“You allowed her to die? Knowing of the conversation?”

“Unfortunately, we did not have this recording until after she disappeared.”

She didn’t like the way Davis’ eyes flickered between her and the recorder-along with the strange uneasiness that accompanied her growing anger.

“Apparently, you and Vincenti are engaged in some sort of joint venture. I’m here-again, as your friend-to tell you that he intends to change that deal. Here’s what we think. Vincenti needs you out of power. With Karyn Walde, he can shame you from office or, at a minimum, cause you enormous political problems. Homosexuality is not accepted here. Religious fundamentalists, whom you keep on a tight leash, would finally have the ammunition to fire back. You’d have problems so massive, not even your germs could ease them.”

She’d never considered the possibility before, but what the American said made sense. Why else would Vincenti take Karyn? Yet there was something that needed to be mentioned. “Like you said, she’s dying of AIDS and may already be dead.”

“Vincenti’s no fool. Maybe he believes a dying declaration could actually carry more weight. You’d have a lot of questions to answer-about that house, why Walde was there, the nurse. I’m told that she knows things, along with many of your Sacred Band, who guarded the house. Vincenti has the nurse, too. That’s a lot of people to contain.”

“This isn’t America. Television can be controlled.”

“But can fundamentalism? Along with the fact that you have plenty of enemies who’d like to take your place. I think the man who just left here falls into that category. By the way, he met with Vincenti last night, too. Picked him up at the airport and drove him into the city.”

This man was superbly informed.

“Minister, we don’t want Vincenti to succeed with whatever he’s planning. That’s why I’m here. To offer our assistance. We’re aware of your trip to Venice and of Cassiopeia Vitt returning here with you. Again she’s not a problem. In fact, she knows quite a bit about what you were seeking in Venice. There’s information you missed.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“If I knew, I would. You’ll have to ask Vitt. She and her two associates, Henrik Thorvaldsen and Cotton Malone, are aware of something called Ptolemy’s riddle and objects known as elephant medallions.” Davis held up his hands in a mock surrender. “Don’t know. Don’t care. That’s your business. All I know is that there was something to find in Venice, which you apparently missed. If you already are aware, I apologize for wasting your time. But President Daniels wanted you to know that, like the Venetian League, he, too, looks after his friends.”

Enough. This man needed to be put in his place. “You must take me for an idiot.”

They exchanged glances, but no words.

“Tell your president I don’t need his help.”

Davis appeared offended.

“If I were you,” she said, “I’d leave this Federation as quickly as you came.”

“A threat, Minister?”

She shook her head. “Just a comment.”

“Strange way to talk to a friend.”

She stood. “You’re not my friend.”

THE DOOR CLOSED AS EDWIN DAVIS LEFT THE CHAMBER. HER mind churned with an ability she’d always managed when seizing an opportune moment.

Kamil Revin reentered and walked to her desk. She studied her foreign minister. Vincenti thought himself clever, cultivating him to be a spy. But this Russian-educated Asian, who professed to be a Muslim but never entered a mosque, had acted as the perfect conduit for disinformation. She’d dismissed him earlier from her meeting with Davis because he could not repeat what he did not know.

“You failed to mention that Vincenti was in the Federation,” she said.

Revin shrugged. “He came in last night on business. He’s at the Intercontinental, as always.”

“He’s at his estate in the mountains.”

She noticed the surprise in the younger man’s eyes. Real? Or an act? Hard to say with this one. But he seemed to sense her suspicion.

“Minister, I’ve been your ally. I’ve lied for you. I’ve delivered enemies to you. I’ve watched Vincenti for years and have faithfully acted as you instructed.”

She had not the time to argue. “Then show your loyalty. I have a special task that only you can perform.”

SIXTY-NINE

STEPHANIE LIKED SEEING HENRIK THORVALDSEN FRAZZLED. They’d flown from Aviano Air Base in two F-16s, she in one, Thorvaldsen the other. They’d followed Malone and Edwin Davis, who’d landed in Samarkand, then she and Thorvaldsen continued eastward, landing at Kashgar, just across the Federation border into China. Thorvaldsen did not like to fly. A necessary evil, he called it before they’d suited up. But a ride on a supersonic fighter jet was no ordinary flight. She’d ridden behind the pilot, where the weapons system officer usually sat. Exhilarating and terrifying, the bumps and grinds at over thirteen hundred miles per hour had kept her on edge the entire two hours.

“I cannot believe I did that,” Thorvaldsen was saying.

She noticed that he was still shaking. A car had been waiting for them at the Kashgar airport. The Chinese government had cooperated fully with all of Daniels’ requests. They were apparently quite concerned about their neighbor and willing even to partner with Washington in order to discover if their fears were real or imagined.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said.

“Here’s a memo to file. Never, ever, no matter what anyone says, fly in one of those things.”

She grinned. They were driving through the Pamirs, in Federation territory, the border crossing nothing more than a welcome sign. They’d climbed in elevation, passing through a succession of barren rounded spurs and equally barren valleys. She knew that pamir was the name for this particular type of valley, places where winter loomed long and rainfall was sparse. Lots of coarse wormwood scrub, dwarf pine, with occasional patches of rich pasture. Mostly uninhabited country, villages here and there and the occasional yurts, which clearly distinguished the scenery from the Alps or the Pyrenees, where she and Thorvaldsen had last been together.

“I’ve read about this area,” she said. “But I’ve never been to this part of the world before. Pretty incredible.”

“Ely loved the Pamirs. He spoke of them religiously. And I can see why.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Oh, yes. I knew his parents. He and my son were close. He practically lived at Christiangade when he and Cai were boys.”

Thorvaldsen appeared weary in the passenger seat, and not because of the flight. She knew better. “Cotton will look after Cassiopeia.”

“I doubt if Zovastina has Ely.” Thorvaldsen seemed suddenly resigned. “Viktor’s right. He’s probably dead.”

The road flattened as they motored through one of the mountain passes and into another valley. The air outside was surprisingly warm, the lower elevations devoid of snow. Without question, the Central Asian Federation was blessed with natural wonder, but she’d read the CIA fact sheets. The Federation had targeted the entire area for economic development. Electricity, telephone, water, and sewer services were being extended, along with an upgrade of roads. This highway seemed a prime example-the asphalt appeared new.

The candle with the gold leaf still wrapped around it lay within a stainless-steel container on the rear seat. A modern-day scytale displaying a single Old Greek word.. Where did it lead? They had no idea, but maybe something in Ely Lund’s mountain retreat would help explain its significance. They’d also come armed. Two 9mms and spare magazines. Courtesy of the U.S. military and allowed by the Chinese.