hermann sought. It didn't matter. He intended to control everything around him.



"These are treatises written in the second century by philosophers who studied at Alexandria," the Librarian said. "The Jews were just then beginning to become a political force in Palestine, asserting their supposed ancient presence, preaching an entitlement to the land. Sound familiar? These scholars determined that there was no ancient presence. They studied the Hebrew texts of the Old Testament, which the library maintained, and determined that the stories, as told at the time orally by the Jews, were far different in the texts, especially the oldest ones. Seems that as time progressed, the stories became more and more adapted to the Jews' then homeland, which had become Palestine. They'd simply forgotten their past in Arabia. If not for place-names, which remained constant, and the Old Testament written in its original Hebrew, that history would have never been discovered."



The Librarian pointed at one of the codices.



"That one is much later. Fifth century. When Christians decided they wanted the Old Testament to be included in their Bible. This treatise makes clear the translations were altered to conform the Old with the emerging New Testament. A conscious attempt to fashion a message using history, religion, and politics."



Sabre stared at the books.



The Librarian motioned to another stack of parchments contained within a clear plastic container. "This is the oldest Bible we have. Written four hundred years before Christ. All in Hebrew. The world has nothing like this. I believe the oldest Bible, outside this room, dates from nine hundred years after Christ. Is this what you seek?"



Sabre said nothing.



"You're an odd man," the Librarian suddenly said.



"What do you mean?"



"Do you know how many invitees have ventured here? Many thousands throughout the centuries. Our guest book is impressive. It started in the twelfth century with Averroës, the Arabic philosopher who wrote critically of Aristotle and challenged Augustine. He studied here. Those Guardians decided the time had come to share this knowledge, but selectively. Many of the names no one would recognize-just men and women of exceptional intelligence who came to the Guardians' attention. Minds that made their own individual contributions to our knowledge. In the days before radio, television, and computers, Guardians lived in major cities, always on the watch for invitees. Thomas Aquinas, Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Poussin, Chaucer-men like that have all stood in this room. Montaigne wrote his Essays here. Francis Bacon conceived his famous statement I take all knowledge for my province here, in the Room of Province."



"Is all that supposed to mean something to me?"



The old man shrugged. "I'm trying to explain your charge. You say you want to be the Librarian. If so, you will be granted quite a privilege. Those in the past who have served met Copernicus and Kepler and Descartes. Robespierre. Benjamin Franklin. Even Newton himself. All those learned souls benefited from this place, and the world benefited from their ability to comprehend and expand."



"And none of them ever said they were here?"



"Why would they? We seek no credit. In that way they obtain the recognition. If we assisted them? That was our charge. Quite an accomplishment, it has been, to keep this alive. Can you carry on that tradition?"



Since he had no intention of allowing anyone else to see this place, he asked what he really wanted to know. "How many Guardians are there?"



"Nine. Our ranks are greatly depleted."



"Where are they? I saw only two outside."



"The monastery is large. They were about their duties."



He motioned with the gun. "Let's go back to the first room. I want to see something else."



And the old man started walking.



He debated killing him here. But Malone should, by now, have figured out what was happening. He was either waiting at the other end of the maze or on his way through it.



Regardless, this old man would prove useful.



EIGHTY



MALONE ROUNDED THE FINAL CORNER AND SPOTTED A DOORWAY formed by two winged, human-headed lions. He knew the symbolism. The mind of a man, the strength of an animal, the ubiquity of a bird. Marble doors hung open on bronze hinges.



They stepped inside and stared at the opulence.



He marveled at how long it must have taken to create something so extraordinary. Rows of diagonal bins lined the tiled floor, broken by narrow aisles, each brimming with scrolls. He stepped to one of the bins and slid out the top bundle. The document was in remarkable condition, but he dared not unroll it. He glanced inside the cylinder and saw that the writing was still legible.



"I never knew something like this could exist," Pam said. "It's beyond comprehension."



He'd seen amazing things, but nothing as wonderful as the sight of all that this room held. He noticed high on one of the shiny red walls more Latin words. AD COMMUNEM DELECTATIONEM. For the enjoyment of all. "The Guardians accomplished something extraordinary."



He noticed a carving in one of the walls. He stepped close and spied a ledger of what lay ahead, the rooms identified in Latin. He translated each one out loud for Pam.



"Five rooms," he said. "They could be anywhere."



Movement at the far doorway caught his attention.



He saw George Haddad, then McCollum.



"Get down," he said to Pam, and he raised his weapon.



McCollum saw him and shoved Haddad to the ground, aiming across the chamber and firing. Malone dropped to the floor, using the shelves between them for cover. The bullet dinged off the granite columns behind him.



