The Alexandria Link

“You dodged my question,” she said in a playful tone, one that reminded him of his long-dead wife.

“What is it Israel fears?” he repeated.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Perhaps I don’t know.”

“I doubt it.”

He considered telling her everything. But he hadn’t survived by being foolish. Loose talk had been the downfall of more than one successful man.

“Let’s simply say that the truth is always difficult to accept. For people, for cultures, even for nations.”

STEPHANIE LED THE WAY INTO THE REAR YARD AND WAS STARTLED by its manicured appearance. Flowers abounded. Colorful asters, waxbells, goldenrod, pansies, and mums. A terrace formed a peninsula, its flagstones dotted with wrought-iron furniture, more blooms sprouting from decorative pots.

She guided Cassiopeia to the thick trunk of a tall maple, one of three stately trees shading the garden.

She checked her watch: 9:43 PM.

She’d brought them this far through a combination of anger and curiosity, but the next step was where she irrefutably crossed the line.

“Get that air pistol ready,” she whispered.

Her cohort slid a dart down the barrel. “I hope you note my blind obedience to this foolishness.”

She considered the next move.

Breaking into the house was certainly an option. Cassiopeia possessed the requisite skills. But simply knocking on the door would work, too. She actually liked that approach. Their course, though, was instantly set when the rear door opened and a black form strolled out among the slender pillars supporting a shallow colo

She motioned to the gun, then at the form.

Cassiopeia aimed and fired.

A soft pop, then a swish accompanied the dart’s flight.

Its tip found the man, who cried out as his hand reached for his shoulder. He seemed to fiddle with the dart, then gasped as he collapsed.

Stephanie raced over. “Stuff works fast.”

“That’s the idea. Who is this?”

They stared down at the man.

“Congratulations. You just shot the attorney general of the United States. Now help me drag him into the house.”

THIRTY-THREE

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 6

LONDON

3:15 AM

SABRE STUDIED HIS LAPTOP. FOR THE PAST THREE HOURS HE’D been sca

And he was astounded.

The information was certainly as much as he would have gleaned from the Palestinian himself, and without the aggravation of forcing the Arab to talk. Haddad had apparently spent years researching the Library of Alexandria, along with the mythical Guardians, assimilating an impressive array of data.

A whole series of files concerned an English earl named Thomas Bainbridge, of whom he’d heard Alfred Herma

Had Haddad found a copy?

Was that what Malone had retrieved?

Then there was Bainbridge’s ancestral estate west of London. Haddad had apparently visited several times and believed more clues lay there, especially concerning a marble arbor and something called The Epiphany of St. Jerome. But no details were offered to explain the significance of either.

Then there was the hero’s quest.

An hour ago he’d found a narrative account of what had happened five years back in Haddad’s West Bank home. He’d read the notes with interest and now reassembled the events in his mind, his excitement piqued.

“You’re saying that the library still exists?” Haddad asked the Guardian.

“We’ve protected it for centuries. Saved what would have been lost through ignorance and greed.”

Haddad motioned with the envelope that his guest had handed him. “This hero’s quest shows the way?”

The man nodded. “To those who understand, the path will be obvious.”

“And if I don’t understand?”

“Then we’ll never see each other again.”

He considered the possibilities and said, “I fear that what I want to learn is better left hidden.”

“Why would you say that? Knowledge should never be feared. I’m familiar with your work. I study the Old Testament, too. That’s why I was chosen as your Guardian.” The younger man’s face brightened. “We have sources you can’t even imagine. Original texts. Correspondence. Analyses. From men long ago, who knew far more than you or me. My mastery of Old Hebrew is not on your level. You see, for a Guardian, there are levels of achievement, and the only way to ascend is through accomplishment. Like you, I’m fascinated by Christianity’s interpretation of the Old Testament, how it was manipulated. I want to learn more, and you, sir, can teach me.”

“And learning will help you ascend?”

“Proving your theory would be a great accomplishment for us both.”

So he opened the envelope.

Sabre scrolled down to what that envelope contained. Haddad had apparently sca

How strange are the manuscripts, great traveler of the unknown. They appear separately, but seem as one to those who know that the colors of the rainbow be come a single white light. How to find that single ray? It is a mystery, but visit the chapel beside the Tejo, in Bethlehem, dedicated to our patron saint. Begin the journey in the shadows and complete it in the light, where a retreating star finds a rose, pierces a wooden cross, and converts silver to gold. Find the place that forms an address with no place, where is found another place. Then, like the shepherds of the painter Poussin, puzzled by the enigma, you will be flooded with the light of inspiration. Reassemble the fourteen stones, then work with square and compass to find the path. At noon, sense the presence of the red light, see the endless coil of the serpent red with anger. But heed the letters. Danger threatens one who arrives with great speed. If your course remains true, the route will be sure.

Sabre shook his head. Riddles. Not his strong point. And he had not the time to wrestle with them. He’d reviewed every file from the computer, but Haddad had not deciphered the message.

And that was a problem.

He was not a historian, a linguist, or a biblical scholar. Alfred Herma

Just for differing reasons.

Herma

His cell phone rang.

The LCD display indicated that it was his operative. About time. He answered.

“Malone’s on the move,” she said. “Bloody early. What do you want me to do?”

“Where did he go?”

“Took a bus to Paddington Station, then a train west.”