its usual midday crowd. He, Pam, and Gary sat at an outdoor table, having just finished lunch. He and Pam had flown back from Egypt yesterday, after spending Saturday with the Guardians while they honored George Haddad.
He motioned for the check.
Thorvaldsen stood fifty yards away, supervising the remodeling of Malone’s shop, which had started last week while they were away. Scaffolding now embraced the four-story facade, and workers were busy inside and out.
“I’m going to tell Henrik goodbye,” Gary said, and the boy rushed from the table through the crowd.
“That was sad Saturday with George,” Pam said.
He knew there was still a lot on her mind. They hadn’t talked much about what had happened in the library.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I killed a man. He was a sorry piece of crap, but I still killed him.”
He said nothing.
“You stood up,” she said. “Faced him, knowing I was back there. You knew I’d shoot.”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d do. But I knew you’d do something, and that’s all I needed.”
“I’ve never fired a gun before. When Haddad gave it to me, he told me to just point and shoot. He knew I’d do it, too.”
“Pam, you can’t sweat it. You did what you had to.”
“Like you did all those years.” She paused. “I want to say something, and it’s not easy.”
He waited.
“I’m sorry. I really am, for everything. I never knew what you went through out there. I thought it was ego, macho male stuff. I just didn’t get it. But now I do. I was wrong. About a great many things.”
“That makes two of us. I’m sorry, too. For everything that went wrong all those years.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, I think that’s enough emotion for us both.”
He extended his hand. “Peace?”
She accepted the gesture. “Peace.”
But then she bent close and gently kissed him on the lips. He hadn’t expected that, and the sensation chilled his nerves.
“What was that for?”
“Don’t get any ideas. I think we’re both better off divorced, but that’s not to say I don’t remember.”
“So how about neither one of us forgetting?”
“Fair enough,” she said. After a pause she added, “What about Gary? What do we do? He needs to know the truth.”
He’d thought about that dilemma. “And he will. Let’s give it a little time and then we’ll all three have a talk. I’m not sure it’s going to matter much, from any of our points of view. But you’re right, he’s entitled to the truth.”
He paid the check and they walked over to Thorvaldsen and Gary.
“I’ll miss this boy,” Henrik said. “He and I make a good team.”
Malone and Pam had heard all about what happened in Austria.
“I think he’s had more than enough intrigue,” Pam said.
Malone agreed. “Back to school for you. Bad enough all the stuff you were into.” He saw that Thorvaldsen understood his meaning. They’d talked about that yesterday. And though he was upset at the thought of Gary tackling a man holding a gun, secretly he was proud. No Malone blood coursed through the boy’s veins, but enough of the father had seeped into the son to make him his in every way that counted. “Time for you guys to go.”
The three of them walked to where the square ended and Jesper waited with Thorvaldsen’s car.
“You had enough intrigue, too?” Malone asked Jesper.
The man only smiled and nodded. Thorvaldsen had said yesterday that two days with Margarete Hermann had been about all Jesper could stand. She’d been released on Saturday when Thorvaldsen and Gary flew back to Denmark. From what Thorvaldsen had said about Hermann, their father-daughter relationship was not to be envied. Blood did indeed tie them, but not much else.
He hugged his son and said, “I love you. Take care of your mother.”
“She doesn’t need me to do that.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
He faced Pam. “If you ever need me, you know where I am.”
“Same for you. If nothing else, we do know how to watch each other’s backs.”
They hadn’t told Gary about what had happened in the Sinai, and they never would. Thorvaldsen had agreed to take the Guardians under his wing and provide funds to maintain the monastery and library. Already plans were in the works to electronically archive the manuscripts. Also, some recruitment would occur and the Guardians’ ranks would be restored to a respectable number. The Dane had been thrilled at the prospect of aiding and was looking forward to visiting the site soon.
But it would all remain secret.
Thorvaldsen had assured Israel that the matter was contained and, with the United States likewise providing assurances, the Jews seemed satisfied.
Pam and Gary climbed into the car. Malone waved as the vehicle disappeared into traffic, headed for the airport. He then wove through the crowd to where Thorvaldsen watched as workmen cleared rubble from his building.
“All put to rest?” Henrik asked.
He knew what his friend meant. “That demon’s gone.”
“The past can really eat your soul.”
He agreed.
“Or be your best friend.”
He knew what Thorvaldsen meant. “It will be amazing to see what’s in that library.”
“No telling what treasures await.”
He watched men on the scaffolding as they steam-cleaned the sixteenth-century exterior of soot.
“It’ll look as good as it once did,” Thorvaldsen said. “Up to you to restore the inventory. Lots of books to buy.”
He was looking forward to it. That’s what he did. A bookseller. But there was a point to be made from the lessons he’d learned over the past few days. He considered again how all three Malones had been threatened, and what really mattered. He pointed to the building.
“None of this is all that important.”
The Dane cast him an understanding smile.
“It’s just stuff, Henrik. That’s all. Just stuff.”
WRITER’S NOTE
This book involved lots of travel. Trips were made to Denmark, England, Germany, Austria, Washington, DC, and Portugal. The basic concept was born during a dinner in Camden, South Carolina, when one of the hosts, Kenneth Harvey, asked me if I’d ever heard of a Lebanese scholar named Kamal Salibi. When I said no, Ken offered me four of Salibi’s books. About a year later the idea for this novel blossomed. As always, though, the final story is a blend of fact and fiction.
Now it’s time to know where the line was drawn.
As to the
The monument described in chapters 8 and 34 is based on an actual marble arbor that exists at Shugborough Hall in England. New agers and conspiratorialists have debated its meaning for decades. The press conference in chapter 8 actually happened at Shugborough Hall, and the offered interpretations of the monument are the ones the actual experts expounded. The concept of the Roman letters being a map is my invention.
As mentioned, the idea of the Old Testament being a record of ancient Jews in a place other than Palestine is
