“So a year passed and you decided to do what?”

“I decided to sell Monsieur Burnham the artifacts. We would fix a price and he could have them all.”

“But that’s not what happened.”

“No. He told me he didn’t have any money. Not right now, at least. He offered to give me a small deposit and pay me later, but I wouldn’t agree.”

“Smart lady,” said Harvath.

“I told him I needed all of the money right away. He became very angry, telling me they belonged to the foundation. When I told him I knew there was no foundation, he tried to make excuses. Finally, I threatened to go to the police and tell them everything I knew if he didn’t cooperate.”

“I bet he didn’t like that,” replied Harvath as he remembered what a temper Rayburn had.

“Not at all, but he was in a similar position as me. He had no choice. He could not afford to pay me, and he definitely did not want me taking the artifacts or my story to the police, so we settled on the compromise of selling everything through Sotheby’s.”

“So what’s at Sotheby’s represents everything Ellyson uncovered?”

Lavoine looked away for a moment before responding. “No. Not everything.”

“There’s more?” asked Jillian.

Lavoine tried to explain. “Even though we were dealing with Sotheby’s, I still didn’t trust Monsieur Burnham. I thought he might find a way to cheat me. I couldn’t risk everything on the first venture. Besides, Ellyson had never even told Monsieur Burnham exactly where the site was, much less what he had recovered from it. Monsieur Burnham had no idea what I had in my possession. By doing it my way, if the first sale went well, I could wait a while and then quietly go back to Sotheby’s with more.”

“And without having to split the money with anyone.”

Marie nodded her head.

Harvath stood from the table and said, “We need to see those remaining artifacts.”

“Why?”

“Because even though your husband never made it back from that chasm, the weapon the Romans paid so dearly to prevent getting to Rome actually did.”

Lavoine was shocked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the man you call Elliot Burnham has been working with Muslim terrorists, and they plan on using Hannibal ’s weapon against the Western world.”

“The weapon actually exists? What is it?”

“An illness of some sort,” replied Jillian. “Please, Marie, whatever artifacts you have still, we need to take a look at them. We promise you, that is all we want to do. We have no intention of taking them from you. Millions of lives may be at stake here. We know Bernard had no idea as to whom he was helping, but you can help us to fix this. Please, we need your cooperation.”

Lavoine thought about it for several moments and then said, “Okay,” as she stood. “Get your coats. You’re going to need them. It’s very cold outside.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM

WASHINGTON, DC

O nce the secure videoconference link with CIA headquarters in Langley had been established, the president began speaking. “I assume I wasn’t called out of my meetings upstairs because you have good news.”

“Unfortunately no, Mr. President,” responded the director of Central Intelligence, James Vaile. “Two days ago we made a very important electronic intercept related to the village of Asalaam.”

“If you made it two days ago, why am I just hearing about it now?”

“With all due respect, sir, our Arabic translators are seriously overworked and dangerously backlogged.”

“I know. I know,” said Rutledge, “and I’m doing everything I can to get you additional funding to hire more of them, but now’s not the time for this discussion. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got.”

“We intercepted a posting in an Islamic chat room that commented on the hand of Allah successfully striking down all but his most faithful followers in a remote location referred to as the place of peace.”

“Asalaam?”

“That’s what we think,” replied Vaile. “The fundamentalists like to describe Iraq as the crusaders’ burial ground. The people talking in that chat room signaled that the place of peace was within the land known as the burial ground of the foreign crusaders.”

The president was silent as the DCI continued. “One of Osama bin Laden’s most beloved was also said to have been present to witness the power of Allah firsthand.”

“Khalid Alomari.”

“We think so. There were enough allusions to his past accomplishments for us to be fairly certain it’s him. We’ve been monitoring the room, but the poster hasn’t returned, or at least not under the same handle as before. We’re not holding out much hope of tracking him down. Just like cell phones, these guys will use a chat room once and then never come back to it again. They know it makes it impossible for us to trace them that way.”

Though none of this was exactly good news, Rutledge knew his DCI well enough to know that he was saving the very worst for last. “What else did you find out?”

“One of the people in the chat room claimed that what happened at the place of peace was only a small example of what Allah and his most holy warriors had planned for the enemies of Islam, in particular the United States.”

The president was again silent for several moments as the confirmation of their worst fears began to sink in. Finally, he asked, “Is that it?”

“No sir,” replied Vaile. “There was one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“According to the transcript, the means by which Allah intends to decimate all but the most faithful followers of Islam has already arrived in America. It says that it’s only a matter of days before the bodies of our citizens begin piling up-overflowing our hospitals, morgues, and cemeteries.”

THIRTY-NINE

FRANCE

Carrying flashlights, Harvath and Alcott followed Marie out into the bitterly cold night and were led behind the hotel to a small barn at the far end of the property.

“You keep the artifacts in here and don’t even keep it locked?” Harvath asked as Marie pushed the door open.

“No one locks their doors here. If you do, you send a message that you have something worth stealing. Besides, how long do you think it would take if someone really wanted to get in here?”

The woman had a point.

Marie closed the door behind them and then used her flashlight to point to a stall in the middle of the structure. “In there.”

After moving several bales of hay and kicking away the loose pieces of straw, Harvath found the trapdoor. Drawing it back, he played his flashlight down a series of stone steps, which led into a large cellar.

Jillian joined him, and with Marie bringing up the rear, they descended the steps. The cellar was enormous. Marie found a box of matches and lit several of the lanterns hanging from the low ceiling. As the lanterns illuminated the room, Harvath heard Alcott draw a sharp intake of breath.

Perfectly arranged on clean sheets across the cellar floor were hundreds of artifacts contained in clear plastic bags. Jillian couldn’t help herself and she rushed over to get a closer look. “How were they able to transport all of this?”

“Strong backs, big packs, and many, many trips,” replied Marie.

Joining Jillian, Harvath carefully picked up one of the sealed bags and examined its contents. Inside was a weapon he recognized from his study of military history-a Celtic falcata. With its inward curving blade, legend had it that the powerful short sword could slice through a shield and helmet with just one blow. There was something else about it that interested Harvath, though. Stuck to the bag was a piece of masking tape with a string of numbers. Holding it up so Marie could see them, he asked, “Do you know what these are?”