"Couldn't happen to a nicer person."
"I do believe you have a mean streak."
"I have a realist streak."
"Stephanie, you sound worried."
"As much as I may object, I have a feeling our man is here."
"You want help?" Daniels asked.
"I do, but Edwin doesn't."
"Since when do you listen to him?"
"This is his show. He's on a mission."
"Love is hell, but don't let it be his downfall. I need him."
SMITH WAS ENJOYING THE PIANO MUSIC AND A CRACKLING FIRE in the hearth. Lunch had been great. The salad and appetizer were both superb and the soup was delicious, but the fresh lamb with seasonal vegetables had been the best by far.
He'd come upstairs after the man and woman approached Scofield and whisked him away from his meal. He hadn't been able to hear what was said downstairs or here. He wondered, were these the same two from last night? Hard to say.
For the past few hours Scofield had been approached by one person after another. In fact, the whole conference seemed a lovefest geared toward him. The professor was listed as one of the event's original organizers. He was the keynote speaker tomorrow night. He was also conducting a candlelight tour through the main mansion this evening. Tomorrow morning was what the brochure called Scofield's Hog Wild Adventure. Three hours of boar hunting with bow and arrow, in a nearby forest, led by the professor himself. The woman at the registration desk had said the early-morning jaunt was popular, and about thirty folks went along each year. Two more people interested in Dr. Douglas Scofield was not necessarily cause for alarm. So Smith quelled his paranoia and did not allow it to get the best of him. He didn't want to admit it, but he was shaken from last night.
He watched as the man rose from the sofa and headed for a green-clothed table beside the hearth, pouring himself a glass of ice water.
Smith stood and casually walked over, refilling his teacup from a silver server. The service was a nice touch. Refreshments for guests all day. He added a little Splenda-he hated sugar-and stirred.
Theman retreated toward the alcove, sipping his water, to where the woman was ending a cell phone call. The fire in the hearth had burned low, barely sputtering now. One of the attendants opened an iron grate and added a few logs. He knew he could follow those two and see where it led, but luckily he'd already decided on amore definitive tack.
Something innovative.
Guaranteed to produce results.
And fitting for the great Douglas Scofield.
MALONE REENTERED THE L'ARLEQUINANDHEADED FOR ITS RESTAURANT, where colorful rugs covered an oak-planked floor. His entourage followed him inside and peeled off their coats. Isabel spoke with the man who'd worked the registration desk earlier. The attendant left, closing the restaurant doors behind him. Malone shucked his jacket and gloves and noticed that his shirt was damp from perspiration.
"There are only eight rooms upstairs," Isabel said, "and I've let them all for the night. The owner is preparing a meal."
Malone sat on one of the benches that lined two oak tables. "Good. I'm hungry."
Christl, Dorothea, and Werner sat opposite him. Henn stood off to the side, holding a satchel. Isabel assumed a position at the head of the table. "Herr Malone, I'm going to be truthful with you."
"I seriously doubt that, but go ahead."
Her hands tightened and her fingers eagerly tapped the tabletop.
"I'm not your child," he said, "and I'm not in the will, so get to the point."
"I know that Hermann visited here twice," she said. "Once before the war, in 1937. The other time in 1952. My mother-in-law told Dietz and I about the trips shortly before she died. But she knew nothing of what Hermann did here. Dietz himself came about a year before he disappeared."
"You've never mentioned that," Christl said.
Isabel shook her head. "I never realized a connection between this place and the pursuit. I only knew that both men visited. Yesterday, when you told me about here, I immediately realized the link."
The adrenaline rush from the church had drained, and Malone's body felt heavy with fatigue. But he needed to focus. "So Hermann and Dietz were here. That's of little use since, apparently, only Hermann found anything. And he didn't tell anybody."
"Einhard's will," Christl said, "makes clear that you clarify this pursuit by applying the angel's perfection to the lord's sanctification. That gets you from Aachen to here. Then only those who appreciate the throne of Solomon and Roman frivolity shall find their way to heaven."
Dorothea and Werner sat silent. Malone wondered why they were even here. Maybe they'd already played their part in the church? He pointed at them and asked, "Have you two kissed and made up?"
"Is that important to anything?" Dorothea asked.
He shrugged. "Is to me."
"Herr Malone," Isabel said. "We must solve this challenge."
"Did you see that church? It's a ruin. There's nothing there from twelve hundred years ago. The walls are barely standing and the roof is new. The flooring is cracked and crumbled, the altar eroding away. How do you plan to solve anything?"
Isabel motioned and Henn handed her the satchel. She unbuckled its leather straps and removed a tattered map, the paper a pale rust color. She carefully unfolded and laid the sheet, maybe twenty-four by eighteen inches, flat on the table. He saw that it was not of any country or continent, but was a sectional representation of a jagged coastline.
"This is Hermann's map, used during the 1938 Nazi expedition to Antarctica. It's where he explored."
"There's no writing," he said.
Locations were denoted by 's. X's seemed to note mountains. A pinpointed something central, and a route was shown to and from, but not a single word anywhere.
"My husband left this behind when he sailed for America in 1971. He took another drawing with him. But I know exactly where Dietz was headed." She held up a second folded map from the satchel. Newer, blue, titled International Travel Map of Antarctica, Scale 1:8,000,000. "That information is all on here."
She reached into the satchel and brought out two final objects, both sheathed inside plastic bags. The books. One from Charlemagne's grave, which Dorothea had shown him. The other from Einhard's tomb, which Christl had possessed.
She tabled Christl's and lifted Dorothea's.
"This is the key, but we can't read it. The ability to do that is here, in that monastery. I fear that, though we know where to go in Antarctica, the trip would be unproductive unless we know what's on these pages. We must have, as Einhard wrote, a full comprehension of heaven."
"Your husband went without one."
"His mistake," Isabel said.
"Can we eat?" Malone asked, tired of listening to her.
"I understand you're frustrated with us," Isabel said. "But I came to make a bargain with you."
"No, you came to set me up." He stared at the sisters. "Again."
"If we discover how to read this book," Isabel said. "If it seems worth the trip, which I believe it will be, then I assume you'll be going to Antarctica?"
"Hadn't thought that far ahead yet."
"I want you to take my daughters with you, along with Werner and Ulrich."
"Anything else?" he asked, almost amused.
"I'm quite serious. It's the price you'll pay to know the location. Without that location, the trip would be as futile as Dietz's."
"Then I guess I won't know, because that's insane. We're not talking about a romp in the snow. This is Antarctica. One of the toughest places on earth."
"I checked this morning. The temperature at Halvorsen Base, which is the closest landing strip to the location, was minus seven degrees Celsius. Not all that bad. The weather was also relatively calm."
"Which can change in ten minutes."
"You sound like you've been there," Werner said.
"I have. It's not a place where you want to hang out."
"Cotton," Christl said. "Mother explained this to us earlier. They were headed for a specific location." She pointed to the map on the table. "Do you realize that the submarine could be lying in the water near that location?"