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Thorvaldsen said, “This was found with the bones of St. Mark when they were removed from the crypt, in 1835, and brought up to the altar. St. Mark was martyred in Alexandria and mummified, so it was thought this amulet was simply part of that process. But since it has pagan overtones, the Church fathers decided not to include it with the remains. They recognized its historical value, though, and placed it here, in the treasury. When the Church learned of Zovastina’s interest in St. Mark, the amulet took on a greater importance. But when Daniels told me about it, I recalled what Ptolemy said.”
So did he.
Touch the i
Pieces clicked into place. “The golden illusion was the body itself in Memphis, since it was wrapped in gold. The i
“Which means,” Davis said, “that the remains out there in the basilica are not St. Mark.”
Malone nodded. “They’re something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with Christianity.”
Thorvaldsen pointed to the bottom side. “That’s the Egyptian hieroglyph for the phoenix, the symbol of rebirth.”
More of the riddle flashed through his brain.
Divide the phoenix.
And he knew exactly what to do.
CASSIOPEIA REALIZED SHE WAS BEING PLAYED BY ZOVASTINA’S question. What if Ely isn’t dead? So she controlled her emotions and calmly said, “But he is dead, and has been for months.”
“You’re sure?”
Cassiopeia had many times wondered-how could she not?-but she fought the pain of wishing and declared, “Ely’s dead.”
Zovastina reached for a phone and pushed one of the keys. A few seconds passed, then she said into the unit, “Viktor, I need you to tell someone about what happened the night Ely Lund died.”
Zovastina offered her the phone.
Cassiopeia did not move. She recalled what he’d said on the boat. Which was nothing.
“Can you afford not to listen to what he has to say?” Zovastina asked, a nauseating look of satisfaction in her dark eyes.
This woman knew her weakness, and somehow that realization frightened Cassiopeia more than what Viktor might say. She wanted to know. The past few months had been torment. Yet…
“Shove that phone up your ass.”
Zovastina hesitated, then smiled. Finally, she said into the unit, “Maybe later, Viktor. You can let the priest go now.”
She clicked off.
The plane continued to climb into the clouds, heading east for Asia.
“Viktor was watching Ely’s house. On my orders.”
Cassiopeia didn’t want to listen.
“He entered from the rear. Ely was bound to a chair and the assassin was preparing to shoot him. Viktor shot the assassin first, then brought Ely to me and burned the house with the killer inside.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“There are people within my government who would like to see me gone. Unfortunately, treachery is part of our political way. They fear me and knew Ely was assisting me. So they ordered him killed, just as they’d ordered others, who were my allies, eliminated.”
Cassiopeia remained skeptical.
“Ely is HIV positive.”
That truth arrested Cassiopeia’s attention. “How do you know?”
“He told me. I’ve been supplying him with his medications these past two months. Unlike you, he trusts me.”
Cassiopeia knew that Ely would have never told anyone that he was infected. Only Henrik and Ely knew about her malady.
Now she was confused.
But she wondered.
Had that been the whole idea?
MALONE CARESSED THE SMOOTH PATINA OF THE HEART AMULET, his fingers tracing the outline of the bird that represented the Egyptian phoenix. “Ptolemy said to divide the phoenix.”
He shook the artifact, listening.
Nothing moved inside.
Thorvaldsen seemed to understand what he was about to do. “That thing is over two thousand years old.”
Malone could not care less. Cassiopeia was in trouble and the world may soon be experiencing a biological war. Ptolemy had pe
He pounded the amulet, bottom-side first, into the marble floor.
It recoiled and about a third of the scarab broke away, like a nut cracking. He settled the pieces on the floor and examined them.
Something spilled out from the sides.
The others knelt with him.
He pointed and said, “The inside was cleaved, ready to split, and packed with sand.”
He lifted the larger chunk and emptied the granules.
Edwin Davis pointed. “Look.”
Malone saw it, too. He gently brushed the sand aside and spotted a cylindrical object, maybe a half inch in diameter. Then he noticed that it wasn’t a cylinder at all.
A strip of gold.
Coiled.
He carefully tipped the tiny bundle onto its side and spotted random letters etched into one side.
“Greek,” he said.
Stephanie bent down closer. “And look how thin that foil is. Like leaf.”
“What is it?” Davis asked.
Malone’s mind starting clicking the final pieces into place. The next part of Ptolemy’s riddle now became important. Life provides the measure of the grave. Be wary, for there is but one chance of success. He reached into his pocket and found the medallion Stephanie had shown him. “Concealed on this are microletters. ZH. And we know Ptolemy minted these medallions, when he created the riddle.”
He noticed a tiny symbol-
– on one side and instantly knew the co
“How do the elephant medallions and that strip of gold co
“To know that,” Malone said, “you have to know what that strip is.”
He saw that Stephanie was reading him.
“And you do?” she asked.
He nodded. “I know exactly what this is.”
VIKTOR CUT THE THROTTLE AND ALLOWED THE BOAT TO DRIFT back toward the quay at San Marco. He’d taken Michener from the basilica, straight to where he’d docked, thinking the safest place to wait for Zovastina’s departure was on water. There he’d stayed, staring at the floodlit domes and pi
Nothing here had gone right.
“It’s time you and I had a talk,” Michener said.
He’d kept the priest in the boat’s forward cabin, alone, while he waited for Zovastina’s call, and Michener had sat casually and stayed silent.
“What could we have to talk about?”
“Perhaps the fact that you’re an American spy.”