“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.”
“So you shot two men in the head to prove your point?” Pam asked, and Malone spotted the look of a skeptical lawyer.
McCollum locked his gaze on Pam. “I shot those men to save your life.” Then he glanced around at their surroundings. “I love this place. Did you know that the first martini was actually poured in the American Bar at the Savoy? Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Gershwin-they all drank there. Lots of history.”
“You like history?” Pam asked.
“An occupational necessity.”
“You going somewhere?” Malone asked.
McCollum stood rigid, his manner calm and unruffled, though Malone had deliberately tried to shake him. “You’re way too suspicious for me. Go ahead. Take the hero’s quest. Hope you succeed.”