"You move fast," McCollum said from across the room.



"Didn't want you to be lonely."



"The Librarian kept me company."



"You and him get to know each other?"



"He talks too much, but he knows this place."



He wanted to know, "What now?"



"Afraid you and the ex have to die."



"I told you that you shouldn't get on my bad side."



"Bring it on, Malone. I've come this far, I don't plan to lose now. Tell you what, let's make it a fair game. Me against you. Right here. If you win, the old man and the ex are safe. Deal?"



"You're making the terms. Act on them."



HADDAD LISTENED TO THE EXCHANGE BETWEEN SABRE AND Malone. These two needed to settle their differences, and he needed to repay his debt. He thought again about the Guardian from all those decades ago when the young man had stared up at him with eyes full of resolve. He simply hadn't understood. But now, having seen the library, having become its Librarian, he knew what that fateful soul from 1948 knew.



He'd killed that good man for no reason.



And regretted it all his life.



"STAND UP," SABRE SAID TO THE LIBRARIAN, AND HE WATCHED as the old man rose. "All right, Malone. I'm acting. Here he comes." He motioned with the gun. "Go."



The Librarian walked slowly down the aisle between the diagonal bins. Sabre held his position, crouched behind the end of one of the rows.



Thirty feet away the Librarian stopped and turned.



The eyes that stared back penetrated him. He wondered about the old man. Something about him signaled danger, as if the soul behind the eyes had faced this scenario before and was not afraid. He debated killing the Librarian, but that might spur Malone on.



And that he did not want to do.



Not yet.



Malone was the only obstacle left. Once gone, the library was his.



So he was relieved when the old man finally walked away.



EIGHTY-ONE



WASHINGTON, DC



STEPHANIE PARKED DOWN THE STREET FROM LARRY DALEY'S house, and she and Cassiopeia walked the remainder of the way. No sign of Brent Green or anyone else. They approached the front door, where Cassiopeia again picked the locks and Stephanie disarmed the alarm. She noticed that the pass code had not changed. Daley had left it alone, even after they'd gained entrance. Either foolishness or more evidence that she'd misjudged the man.



The interior was quiet. Cassiopeia swept each room to make sure they were alone. Stephanie made a stop in the office alcove where they'd found the flash drives. Then they both waited by the front door.



Ten minutes later a car parked outside.



Stephanie peered past the curtains and saw Green emerge from behind the wheel and walk toward the front door.



Alone.



She nodded at Cassiopeia, then opened the door.



Green was dressed in his typical dark suit and tie. Once the attorney general was inside, she closed and locked the door. Cassiopeia took up a position near one of the windows.



"All right, Stephanie. Can you tell me what's happening?"



"Did you bring the flash drives?"



He reached into his jacket pocket and removed them.



"You listen to the recordings?"



He nodded. "Of course. The conversations are interesting, but in no way incriminating. There's talk of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, but it's just that. Talk. Certainly no conspiracy is either discussed or implied."



"That's why Daley gathered more," she said. "He told me that he's been looking at this for some time."



"Looking at what?"



And she noticed a flare of irritation.



"The conspiracy, Brent. The vice president is planning on killing Daniels. He's set the whole thing up to happen during a surprise visit Daniels will make next week to Afghanistan." She watched as the words, which would confirm that she knew what she was talking about, took hold.



Green remained stoic. "What proof did Daley find?"



"More conversations. He actually bugged the VP's private office. Not all that hard, since he was the one charged with making sure it wasn't being monitored. Seems the VP is connected to the Order of the Golden Fleece. Its head, Alfred Hermann, has arranged for the president's plane to be missile-attacked. Made the deal with bin Laden's people himself."



"Stephanie, I hope Daley amassed some impressive proof. Those are incredible charges."



"You said the whole administration was a cesspool. You said you wanted to get them. Here's your chance."



"How do we prove this?"



"The recordings are here. Daley told me about them. He said they indicated everyone who's involved. We were leaving to drive back here when the car exploded."



Green stood in the foyer before the stairway where Daley and Heather Dixon had been yesterday. He seemed deep in thought. His game face. Of course, though the man had lied to her about Thorvaldsen, and he hadn't passed along to the president anything that Henrik had discovered, they needed concrete proof of his treachery.



"I know where he hid the recordings," she said.



Finally Green's eyes communicated interest. Cassiopeia stayed near the window, out of the way.



Stephanie led Green to the office alcove with the small desk and narrow bookshelves. One shelf held a row of CDs in their plastic cases. The music was all instrumental and from a variety of nations, even some Gregorian chants, which she found curious. She reached for one of the cases-Tibetan Wonders-and opened it. Inside, instead of the music CD, another disk filled the case. She popped it from the holder and said, "He liked to hide his stuff close by."



