The Alexandria Link

He was already thinking the same thing.

“You see that building on the way down?” Malone asked McCollum. “West, maybe a quarter mile. It’s where the coordinates point.”

“Seems the path is clear.”

He shouldered his rucksack. Pam stood. He asked her, “You done proving points?”

She shrugged. “Throw me out of another airplane and see what happens.”

“You two always like this?” McCollum asked.

He started walking. “Only when we’re together.”

Malone approached the building he’d seen from the air. Not much to it. Low, squatty, with a tattered tile roof, its foundations crumbling as if being reclaimed by the earth. The exterior walls stood equal in height and length, broken only by two windows, devoid of anything, about ten feet up. The front door was a decaying slab of thick cedar, hanging askew from black iron hinges.

He kicked it open.

Only a lizard greeted them as it sought refuge across the dirt floor.

“Cotton.”

He turned. Pam was motioning to another outcropping. He stepped toward it, each footfall crunching the parched sand.

“Looks like the tomb in that carving at Bainbridge Hall,” she said.

Good point. And he studied the four-block-high rectangle with a rounded stone top. He examined the sides for carvings, particularly the lettering Et in arcadia ego. Nothing there. Which wasn’t surprising, because the desert would have long ago erased any vestiges.

“We’re at the right coordinates and this thing does look like the same tomb from the arbor.”

He recalled the hero’s quest. Then, like the shepherds of the painter Poussin, puzzled by the enigma, you will be flooded with the light of inspiration.

He leaned against the tattered stones.

“What now, Malone?” McCollum asked.

Hillocks rose to their north, steadily climbing into barren mountains where black crags cleaved deep paths. The sky burned with a growing glow as the sun crept higher toward midday.

He rolled more of the quest over in his mind.

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.

Everything at Belém had been fairly obvious-a mixture of history and technology, which seemed the Guardians’ trademark. After all, the idea was for the invitee to succeed. This part was a challenge.

But not impossible.

He surveyed the dilapidated building and makeshift tomb.

Then he saw them and counted.

Fourteen.

SABRE WONDERED IF HE SHOULD SIMPLY KILL THEM BOTH NOW. Was he close enough to figure the rest out himself? Malone had brought him this far and, exactly as he’d hoped, tapped into his resources to get them from England to Portugal to here.

But he told himself to be patient.

He would never have deciphered the quest himself, much less this quickly. By now the Blue Chair was surely looking for him. The Assembly was in session, so he hoped that would provide a diversion until tomorrow. But he knew how much Herma

That person and the library would be his bargaining chips.

But all that assumed there was something here to find.

If not, he’d kill Malone and his ex-wife and hope he could lie his way out of trouble.

MALONE STARED AT ONE SIDE OF THE DILAPIDATED BUILDING. Ten feet up loomed one of the bare openings. He walked around to the other side and spied the other portal at a similar height.

He came back to where McCollum and Pam stood and said, “I think I’ve figured it out. The building’s square, as are those two openings.”

“Use square and compass,” Pam said.

He pointed. “Those two openings are the key.”

“What do you mean?” McCollum said. “Going to be kind of tough to get up there.”

“Not really. Look around.” Boulders and rocks littered the sand. “Notice anything about the rocks?”

Pam stepped over to one and squatted down. He watched as she caressed the sides. “Square. About a foot even all around?”

“I’d say that’s right. Remember the clue. Reassemble the fourteen stones, then work with square and compass to find the path. There are fourteen of those things scattered about.”

Pam stood. “Obviously, this quest has a physical part. Not just anyone could reassemble these stones. I assume they’ll provide the boost up to the window?”

He dropped his pack.

So did McCollum, who said, “One way to find out.”

Twenty minutes were needed to gather the fourteen square stones and assemble them into a flat-topped pyramid, six on the bottom, then five, capped by three. If needed, one of the three could be stacked on the remaining two for more height, but Malone estimated the pile was more than tall enough.

He stepped up and balanced himself atop.

McCollum and Pam made sure the tower remained stable.

He gazed through the square opening in the crumbling wall. Through the opposite square, twenty feet away, he spotted mountains half a mile in the distance. At noon, sense the presence of the red light, see the end less coil of the serpent red with anger.

The shrinking building with the battered roof had been deliberately oriented east to west.

This wasn’t a dwelling. No. Like the rose window in Belém, also oriented east to west, it was a compass.

Work with square and compass to find the path.

He checked his watch.

In an hour, he’d do just that.

SEVENTY

MARYLAND

7:30 AM

STEPHANIE DROVE THE SUBURBAN THAT PRESIDENT DANIELS had supplied them. He’d also provided two Secret Service revolvers and spare magazines. She wasn’t quite sure what they were headed into, but apparently he wanted them prepared.

“You realize this truck is probably electronically tagged,” Cassiopeia said.

“We can only hope.”

“And you realize that this whole thing is nuts. We don’t have any idea who to trust, including the president of the United States.”

“No question. We’re pawns on the chessboard. But a pawn can take the king, if properly positioned.”

“Stephanie, we’re bait.”

She agreed, but said nothing.

They cruised into a small town about thirty miles north of Washington, one of countless bedroom communities that encircled the capital. Following the directions given to her, she recognized the name of the glass-fronted restaurant nestled beneath a canopy of leafy trees.

Aunt B’s.

One of Larry Daley’s favorite haunts.

She parked and they stepped inside, greeted by the pungent smell of apple-bacon and fried potatoes. A steaming buffet line was being attacked by eager diners. They bypassed the cashier and spotted Daley sitting alone.

“Get some food,” he said. “On me.” A plate heaped with eggs, grits, and a fried pork chop sat before him.

As agreed, Cassiopeia moved to another table where she could watch the room. Stephanie sat with Daley. “No thanks.” She noticed a colorful sign near the buffet line that showed two oversized pink pigs surrounded by the slogan GET YOUR FAT BACK AT AUNT B’S. She pointed. “That why you eat here? To get your fat back.”

“I like the place. Reminds me of my mother’s cooking. I know you find this hard to believe, but I am a person.”

“Why aren’t you ru

“It’s being handled. We have a more pressing problem.”

“Like saving your ass.”

He sliced his pork chop. “These things are great. You should eat something. You need a little fat back, Stephanie.”