So he needed to be ready.
The cavernous library was two stories tall and encased with shiny walnut paneling. A black marble fireplace flanked by baroque figurines and a French tapestry dominated one wall. Built-in shelves sheathed the remaining three top-to-bottom, the room crowned with a dramatic ceiling painting that made it appear open to the sky.
A spiral staircase corkscrewed a path to the upper shelves. He clung to a slick iron rail and slowly climbed the narrow risers.
“What are we doing here?” Gary asked when they reached the top.
“I want to read something.”
He knew of the podium in Hermann’s library, upon which was displayed a magnificent Bible. Hermann had boasted that the edition was one of the earliest printed. Thorvaldsen approached the ancient tome and admired its elaborate cover.
“The Bible was the first book created when printing was finally perfected in the fifteenth century. Gutenberg produced many Bibles. This is one. As I told you earlier, you should read it.”
Gary stared at the book and Thorvaldsen knew the lad could not appreciate the significance. So he said, “These words changed the course of human history. They altered humankind’s social development and forged political systems. This and the Koran may be the two most important books on the planet.”
“How can words be that important?”
“It’s not simply words, Gary. It’s what we do with them. After Gutenberg began mass printing, books quickly spread. They weren’t cheap, but by 1500 they were common. More access to information meant more dissent, more informed discussion, more widespread criticism of authority. Information changed the world. Made it a different place.” He motioned at the Bible. “And this book changed everything.”
He carefully opened the front cover.
“What language is that?” Gary asked.
“Latin.” He scanned the index.
“You can read it?”
He smiled at the incredulous tone. “I was taught as a child.” He tapped the boy’s chest. “You ought to learn, too.”
“What would I do if I did?”
“For one thing, you could read this Bible.”
He motioned at the index. “Thirty-nine books. Jews revere the first five. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. They tell the tale of the ancient people of Israel from the creation of the world, through the Great Flood, the Exodus from Egypt, the wanderings in the desert, to the giving of the Law to Moses at Sinai. Quite an epic.”
He knew that to Jews those writings meant a great deal. As did the next division, prophets-Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings-which recounted the story of the Israelites from their crossing the River Jordan, to the conquest of Canaan, the rise and fall of their many kingdoms, and their defeat at the hands of the Assyrians and Babylonians.
“These books,” he said to Gary, “supposedly tell us how history unfolded for the people of Israel thousands of years before Christ. They were a people whose destiny was tied directly to God and the promises He made.”
“But that was a long time ago?”
He nodded. “Four thousand years in the past. Yet Arabs and Jews have warred with one another ever since trying to prove them true.”
He slowly paged through to Genesis and found the passage he’d come to study. “The Lord said to Abram, lift up now your eyes and look from the place where you are northward and southward and eastward and westward, for all the land which you see, to you I will give it, and to your seed forever.” He paused. “Those words have cost millions their lives.”
He silently read again the six most important words.
“What is it?” Gary asked.
He stared at the boy. How many times had Cai asked him the same thing? His son not only had practiced their faith, but had learned Latin and read the Bible, too. He’d been a good man. But another victim of senseless violence.
“The truth is important,” he said, more to himself than Gary.
From the place where you are.
“Have you heard from Dad?” Gary asked.
He gazed at the boy and shook his head. “Not a word. He’s off looking for something quite like what surrounds us. A library. One that may hold the key to understanding these biblical words.”
A commotion below caught his attention. The library’s door opened, and voices could be heard. One he recognized-Alfred Hermann.
He motioned, and they retreated to where the upper shelves were broken by a window alcove. The downstairs was dimly lit by an odd assortment of lamps, the upper balcony by recessed ceiling fixtures. He signaled for Gary to be silent. The boy nodded.
He listened.
The other man was speaking English.
An American.
“This is important, Alfred. Actually, it’s beyond important. It’s vital.”
“I’m aware of your situation,” Hermann said. “But it’s no more vital than ours.”
“Malone is on his way to the Sinai. You said that would be okay.”
“And it will. Can I pour you some cognac?”
“You trying to calm me down?”
“I’m trying to pour you some cognac.”
He motioned for Gary to stay put while he crept from the alcove, risking a quick glance beyond the ornate iron railing. Alfred Hermann stood below, pouring from a decanter. Standing beside him was a younger man, maybe early fifties, dressed in a dark suit. His head was crowned by a thick fleece of blond hair. The face was clean-shaven, energetic, cherubic-perfect for a portrait painter or an actor.
Which wasn’t far from the mark.
Thorvaldsen knew this man.
The vice president of the United States.
SIXTY-ONE
CAMP DAVID, MARYLAND
STEPHANIE REGISTERED THE PRESIDENT’S WORDS. “WHAT DO YOU mean your traitor?”
Daniels threw her a troubled look. “Someone in this government is messing with me. They’re advancing their own policies, furthering their own goals, thinking I’m either too lazy, too pathetic, or too dumb to know. Now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the ringleader. My so-called loyal vice president. He’s an ambitious sucker.”
“Mr. President-” she said.
“Now, that’s a first, too. Mr. President. Maybe we’re making some progress in our relationship.”
“I’ve had my reservations about you and this administration.”
“That’s the problem with career bureaucrats. Us politicians come and go. But you people stay, and stay, and stay. Which means you have lots to compare with. Unfortunately for me, Stephanie, you’re turning out to be right on this one. I’m surrounded by traitors. My vice president wants this job so bad he can’t stand it. And to get it, he’s willing to make a deal with the devil.” Daniels paused, and she did not interrupt his thoughts. “The Order of the Golden Fleece.”
Had she heard right?
“He’s there. Right now. Meeting with its head. A man named Alfred Hermann.”
She had seriously underestimated Danny Daniels. Just as she had Brent Green. Both men were quite informed. Cassiopeia rocked in her chair, but Stephanie could see she was listening closely. She’d told Cassiopeia about the Order.
“My father was a member,” Cassiopeia said.
That had not been mentioned earlier when they’d talked.
“For many years he and Henrik attended together. I chose not to continue the membership after his death.”
“Good move,” Daniels said. “That group has been linked to a number of global instabilities. And they’re good. No fingerprints anywhere. Of course, the key players usually end up dead. Like any good gang, they have an enforcement arm. A man called the Talons of the Eagle. Typical Europeans. A hired gun with a grand title. They’re the ones who took Malone’s boy.”
“And you’re just now telling us?”