WASHINGTON, DC
5:30 AM
STEPHANIE HAD FACED MANY THINGS, BUT NEVER ARREST. Larry Daley was upping the ante.
“We need to strike at Daley now,” she made clear.
She, Green, and Cassiopeia were standing in Green’s kitchen, coffee brewing on the counter. The aroma reminded her that she was hungry.
“What do you have in mind?” Cassiopeia asked.
Not once in twelve years had she compromised the Billet’s security. She took her oath to heart. But an abyss of doubt made her unsure of what to do next. She finally decided there was but one option and said, “We were investigating Daley.”
A new earnestness swept over Green’s face. “Explain.”
“I wanted to know what made the man tick, so I assigned an agent to find out. She worked him, off and on, for nearly a year. I learned a lot.”
“You continue to amaze me, Stephanie. Do you know what would have happened if he’d found out?”
“Guess I would have been fired, so what does it matter now?”
“He’s trying to kill you. Perhaps he does know.”
“I doubt it. She was good. But Daley is up to his eyeballs in trouble. You said earlier that you never found any violations of law. I did. Lots of them. Campaign finance, bribery, fraud. Daley’s the pipeline for what people of means need from the White House, people who don’t want their names on disclosure forms.”
“Why didn’t you move on him?”
“I was planning to-then this leak occurred. It had to wait.”
“And now that he’s in charge of the Magellan Billet, will he find out what you did?” Cassiopeia asked.
She shook her head. “I have all the information locked away, and the agent who handled the investigation transferred from the Billet months ago. No one other than she and I knew.”
Green poured coffee into two mugs. “What do you want to do?”
“Since I have my friend here, who possesses a multitude of skills, I thought we’d finish the investigation.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Cassiopeia said.
Green motioned. “You ladies add what you like to your coffee.”
“None for you?” Stephanie asked.
“Never drink it.”
“Then why do you have a coffeemaker?”
“I do have guests.” He paused. “Occasionally.”
Green’s solidity, his masculine dependability, yielded for an instant to a boyish sincerity, and she liked it.
“Anyone I know?” she asked.
Green smiled.
“You’re full of surprises,” she said.
“A lot like somebody else we all know,” Cassiopeia said, sipping her coffee.
Green nodded, seeming to like the change of topic. “Henrik is a fascinating man. Always a step ahead. But what about you, Stephanie? What do you mean about finishing the investigation?”
She savored the steaming brew and allowed a sip to warm her throat. “We need to pay a visit to his house.”
“Why?” Cassiopeia asked. “Even if we manage to get inside, his computer is surely secured by a password.”
She smiled. “Not a problem.”
Green scanned her with an air of curiosity, then he could no longer conceal his astonishment. “You don’t need a password, do you?”
She shook her head and said, “Time to nail that SOB.”
MALONE ENTERED THE SAVOY’S BUSINESS CENTER. THE SPACIOUS facility was fully equipped with computers, faxes, and copiers. He told the attendant what he needed and was quickly ushered to a terminal, the charge applied to McCollum’s room.
He started to sit, but Pam cut him off.
“May I?” she asked.
He decided to allow her the honor. On the walk over from the café he’d seen that she knew what he intended to do.
“Why not? Have at it.”
He handed her the sheet with the beginning of the quest then faced McCollum. “You said you acquired this recently?”
“No. I didn’t mention a time. Nice try, Malone.”
“I need to know. It’s important. In the last few months?”
Their benefactor hesitated, then nodded.
Malone had been thinking. “From what I know, the Guardians have been inviting people to the library for centuries. So the clues have to change. They’d adapt the quest to its time. I’m betting they even adapt it to the invitee. Why not? Make it personal. They go to a lot of trouble for everything else. Why not this?”
McCollum nodded. “Makes sense.”
Pam was pounding the keyboard.
“The first part,” Malone said. “How strange are the manuscripts, great traveler of the unknown. They appear separately, but seem as one to those who know that the colors of the rainbow become a single white light. How to find that single ray? That’s bullshit. Just a way of saying there’s a lot of information. But the next part, It is a mystery, but visit the chapel beside the Tejo, in Bethlehem, dedicated to our patron saint. That’s where we start.”
“Got it,” Pam said.
He smiled. She was ahead of him, and he liked that.
“I did a search on Tejo and Bethlehem.”
“Isn’t that too easy?” McCollum asked.
“The Guardians can’t be oblivious to the world. The Internet exists, so why wouldn’t they assume an invitee would use it?”
He stared at the screen. The website Pam had found was for Portugal, a travel and tourism page that dealt with local attractions in and around Lisbon.
“Belém,” Pam said. “Just outside downtown. Where the River Tejo meets the sea. Belém is Portuguese for ”Bethlehem.“”
He read about the point of land southwest of central Lisbon. The spot where Portuguese caravels had long ago set out for the Western world. Da Gama to India, Magellan to circumnavigate the globe, Dias to round the Cape of Good Hope. Belém eventually flourished thanks to the riches-mainly spices-that poured into the country from the New World. The Portuguese king built a summer palace there, and wealthy citizens flocked to surround it. Once a separate municipality, now it was a magnet for tourists who came to enjoy its shops, cafés, and museums.
“Henry the Navigator is connected to the locale,” Pam said.
“Let’s find out,” he said, “about a chapel dedicated to our patron saint.”
A few clicks of the mouse and Pam pointed at the screen. “Way ahead of you.”
A monstrous building of weathered stone filled the screen. Elaborate spires reached for a cloudy sky. The look combined Gothic and Renaissance architecture with obvious Moorish influences. Bold images dotted the stone façade.
“The Monastery of Santa Maria de Belém,” he noted from the screen.
Pam scrolled down, and he read that it was one of Portugal’s best-known monuments, often referred to as the Jerónimos Monastery. Many of the country’s greatest figures, including its kings and queens, were entombed there.
“Why did this show up?” he asked Pam.
She clicked on a link.
“I typed in several key words and the search engine pointed straight here. In 1498, when da Gama returned from his voyage after discovering the route to India, the Portuguese king granted funds for the building of the monastery. The Order of St. Jerome took possession of the site in 1500, and the foundation stone was laid on January 6, 1501.”
He knew the significance of that date from his childhood. His mother had been Catholic and they’d attended church regularly, especially after his father died. January 6. The Feast of the Epiphany.
What had Haddad written in his journal?
Great quests often begin with an epiphany.
“The main chapel at the monastery,” Pam said, “was eventually dedicated to St. Jerome. Cotton, you remember what Haddad said about him.”
He did. An early church father who, in the fourth century, translated many scriptural texts into Latin, including the Old Testament.
“There’s a link to more on Jerome,” she said, and the screen changed with another click of the mouse.
They all three read. Malone saw it first. “He’s the patron saint of libraries. Looks like this quest starts in Lisbon.”
“Not bad, Malone.”
“We earn our keep?”
“Like I said, I’m lousy with puzzles. You two seem good at them. But the rest is tougher.”
He grinned. “How about we take a stab at it together and see where it leads?”