"What exactly is on there?"



"He says it's proof of who's part of this conspiracy. He said it reached to a level no one would ever suspect." Her nerves throbbed with excitement. "Want to listen?"



Green said nothing.



"Why'd you leak the Alexandria Link file?" she asked.



"I told you. To find the traitor. It led us several places. That's how we discovered the Israeli connection to Pam Malone. Leaking that file set everything in motion."



"And you had access?"



"Why the questions, Stephanie?"



"Because I was unaware you even knew about the Alexandria Link, much less knew enough details about it to think it would be bait for Israel."



Green cocked his head sideways in a quizzical fashion. "This is unexpected. A cross-examination."



She wasn't going to cut him any slack. Not now. "When we first talked about all this, you made it clear that you leaked the file on purpose, that it contained little other than a reference that Malone knew where George Haddad lived. Yet you specifically mentioned the Abrahamic covenant. How did you know?"



"The file wasn't all that secret."



"Really? That's not what Daley said. He insisted the information inside it was sparse and relatively unknown outside a handful of top people." She laced her words with insolence. "You weren't on the list. Yet you knew an awful lot."



Green stepped from the alcove and made his way back toward the den.



She followed.



Cassiopeia was gone.



Stephanie glanced around, concerned.



"My associates took care of her," Green said.



She did not like the sound of that. "And who takes care of me?"



Green reached beneath his jacket and produced a gun. "I have that duty. But I needed to speak with you alone first."



"To see how much I know? How much Cassiopeia knows? And who else knows?"



"I doubt you have help. After all, Stephanie, you aren't the best-liked person in this government. Daley tried to latch on to you, but that didn't work out."



"Your doing?"



Green nodded. "We wired the car with explosives and waited for the right time. All part of the terrorist attack on this nation that will start with Daley and end with Daniels. This country will be worked into a frenzy."



"Which the VP will exploit, after being sworn in. Then he'll need a vice president, and that's where you come in."



"Not all that many opportunities to advance anymore, Stephanie. You have to take what comes along. I'll be the perfect choice for the crisis. My confirmation will be unanimous."



"You're pathetic."



He threw her a self-deprecating expression. "I'll accept that. After all, you have only a few more minutes to live. By the way, you were supposed to become part of the attack. When you showed up at that restaurant I decided to add another layer, but you somehow managed to avoid the men that were sent. I still haven't learned how you accomplished that one."



"Good training. Makes all the difference."



He threw her a cold smile. "I'll miss that wit."



"Do you realize what you're doing? The violent overthrow of a duly elected president?"



"I believe it's called treason. But Danny Daniels is a weak, inept man who doesn't know what's best for this country. He's Israel's friend, no matter what, and that alone has crippled us in the Middle East. It's time for American favoritism to shift. The Arabs have so much more to offer."



"And the Alexandria Link will do that?"



He shrugged. "I don't know. That's the new president's problem, and he says he has it under control."



"You want to hang around that bad?"



"I wouldn't call being vice president of the United States hanging around. Since I aided the transition of power in such a critical way, I'll have a unique relationship. Lots of responsibility and little visibility."



She motioned at the gun. "You going to kill me?"



"No choice. That CD you have surely incriminates me. I can't let it go, and I can't let you go."



She wondered where Cassiopeia had been taken. This was not unfolding according to plan. And she hadn't expected Green himself to be toting a weapon. One thought flashed through her mind.



Stall.



"The attorney general of the United States is going to shoot me?"



"I've thought about it all day and, unfortunately, there's little choice."



"What about all those Christian values I've heard you talk about so much?"



"This is the heat of battle and the rules are different. It's a matter of survival, Stephanie. As I said, I did listen to the recordings Daley saved on the flash drives. The VP's chief of staff talked a lot about presidential succession. Too much. It's not incriminating, but it would raise questions. Daley was obviously investigating. That disk you're holding contains even more. It has to stop here. Of course, your body will never be found. There's a coffin waiting at the Saudi Arabian embassy. One of their envoys died and wants to be buried at home. You'll share a ride back to Arabia with him on a diplomatic flight."



"Got it all figured out, don't you?"



"Friends can be a good thing. I'm learning that. I went it alone for a long time, but I like being part of a team. The Saudis want only the destruction of Israel. We've promised that it can be done. The Israelis think the Saudis are working with them on this one. They aren't. They're working with us. Have been from the start."



"They have no idea what double-dealing pieces of crap all of you are. It's all about money and power. Nothing more."



"Anything else you'd like to say?"



She shook her head.



And the gun fired.