“The police said you were with Dad when he was shot.” Judd spoke with light curiosity, but Tucker sensed greater depths.
“Yes. Let’s go outdoors and chat.”
They walked out to the grassy lawn. Only a few people remained, climbing into cars and limousines at the curb.
Tucker guided the pair to a spot in the shadow of the stone church. “Have either of you heard of the Library of Gold?”
“It was one of the bedtime stories Dad used to tell me, like Lorna Doone and The Scarlet Pimpernel,” Judd said. “What about you, Mom?”
Jeannine frowned. “I vaguely recall it. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember much. It was something Jonathan and Judd shared.”
“Did the Library of Gold play a role in Dad’s murder?” Judd asked.
Tucker gave a casual shrug. “The police think a copycat of the Beltway Snipers might’ve shot him.” The Beltway Snipers had been responsible for a series of random killings a few years before.
Jeannine pressed her hand against her throat. “How horrible.”
Judd put his arm around her shoulders.
“Jonathan said he wanted my help with something related to the library,” Tucker continued. “But he died before he could tell me exactly what it was. What did your father tell you about the library, Judd?”
Judd settled his feet. “I’ll run through the basics. It all began with the Byzantine Empire. For a thousand years while the emperors were conquering the world, they were collecting and making illuminated manuscripts. But then the empire fell to the Ottoman Turks in 1453. That could’ve been the end of the court library, but a niece of the last ruler escaped with the best books. They were covered in gold and jewels. When she married Ivan the Great, eight hundred of the books went to Moscow with her.” He paused. “The legend was born with their grandson, Ivan the Terrible. After he inherited the library he added more illuminated manuscripts and started letting important Europeans see the collection. They were so impressed they went home and talked about it. Word spread across the continent that only when you stood among Ivan’s golden books could you really understand ‘wisdom, art, wealth, and eternal power.’ That’s how the collection got its name-the Library of Gold. It was a good adventure tale with a happy ending that turned into a mystery. Ivan died in 1584, maybe from mercury poisoning. At about the same time several of his spies and assassins got sick and died or were executed-and the library vanished.”
Tucker had found himself leaning forward as he listened. He stepped back and peered at Jeannine. “Is that what you remember?”
“That’s much more than I ever heard.”
“I checked into the library and came up with pretty much the same information,” Tucker admitted. “The Byzantine court library existed, but many historians believe none of the books landed in Moscow. Some think a few ended up in Rome, and the Ottoman Turks burned a lot, kept some, and sold the rest.”
“I like Jonathan’s story more,” Jeannine decided.
“Did you ask your father how he heard the story, Judd?”
“Never saw any reason to.”
“Where did Jonathan say the library was now?”
Judd gave him a hard look. “The way I ended the story for you was the way Dad ended it for me-with Ivan the Terrible’s death and the library’s disappearance.”
“Would you mind if I looked through Jonathan’s papers?” Tucker asked Jeannine.
“Please do, if you think you might find something,” she said.
“I’ll help,” Judd told him.
“It’s not necessary-” Tucker tried.
“I insist.”
THE RYDERS lived on the prestigious Maryland State side of Chevy Chase. The house was a baronial white mansion in the Greek Revival style, with six towering columns crowned by an intricately carved portico. Jonathan’s office was filled with books. But that was nothing compared to the real library. Tucker stared. From the parquet floor to the second-floor ceiling, thousands of books beckoned, many in hand-tooled leather bindings.
“This is amazing,” Tucker said.
“He was a collector. But see how worn his chair is? He didn’t just collect; he read a lot, too.”
Tucker gazed at the red leather armchair, worn and softened. Returning to the task at hand, he led Judd back to the office. They began inspecting Jonathan’s cherrywood desk, matching file cabinets, and the cardboard banker’s boxes of his personal belongings sent over from his office at Bucknell headquarters.
“The Department of State is a good cover,” Judd said noncommitally. “Who do you really work for, Tucker? CIA… Homeland Security… National Intelligence?”
Tucker let out a loud laugh. “Sorry to let you down, son. I really do work for State. And no, not State intelligence. I’m just a paper pusher, helping the diplomats wade through the various policy changes that have to do with the Middle East. A paper pusher like me is perfect to go through Jonathan’s papers.” In truth, Tucker was a covert officer, which meant his fellow spies, operations, assets, agents, and the people who had worked knowingly or unknowingly with him could be endangered if his real position were made public.
“Right,” Judd said, letting the matter drop.
When Tucker asked, Judd described the conditions he had seen in Iraq and Pakistan without ever telling him anything substantive about his own work.
“I’ll bet you’re being recruited by every agency in the IC,” Tucker said. The IC was the intelligence community.
“I haven’t been home long enough.”
“They’ll be after you. Are you tempted?”
Judd had taken off his suit jacket and was crouched in his white cuffed shirt and dark suit pants over a banker’s box, reading file names. “Dad asked me the same question. When I said no, he tried to convince me to join him at Bucknell. But I’ve saved my money and have a lease on a row house on the Hill. I figured to do nothing until I couldn’t stand it anymore. By then I should know what’s next for me.”
Tucker had been going through Jonathan’s desk. The last drawer contained files. He read the tags. The end file was unnamed. He pulled it out. In it were a half-dozen clippings from newspapers and magazines from the past week-and each article was about jihadism in Afghanistan and Pakistan. He peered up. Judd’s back was to him. He folded the clippings and stuffed them inside his jacket and returned the empty file to the drawer.
He activated Jonathan’s computer. “Do you know your dad’s password?”
Judd looked over his shoulder. “Try ‘Jeannine.’ ”
When that did not work, Judd made more suggestions. Finally the date of his birth did the trick. As soon as Judd returned to the banker’s boxes, Tucker activated a global search for “Library of Gold”-but uncovered nothing. Then he inspected Jonathan’s financial records on Quicken. There were no red flags.
“Dinner,” Jeannine announced from the open door. “You need a break.”
They joined her for a simple meal at the maple table in the kitchen.
“Your place is beautiful,” Tucker commented. “Jonathan came a far way from the South Side of Chicago.”
“All of this was important to him.” Jeannine made a gesture encompassing the house and their privileged world. “You know how ambitious he was. He loved the business, and he loved that he could make a lot of money at it. But strangely I don’t think he could ever have made enough to make him really happy. Still, we had many good times.” She stopped, her eyes tearing.
“We’ve got a lot of great memories, don’t we, Mom?” Judd said.
She nodded and resumed eating.
“Jonathan traveled a lot, I imagine,” Tucker said.
“All the time,” she said. “But he was always glad to come home.”
After coffee, Tucker and Judd returned to the office. By ten o’clock, they had finished their search, and Tucker was weary of the tedious work.