“Is all that supposed to mean something to me?”
The old man shrugged. “I’m trying to explain your charge. You say you want to be the Librarian. If so, you will be granted quite a privilege. Those in the past who have served met Copernicus and Kepler and Descartes. Robespierre. Benjamin Franklin. Even Newton himself. All those learned souls benefited from this place, and the world benefited from their ability to comprehend and expand.”
“And none of them ever said they were here?”
“Why would they? We seek no credit. In that way they obtain the recognition. If we assisted them? That was our charge. Quite an accomplishment, it has been, to keep this alive. Can you carry on that tradition?”
Since he had no intention of allowing anyone else to see this place, he asked what he really wanted to know. “How many Guardians are there?”
“Nine. Our ranks are greatly depleted.”
“Where are they? I saw only two outside.”
“The monastery is large. They were about their duties.”
He motioned with the gun. “Let’s go back to the first room. I want to see something else.”
And the old man started walking.
He debated killing him here. But Malone should, by now, have figured out what was happening. He was either waiting at the other end of the maze or on his way through it.
Regardless, this old man would prove useful.
EIGHTY
MALONE ROUNDED THE FINAL CORNER AND SPOTTED A DOORWAY formed by two winged, human-headed lions. He knew the symbolism. The mind of a man, the strength of an animal, the ubiquity of a bird. Marble doors hung open on bronze hinges.
They stepped inside and stared at the opulence.
He marveled at how long it must have taken to create something so extraordinary. Rows of diagonal bins lined the tiled floor, broken by narrow aisles, each brimming with scrolls. He stepped to one of the bins and slid out the top bundle. The document was in remarkable condition, but he dared not unroll it. He glanced inside the cylinder and saw that the writing was still legible.
“I never knew something like this could exist,” Pam said. “It’s beyond comprehension.”
He’d seen amazing things, but nothing as wonderful as the sight of all that this room held. He noticed high on one of the shiny red walls more Latin words. AD COMMUNEM DELECTATIONEM. For the enjoyment of all. “The Guardians accomplished something extraordinary.”
He noticed a carving in one of the walls. He stepped close and spied a ledger of what lay ahead, the rooms identified in Latin. He translated each one out loud for Pam.
“Five rooms,” he said. “They could be anywhere.”
Movement at the far doorway caught his attention.
He saw George Haddad, then McCollum.
“Get down,” he said to Pam, and he raised his weapon.
McCollum saw him and shoved Haddad to the ground, aiming across the chamber and firing. Malone dropped to the floor, using the shelves between them for cover. The bullet dinged off the granite columns behind him.
“You move fast,” McCollum said from across the room.
“Didn’t want you to be lonely.”
“The Librarian kept me company.”
“You and him get to know each other?”
“He talks too much, but he knows this place.”
He wanted to know, “What now?”
“Afraid you and the ex have to die.”
“I told you that you shouldn’t get on my bad side.”
“Bring it on, Malone. I’ve come this far, I don’t plan to lose now. Tell you what, let’s make it a fair game. Me against you. Right here. If you win, the old man and the ex are safe. Deal?”
“You’re making the terms. Act on them.”
HADDAD LISTENED TO THE EXCHANGE BETWEEN SABRE AND Malone. These two needed to settle their differences, and he needed to repay his debt. He thought again about the Guardian from all those decades ago when the young man had stared up at him with eyes full of resolve. He simply hadn’t understood. But now, having seen the library, having become its Librarian, he knew what that fateful soul from 1948 knew.
He’d killed that good man for no reason.
And regretted it all his life.
“STAND UP,” SABRE SAID TO THE LIBRARIAN, AND HE WATCHED as the old man rose. “All right, Malone. I’m acting. Here he comes.” He motioned with the gun. “Go.”
The Librarian walked slowly down the aisle between the diagonal bins. Sabre held his position, crouched behind the end of one of the rows.
Thirty feet away the Librarian stopped and turned.
The eyes that stared back penetrated him. He wondered about the old man. Something about him signaled danger, as if the soul behind the eyes had faced this scenario before and was not afraid. He debated killing the Librarian, but that might spur Malone on.
And that he did not want to do.
Not yet.
Malone was the only obstacle left. Once gone, the library was his.
So he was relieved when the old man finally walked away.
EIGHTY-ONE
WASHINGTON, DC
STEPHANIE PARKED DOWN THE STREET FROM LARRY DALEY’S house, and she and Cassiopeia walked the remainder of the way. No sign of Brent Green or anyone else. They approached the front door, where Cassiopeia again picked the locks and Stephanie disarmed the alarm. She noticed that the pass code had not changed. Daley had left it alone, even after they’d gained entrance. Either foolishness or more evidence that she’d misjudged the man.
The interior was quiet. Cassiopeia swept each room to make sure they were alone. Stephanie made a stop in the office alcove where they’d found the flash drives. Then they both waited by the front door.
Ten minutes later a car parked outside.
Stephanie peered past the curtains and saw Green emerge from behind the wheel and walk toward the front door.
Alone.
She nodded at Cassiopeia, then opened the door.
Green was dressed in his typical dark suit and tie. Once the attorney general was inside, she closed and locked the door. Cassiopeia took up a position near one of the windows.
“All right, Stephanie. Can you tell me what’s happening?”
“Did you bring the flash drives?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and removed them.
“You listen to the recordings?”
He nodded. “Of course. The conversations are interesting, but in no way incriminating. There’s talk of the Twenty-fifth Amendment, but it’s just that. Talk. Certainly no conspiracy is either discussed or implied.”
“That’s why Daley gathered more,” she said. “He told me that he’s been looking at this for some time.”
“Looking at what?”
And she noticed a flare of irritation.
“The conspiracy, Brent. The vice president is planning on killing Daniels. He’s set the whole thing up to happen during a surprise visit Daniels will make next week to Afghanistan.” She watched as the words, which would confirm that she knew what she was talking about, took hold.
Green remained stoic. “What proof did Daley find?”
“More conversations. He actually bugged the VP’s private office. Not all that hard, since he was the one charged with making sure it wasn’t being monitored. Seems the VP is connected to the Order of the Golden Fleece. Its head, Alfred Hermann, has arranged for the president’s plane to be missile-attacked. Made the deal with bin Laden’s people himself.”