Originally they merely copied texts, but eventually they pilfered. The sheer volume of the library (several hundred thousand manuscripts) forced decisions, but over the next three hundred years, as the library fell farther out of favor, stealing texts became easier, particularly since no accurate inventories existed. By the time of the Muslim invasion in the seventh century, the Guardians owned a great deal of the library at Alexandria. That was when they disappeared, reemerging from time to time, offering invitations to come and learn.
Sabre kept reading, wondering how George Haddad had managed to obtain such detailed information. This Palestinian seemed full of surprises.
Movement at the corner of his eye brought his senses alert. Shadows came alive. A dark form crept closer.
His hands left the keyboard. Unfortunately he carried no weapon. He whirled, ready for a fight.
A woman materialized into the glow of the computer screen.
His operative.
“That sort of foolishness can get you hurt,” he said.
“I’m not in the mood.”
He regularly employed her to help all over Britain. She was slender-boned and fine-featured. Today her black hair was brushed tight and caught into a heavy plait.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Following Malone. They’re in a hotel near Hyde Park.”
“What about Haddad?”
She shook her head. “Don’t know. I stayed with Malone. He took a chance coming back up here-the police were on the way-and he left with that satchel.”
He admired her instincts. “We still need to find the Palestinian.”
“He’ll come back, if he’s not dead already. You look different.”
Gone were his gleaming dark locks and shaggy clothes. Instead his hair was short, windblown, and sandy brown. He was neatly dressed in jeans and a canvas shirt beneath a cloth jacket. Before leaving Germany he’d first reported what he’d learned to the Blue Chair, then made the physical change-all part of his carefully conceived plan, most of which Alfred Hermann knew little about.
“You approve?” he asked.
“I liked the other look.”
He shrugged. “Maybe next time. What’s happening?”
“I have somebody watching the hotel. They’ll call if Malone moves.”
“Nothing more from the Israelis?”
“Their man tore off from here.”
He looked around. Maybe he’d just wait for Haddad to return. That seemed the easiest course. He definitely needed everything off Haddad’s computer, but he didn’t want to take the machine. Too cumbersome. A copy would be better, and he noticed a flash drive lying among the clutter. He grabbed the gadget and snapped it into an empty USB port.
He checked the drive. Empty.
A few clicks of the mouse and he’d copied all the files from the hard drive.
Then he noticed something else, beyond the monitor.
A tiny red light.
He stared closer through the mess of paper and spotted a pocket tape recorder lying on the table. He lifted the unit and noticed no difference in the coating of dust that frosted the desktop. Which meant the unit had been laid there recently. The tape was spent, but the power remained on.
He flicked REWIND.
His operative stood silent.
He engaged PLAY.
The entire encounter between Malone, Haddad, and eventually the Israelis had been recorded. He listened in amazement to Haddad’s murder. The last thing he heard was Cotton Malone’s declaration that he intended to kill the son of a bitch.
He switched off the machine.
“Haddad’s dead?” the woman said. “Killed here? Why isn’t this a crime scene?”
“I assume the Israelis cleaned up before the police arrived.”
“Now what?”
“We have Malone. Let’s see where he leads.”
THIRTY-ONE
MALONE LEFT THE ROOM AND WALKED DOWN THE HALL. HE’D earlier noticed an ice machine, which was surprising. More and more American conveniences seemed to be invading European hotels.
He was angry at himself for placing Pam in danger. But at the time, what choice had there been? He couldn’t have left her at Heathrow with a man following. And who was he? Perhaps involved with those who’d taken Gary? That seemed logical. But he still knew precious little.
The Israelis had reacted promptly to Haddad’s signal that he was alive. Yet Pam was right. With Haddad dead, their interests were protected, their problem solved. Still, Pam had been the one followed. Not him.
Why?
He found the ice machine and discovered that it wasn’t working. Though the compressor churned, no ice filled the bin. Much like America, too, he thought.
He pushed through the stairway door and descended one floor.
There the machine was brimming with ice. He stood in a cubicle off the hall and filled his bucket.
He heard a door to one of the rooms slam shut, then voices. He was still scooping ice when two men passed the alcove, talking excitedly. He turned to leave and caught the facial profile of one of the men, along with his lanky frame and sunburned skin.
String Bean. From Heathrow.
Here, one floor down from where they were staying.
He retreated into the alcove and peered around the doorway, watching as the men entered the elevator.
Heading up.
He bolted for the stairwell door and leaped up the risers. He eased open the door just as the elevator dinged and the two men strolled from the car.
He slipped out the door and carefully peered down the corridor. He watched as one of the men scooped a used room-service tray from the carpet and balanced it on one hand. The other man withdrew a short-barreled revolver. They were headed straight for the room where Pam was waiting.
He cursed himself.
Haddad’s gun was on a table in the room. He hadn’t brought it with him. Real smart. He’d have to improvise.
The men stopped at the door. The one with the gun knocked, then stepped to one side. The other pretended to be a steward, the tray balanced high on one hand.
Another knock.
Maybe Pam was still on the phone with Gary? Which would give him the moment he needed.
“Room service,” he heard the man say.
Unlike American hotels, where peepholes were standard, the British did not usually provide them, and this hotel was no exception. He could only hope Pam would not be foolish enough to turn the knob.
“I have a food order for you,” the man said in a raised voice.
A pause.
“A gentleman placed the order.”
Damn. She could readily believe he might have ordered while she was sleeping. He had to act. He raised the ice bucket to shield his face and started down the hall.
“The food is for this room,” the man was explaining.
He heard locks releasing.
Peering around the raised bucket he saw the armed man notice him. The gun was immediately shielded. Malone used that moment of relaxation to his advantage and slung the ice and bucket into the armed man’s face, then planted his right fist into the jaw of the man with the tray. He felt bone crack and the man slammed to the carpet, the tray and its contents scattered.
Ice Man recovered from the initial shock and was raising his gun when Malone pounded two blows to the head and jammed a knee into the chest.
The assailant crumpled downward and lay still.
The room door opened.
Pam stared at him.
“Why would you open that door?” he asked.
“I thought you ordered food.”
He grabbed the gun and stuffed it in his belt. “And I wouldn’t have told you?” He quickly searched both men but found no identification.
“Who are they?” Pam asked.
“That’s the one following you in the airport.”
He grabbed String Bean’s arms and dragged him into their room. He then gripped the other man’s legs and pulled him inside. “You’re a stubborn woman.” He kicked the door shut.
“I was hungry.”
“How’s Gary?”