“That was two days ago. And by the way, how did you get here?”
“They had a ticket, already bought.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you nuts? What you did was give them a two-day head start.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she yelled. “You think I’m a complete idiot? They told me my phones were tapped and I was being watched. If I varied from their instructions, even a little, Gary was dead. They showed me a picture.” She caught herself and tears flowed anew. “His eyes…oh, his eyes.” She broke down again. “He was scared.”
His chest throbbed and his temples burned. He’d intentionally left behind a life of daily danger to find something new. Had that life now hunted him down? He grabbed the edge of the desk. It would do no good for both of them to fall apart. If whoever
The laptop dinged.
His gaze shot to the screen’s lower-right corner: RECEIVING MAIL. Then he saw GREETINGS appear on the FROM line and YOUR SON’S LIFE noted as the subject. He maneuvered the cursor and opened the e-mail.
YOU HAVE SOMETHING I WANT. THE ALEXANDRIA LINK. YOU HID IT AND YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON ON EARTH WHO KNOWS WHERE TO FIND IT. GO GET IT. YOU HAVE 72 HOURS. WHEN YOU HAVE IT, HIT THE NUMBER 2 BUTTON ON THE PHONE. IF I DON’T HEAR FROM YOU AT THE END OF 72 HOURS, YOU WILL BE CHILDLESS. IF DURING THAT TIME YOU SCREW WITH ME, YOUR SON WILL LOSE A VITAL APPENDAGE. 72 HOURS. FIND IT AND WE’LL TRADE.
Pam was standing behind him. “What’s the Alexandria Link?”
He said nothing. He couldn’t. He was indeed the only person on earth who knew, and he’d given his word.
“Whoever sent that message knows all about it. What is it?”
He stared at the screen and knew there’d be no way to trace the message. The sender, like himself, surely knew how to use black holes-computer servers that randomly routed e-mails through an electronic maze. Not impossible to follow, but difficult.
He stood from the chair and ran a hand through his hair. He’d meant to get a haircut yesterday. He worked the sleep from his shoulders and sucked a few deep breaths. He’d earlier slipped on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that hung open, exposing a gray undershirt, and he was suddenly chilled by fear.
“Dammit, Cotton-”
“Pam, shut up. I have to think. You’re not helping.”
“I’m not helping? What the-”
The cell phone rang. Pam lunged for it, but he cut her off and said, “Leave it.”
“What do you mean? It could be Gary.”
“Get real.”
He scooped up the phone after the third ring and pushed TALK.
“Took long enough,” the male voice said in his ear. He caught a Dutch accent. “And please, no
Malone stayed silent, but he recalled something he learned long ago. Never let the other side set the bargain. “Stick it up your ass. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You take a lot of risks with your son’s life.”
“I see Gary. I talk to him. Then, I go.”
“Take a look outside.”
He rushed to the window. Four stories down Hojbro Plads was still quiet, except for two figures standing on the far side of the cobbled expanse.
Both silhouettes shouldered weapons.
Grenade launchers.
“Don’t think so,” the voice said in his ear.
Two projectiles shot through the night and obliterated the windows below him.
Both exploded.
TWO
VIENNA, AUSTRIA
2:12 AM
THE OCCUPANT OF THE BLUE CHAIR WATCHED AS ONE CAR DEPOSITED two occupants under a lighted porte cochere. Not a limousine or anything overtly pretentious, just a European sedan of muted color, a common sight on busy Austrian roads. The perfect means of transportation to avoid attention from terrorists, criminals, police, and inquisitive reporters. One more car arrived and deposited its passengers, then headed off to wait among the dark trees in a paved lot. Two more appeared a few minutes later. The Blue Chair, satisfied, left his second- floor bedchamber and descended to ground level.
The meeting convened in the usual place.
Five gilded, straight-backed armchairs rested atop a Hungarian carpet in a wide circle. The chairs were identical except for one, which sported a royal blue scarf across its cushioned back. Next to each chair stood a gilded table that supported a bronze lamp, a writing pad, and a crystal bell. To the left of the circle a fire bristled inside a stone hearth, its light dancing nervously across the ceiling murals.
A man occupied each chair.
They were designated in descending order of seniority. Two of the men still possessed their hair and health. Three were balding and frail. All were at least seventy years old and dressed in sedate suits, their dark chesterfields and gray homburgs hanging on brass racks off to one side. Behind each stood another man, younger-the Chair’s successor, present to listen and learn but not to be heard. The rules were long standing. Five Chairs, four Shadows. The Blue Chair was in charge.
“I apologize for the late hour, but some disturbing information arrived a few hours ago.” The Blue Chair’s voice was strained and wispy. “Our latest venture may be in jeopardy.”
“Exposure?” Chair Two asked.
“Perhaps.”
Chair Three sighed. “Can the problem be solved?”
“I think so. But prompt action is needed.”
“I cautioned we should not interfere in this,” Chair Two sternly reminded, shaking his head. “Things should have been allowed to run their natural course.”
Chair Three agreed, as he had at the previous meeting. “Perhaps this is a signal that we should leave well enough alone. A lot can be said about the natural order of things.”
The Blue Chair shook his head. “Our last vote was contrary to such a course. The decision has been made, so we must adhere to it.” He paused. “The situation requires attention.”
“Completion would involve tact and skill,” Chair Three said. “Undue attention would defeat the purpose. If we intend to press forward, then I recommend we grant
The Talons of the Eagle.
Two others nodded.
“I’ve already done that,” the Blue Chair said. “I called this gathering because my earlier, unilateral action required ratification.”
A motion was made, hands raised.
Four to one, the matter was approved.
The Blue Chair was pleased.
