He cracked a brittle smile. "I know. And now it's our turn."
She'd come to admire this man. He was nothing like she imagined. A bit too bold for his own good, but committed.
The house phone rang and Davis answered.
They'd been waiting.
In the apartment's hushed quiet she could hear the caller's every word.
"Edwin," Daniels said. "I have the location."
"Tell me," Davis said.
"You sure? Last chance. You might not come back from this one."
"Just tell me the location."
She cringed at his impatience, but Daniels was right. They might not come back.
Davis shut his eyes. "Just let us do this." He paused. "Sir."
"Write this down."
Davis grabbed a pen and pad from the counter and wrote quickly as Daniels provided the information.
"Careful, Edwin," Daniels said. "Lots of unknowns here."
"And women can't be trusted?"
The president chuckled. "I'm glad you said it and not me."
Davis hung up and stared at her, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. "You need to stay here."
"Like hell."
"You don't have to do this."
His cool assumption made her laugh. "Since when? You're the one who involved me."
"I was wrong."
She stepped close and gently caressed his bruised face. "You would have killed the wrong man in Asheville if I hadn't been there."
He grasped her wrist in a light embrace, his hand jittery. "Daniels is right. This is wholly unpredictable."
"Hell, Edwin, that's my whole life."
EIGHTY-SIX
MALONE HAD SEEN SOME IMPRESSIVE THINGS. THE TEMPLAR TREASURE. The Library of Alexandria. The tomb of Alexander the Great. But none of those compared to what he now saw.
A processional way of irregularly shaped and polished slabs, lined on both sides with close-packed buildings of varying shapes and sizes, stretched ahead. Streets crisscrossed and intersected. The cocoon of rock that encased the settlement reached hundreds of feet into the air, the farthest wall maybe two football fields away. Even more impressive were the vertical rock faces rising like monoliths, polished smooth from ground to ceiling, etched with symbols, letters, and drawings. His flashlight revealed in the wall nearest him a melding of whitish yellow sandstone, greenish red shale, and black dolerite wedges. The effect was like that of marble-of standing inside a building rather than a mountain.
Pillars lined the street at defined intervals, and supported more of the quartz that gently glowed, like night-lights, investing everything with a dim mystery.
"Grandfather was right," Dorothea said. "It truly does exist."
"Yes, he was," Christl proclaimed, her voice rising. "Right about everything."
Malone heard the pride, felt her flush of excitement.
"All of you thought him a dreamer," Christl continued. "Mother berated him and Father. But they were visionaries. They were right about it all."
"This will change everything," Dorothea said.
"Of which you have no right to share," Christl said. "I always believed in their theories. It's why I pursued that line of study. You laughed at them. No one will laugh at Hermann Oberhauser anymore."
"How about we hold off on the accolades," Malone said, "and have a look."
He led the group forward, peering down the side streets as deep as their flashlight beams would allow. A strong foreboding rocked through him, but curiosity nudged him forward. He almost expected people to drift out from the buildings and greet them, but only their footsteps could be heard.
The buildings were a mixture of squares and rectangles with walls of cut stone, laid tight, polished smooth, held together with no mortar. The two flashlights revealed facades ablaze with color. Rust, brown, blue, yellow, white, gold. Low-pitched roofs produced pediments filled with elaborate spiral designs and more writing. Everything seemed tidy, practical, and well organized. The Antarctic freezer had preserved it all, though there was evidence of geological forces at work. Many of the quartz blocks in the towering light crevices had fallen. A few walls had collapsed, and the street contained buckles.
The thoroughfare drained into a circular plaza with more buildings lining its circumference, one a colonnaded temple-like structure with beautifully decorated square columns. In the center of the plaza stood the same unique symbol from the book cover, an enormous shiny red monument surrounded by tiers of stone benches. His eidetic memory instantly recalled what Einhard had written.
The Advisers stamped their approval to enactments with the symbol of righteousness. Its shape, carved into red stone, centers the city and watches over their annual deliberations. Atop is the sun, half ablaze in glory. Then the earth, as a simple circle, and the planets represented by a dot within the circle. The cross beneath them reminds of the land, while the sea waves below.
Square pillars dotted the plaza, maybe ten feet tall. Each crimson and topped with swirls and ornamentation. He counted eighteen. More writing had been etched onto their facades in tight rows.
Laws are enacted by the Advisers and inscribed upon the Righteous Columns in the center of the city so that all will know the provisions.
"Einhard was here," Christl said. She'd apparently realized the same thing. "It's as he described."
"Since you didn't share what he wrote with us," Dorothea said. "It's hard to know."
He watched as Christl ignored her sister and studied one of the columns.
They were walking on a collage of mosaics. Henn examined the pavement with his light. Animals, people, scenes of daily life-each alive with bright color. A few yards away stood a circular stone ledge, perhaps thirty feet in diameter and four feet tall. He walked toward it and gazed over. A black stone-lined hole opened in the earth.
The others approached.
He found a rock the size of a small melon and tossed it over the side. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. A minute. Still no sound of the bottom.
"That's a deep hole," he said.
Similar to the predicament he'd dug for himself.
DOROTHEA DRIFTED AWAY FROM THE PIT. WERNER FOLLOWED AND whispered, "You okay?"
She nodded, again uncomfortable with his husbandly concern. "We need to finish this," she whispered. "Move it along."
He nodded.
Malone was studying one of the square red pillars.
Each breath she took parched her mouth.
Werner said to Malone, "Would it be faster if we divide into two groups and explore, then meet back here?"
Malone turned. "Not a bad idea. We have another five hours before we check in, and it's a long way back down that tunnel. We need to make that trek only once."
No one argued.
"So there's no fight among anyone," Malone said, "I'll take Dorothea. You and Christl go with Henn."
Dorothea glanced at Ulrich. His eyes told her that would be fine.
So she said nothing.
MALONE DECIDED THAT IF ANYTHING WAS GOING TO HAPPEN, NOW was the time, so he'd quickly agreed with Werner's suggestion. He was waiting to see who'd make the first move. Keeping the sisters and the married people apart seemed smart, and he noticed that no one objected.
That meant he'd now have to play the hand he'd dealt himself.
EIGHTY-SEVEN
MALONE AND DOROTHEA LEFT THE CENTRAL PLAZA AND VENTURED deeper into the cluster, the buildings packed tight like dominoes in a box. Some of the structures were shops with one or two rooms, opening directly to the street with no other obvious function. Others were set back, accessed by walkways leading between the shops to front doors. He noticed no cornices, eaves, or guttering. The architecture seemed eager to use right angles, diagonals, and pyramidal forms-curves appeared in restraint. Ceramic pipes, married with thick gray joints, ran house to house, and up and down the exterior walls-each beautifully painted-part of the decor, but also, he surmised, practical.