Stephanie heard someone stand.

“All part of the job, Brent.”

“And if I’m a good boy and toe the line those unsavory elements will lose interest in me.”

“Can’t really say. But it’s possible. Why don’t you try it and let’s see?”

The room went silent longer than was comfortable. Stephanie imagined two lions facing each other.

“Is the president’s legacy worth all this?” Green asked.

“That what you think this is about? No way. This is about my legacy. What I can deliver. And that kind of political capital is worth more than gold.”

She heard soles slap hardwood, heading away from the kitchen.

“Larry,” Green said, his voice rising.

The steps stopped.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“Take your best shot. Then I’m going to take mine.”

“Yeah, right. Brent, after I take mine you’ll be back in Vermont six feet down in a box.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Daley chuckled. “The funny thing about all this is that my two biggest pains in the ass may well bring this administration out of the toilet. Talk about working with what you have.”

“We might surprise you.”

“You keep thinking that. Have a blessed day.”

A door opened, then closed.

“He’s gone,” Green said.

Stephanie stepped from the kitchen and said, “Guess you can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

She registered fatigue in his gray eyes. She was tired, too.

“You finally managed to get yourself fired.”

“Which is the least of our concerns,” Cassiopeia made clear.

“There’s a traitor in this government,” Green said. “And I plan to find him.”

“I assure you, Mr. Attorney General,” Cassiopeia said, “you’ve never dealt with those unsavory elements. Daley’s right. The Israelis won’t be doing any of the dirty work themselves. They hire that out. And the people they employ are a problem.”

“Then we’re all going to have to be careful.”

Stephanie almost smiled. Brent Green possessed more courage than she’d imagined. But there was something else. She’d detected it earlier and now she was sure. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m not without resources.”

FORTY-TWO

VIENNA, AUSTRIA

10:50 AM

ALFRED HERMANN BID HIS GOODBYES TO THE POLITICAL Committee and excused himself from the dining room. He’d been told that his special guest had finally arrived.

He navigated the ground-floor corridors and entered the château’s spacious foyer just as Henrik Thorvaldsen shuffled in from outside. He slipped a smile onto his face and said in English, “Henrik. So wonderful to see you.”

Thorvaldsen also smiled as he spotted his host. “Alfred. I wasn’t going to come, but I decided I simply had to visit with everyone.”

Hermann approached and shook hands. Forty years he’d known Thorvaldsen and the Dane had changed little. The stiff, crooked spine had always been there, bent at a grotesque angle like a piece of hammered tin. He’d always admired Thorvaldsen’s disciplined emotions, which stayed studied, mannered, as if he were running through a memorized program. And that required talent. But Thorvaldsen was a Jew. Not devout or overt, but still Hebrew. Even worse, he was Cotton Malone’s close friend, and Hermann was convinced that Thorvaldsen had not come to the Assembly to socialize.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hermann said. “I have much to talk to you about.”

They often spent time together at the Assembly. Thorvaldsen was one of the few members whose fortune could compete with the Hermanns‘. He was deeply connected to most European governments, and his billions of euros spoke for themselves.

A twinkle appeared in the Dane’s eyes. “I’m anxious to hear it all.”

“And who is this?” Hermann asked, motioning to the young lad standing beside Thorvaldsen.

“Gary Malone. He’s with me for a few weeks while his father is away and I decided to bring him.”

Fascinating. Thorvaldsen was testing him. “Wonderful. There are a few other young people who have come with members. I’ll see to it that they are all properly entertained.”

“As I knew you would.”

Stewards entered with luggage. Hermann motioned and the bags were hauled to the second floor. He’d already designated which bedchamber Thorvaldsen would occupy.

“Come, Henrik. To my study while your belongings are situated. Margarete is anxious to see you.”

“But I have Gary.”

“Bring him. It’ll be fine.”

MALONE ATE HIS BREAKFAST AND TRIED TO ASSESS JIMMY McCollum, though he seriously wondered whether that was the man’s real name.

“You going to tell me what your interest in all this is?” McCollum asked. “The Library of Alexandria isn’t exactly the Holy Grail. Others have looked, but they’re usually fanatics or kooks. You don’t look like either.”

“Neither do you,” Pam said. “What’s your interest?”

“What happened to your shoulder?”

“Who said anything did?”

McCollum scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “You’ve been cradling it like it’s broken.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Okay, you’re not going to tell me.” McCollum faced Malone. “Lot of mistrust here for a person who saved both your asses.”

“She asked a good question. What’s your interest in the library?”

“Let’s just say that if I were to find something, there are people who would reward my efforts in a great many ways. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. But I do have to wonder why men are killing each other. Somebody knows something.”

Malone decided to cast a little bait into the water. “The hero’s quest you mentioned. I know about it. Clues that lead the way to the library.” He paused. “Supposedly.”

“Oh, they do. Believe me. Others have been. I’ve never met or talked to one of them, but I’ve heard about the experience. The hero’s quest is real, as are the Guardians.”

Another key word. This man was well informed. Malone turned his attention back to an English muffin, which he lathered with plum jam. “What can we do for each other?”

“How about you tell me why you went to Bainbridge Hall?”

“The Epiphany of St. Jerome.”

“Now, that’s a new one. Care to explain?”

“Where you from?” Malone suddenly asked.

McCollum chuckled. “You still sizing me up? Okay, I’ll play along. Born in the great state of Kentucky. Louisville. And before you ask, no college. Army. Special forces.”

“Like, if I check I’m going to find a recruit named Jimmy McCollum? Time for you to get real.”

“Hate to tell you, but I have a passport and a birth certificate and you’ll find my name there. Did my stint. Honorable discharge. But does all that really matter? Seems the only thing that counts is here and now.”

“What are you after?” Malone asked.

“I’m hoping there’s plenty there when this library is found, though I still don’t know your interest.”

“This quest might prove a challenge.”

“Now, that’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense.”

“I mean, there are others who might be looking, too.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“How about the Israelis?”

He caught a moment of puzzlement in McCollum’s lively eyes, then clarity returned, along with a smile. “I do love a challenge.”

Time to reel him in. “We have The Epiphany of St. Jerome.”

“Lot of good that’ll do if you don’t know its significance.”

Malone agreed.

“I have the hero’s quest,” McCollum said.

That revelation grabbed Malone’s attention, especially since George Haddad had not left them the details of that journey.

“What I want to know is,” McCollum said, “is do you have Thomas Bainbridge’s novel?”

Pam was still eating, working on some fruit and yogurt. She certainly knew the first rule of lawyering-never reveal what you know-but he decided that to receive he was going to have to give. “I do.” Then to tantalize his listener, he added, “And more.”