“You’re speaking like a Jew, Henrik. That’s your flaw. Blinded by God’s supposed promises. Your so-called entitlement.”
“I’m speaking as a human being. Who knows if the Old Testament is correct? I certainly have no idea. But the Islamic world will not tolerate any suggestion that its holiest earth was soiled by Judaism. They will react violently.”
“The Saudis,” he said, “will be given a chance to bargain before any information is released. That’s our way. You know that. The violence will be their fault, not ours. Our aim is purely profit. The Political Committee believes a great many economic concessions can be obtained that will benefit our members. And I agree.”
“This is insanity,” Thorvaldsen declared.
“And what do you plan to do?”
“Whatever I have to.”
“You don’t have the backbone for this fight, Henrik.”
“I might surprise you.”
Hermann wondered, so he decided to lay down a challenge. “Perhaps you ought to be more concerned about your own situation. I’ve checked your financial status. I never realized how tenuous the glassworks business can be. Your Adelgade Glasvaerker is dependent on a variety of volatile factors for success.”
“And you think you can affect those?”
“I’m fairly confident I can cause trouble.”
“My net worth easily matches yours.”
He smiled. “But you value reputation. Unthinkable that one of your companies be perceived as a failure.”
“You’re welcome to try, Alfred.”
He realized that they each possessed billions of euros, most accumulated by ancestors, each of them now a faithful steward. And neither a fool.
“Remember,” Thorvaldsen said. “I have your daughter.”
He shrugged. “And I have you and the boy.”
“Really? You willing to risk her life?”
Hermann had not, as yet, decided on the answer to that question, so he asked, “Is this about Israel? I know you fancy yourself a patriot.”
“And I know you’re a bigot.”
A bolt of anger rocked him. “You’ve never spoken to me like this before.”
“I’ve always known how you felt, Alfred. Your anti-Semitism is obvious. You try to shield it-after all, there are several Jews in the Order-but it’s clear.”
Time to end all pretense. “Your religion is a problem. Always has been.”
Thorvaldsen shrugged. “No more so than Christianity. We just gave up our warring ways and watched while Christians killed more than enough in the name of the risen Lord.”
“I’m not a religious man. You know that, Henrik. This is about politics and profit. And those Jews in the Order? That’s what they care about, too. Not one voiced any opposition in the Assembly. Israel is an impediment to progress. Zionists are terrified of the truth.”
“What did you mean about the Christians also being involved?”
“If the Library of Alexandria is found, there are texts that could well expose the entire Bible for the fraud that it is.”
Thorvaldsen did not seem convinced. “You might find that result a bit difficult to obtain.”
“I assure you, Henrik. I’ve thought this through completely.”
“Where is the Talons of the Eagle?”
He threw the Dane a look of approval. “Well done. But he’s outside your control.”
“But not yours.”
He decided to make his point. “You cannot win this. You have my daughter, but that won’t stop me.”
“Perhaps I need to make myself clear. My family endured the Nazi occupation of Denmark. Many of them were killed and we killed many Germans. I’ve faced challenge after challenge. I personally care nothing for Margarete. She’s an arrogant, spoiled, unintelligent woman. My friend Cotton Malone, his son, and my adopted homeland are my concern. If I need to kill her, then I shall.”
Hermann had worried about threats from outside, but the most immediate concern had now arisen from within. This man needed placating. At least for a short while.
“I can show you something.”
“You need to stop this.”
“There’s more at stake here than simply furthering our business interests.”
“Then show me.”
“I’ll have it arranged.”
FIFTY-NINE
MARYLAND
4:50 PM
STEPHANIE SAT IN THE REAR SEAT OF A SUBURBAN, CASSIOPEIA beside her. They motored through the main gate without stopping, the SUV whizzing past armed guards. They’d driven north from Washington into the rugged Maryland countryside. She’d immediately known their destination.
Camp David. The presidential weekend retreat.
Past more guards and another checkpoint, the vehicle stopped before an elegant log cabin engulfed by trees and wrapped in a covered porch. They climbed out into a cool afternoon. The Secret Service agent from the museum waved, and the front door opened.
President Robert Edward Daniels Jr. stepped from the cabin.
She knew the president never used his birth name. Long ago he’d adopted the tag Danny. A gregarious soul with a booming baritone voice, Danny Daniels was blessed with a God-given ability to win elections. He’d served as a three-term governor and a one-term senator before claiming the presidency. His reelection last year to a second term had come easily.
“Stephanie, great of you to come,” Daniels said as he hopped down the porch steps. The president was dressed in jeans, a twill shirt, and boots.
She gathered her courage and stepped forward. “Did I have a choice?”
“Not really. But it’s still good you came. Been having some trouble, I’m told.”
Daniels added a cool chuckle, but she was not in the mood-not even from the leader of the free world. “Thanks to your people.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now, that remains to be seen. You haven’t even heard what I have to say. And the new look? The hair and clothes? I like it.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned to Cassiopeia.
“You must be Ms. Vitt. I’ve heard a lot about you. Fascinating life you have. And that castle you’re reconstructing in France? I’d love to see it.”
“You should come. I’ll show you.”
“I’m told you’re building it just like they did six hundred years ago. Amazing.”
Stephanie realized Daniels was sending her a message. They were here, and he was informed, so lighten up.
Okay. Time to see where this was headed.
“Contrary to what you think, Stephanie,” Daniels said, “I’m not an idiot.”
They were sitting on the front porch of the cabin, each in a high-backed wooden rocker. Daniels worked his with vigor, the floorboards straining from his thick six-foot-three-inch frame.
“I don’t think I ever called you an idiot,” she said.
“My daddy used to tell my mama that he never called her a bitch to her face.” He threw her a glare. “Which was true, too.”
She said nothing.
“I went to a lot of trouble to have you flushed from that museum. That’s one of my favorite places. I love airplanes and space. Studied everything about them when I was younger. Great thing about being president. You can go watch a launch whenever you want.” The president crossed his legs and leaned back in the rocker. “I have a problem, Stephanie. A serious one.”
“That makes two of us. I’m unemployed and, according to your deputy national security adviser, under arrest. And didn’t you fire me?”
“I did. Larry asked me to, and I agreed. But it needed to be done, so you could be here now.”
Cassiopeia sat forward. “I wondered. But now I know. You’re working with the Israelis, aren’t you? I’ve been trying to piece it together. Now it makes sense. They came to you.”
“I’m told your father was one of the smartest men in Spain. Built a financial empire from nothing. One you now run.”
“Not my strong point.”
“But I hear you’re an excellent shot, brave as hell, with a genius IQ.”
“And at the moment I find myself in the middle of a political mess.”