Gideon bent over the computer and called up a new search. The term 'Pythagorean Order' brought a series of documents. The content wasn't that surprising. . .
'According to Aristotle, the Pythagorean Order, first to develop the science of mathematics, revered number as the origin of the cosmos. The Order, a religious cult founded in Croton on the coast of Italy around 530 BC, was founded by Pythagoras of Samos, a mathematician, philosopher, and religious leader.'
Gideon looked at the screen and said, 'Nolan said that they were almost a cult.'
'I'm not following you.'
'I'm talking about what every religious leader needs.' Gideon turned and looked at Ruth. 'Disciples.'
'Are you serious?'
Gideon took the article back and started hunting down some on-line telephone directories. 'She told you her beliefs; she doesn't seem shy about voicing them.'
'Yes, but I mean, they're off the wall. What are you talking about? A cult at MIT?'
Gideon started getting phone numbers matching the names in the article. He scribbled on the article as he paged through a series of names. 'Is it so unlikely that she'd manage to find people who'd give some kind of weight to her beliefs? Look at how she left MIT. She erased all the ongoing work at the ET Lab. Could she do it all herself? We're talking about the efforts of a dozen people. Wouldn't that require some complicity from the people who worked in the lab?'
'I'm certain that a few people supported her . . .'
'The only member of the ET Lab who's still there was the one tenured professor. Not a one ended up with a teaching position, or even continued their studies there past the demise of the lab.' Gideon shook his head. 'And I know at least one of those people is helping Zimmerman right now.' Gideon scribbled a final number and stood up. 'Come on, I need to get to a phone.'
Ruth stood up, and they started heading toward the end of the reading room. They had only gone a few feet when Gideon slowed to a stop. There were two men standing at the end of the room in front of them, both converging on the exit.
Gideon turned around to head toward the other end of the room, and another set of doors. At that end of the room, there were two others. A pair of guys, one who'd been sitting at a terminal, another who had been reading at a table—both were just standing.
Gideon had been keeping an eye out for people who were out of place. But these guys hadn't been. They'd been filtering into the reading room, one at a time, over the past half hour. They were all dressed differently, one was in a suit, another in jeans and a flannel shirt, another in Dockers and a turtleneck. Gideon kept turning and Ruth gripped his arm.
Everyone who had been in the room with them—reading or perusing the computer network—they were all standing, facing the two of them. Gideon put an arm around Ruth, as if he could protect her from the people surrounding them.
Of the people surrounding them, one of the two or three women stepped up toward them. She wore a navy suit and Gideon found himself looking for where the gun was holstered. She stopped about twenty feet away.
'Gideon Malcolm, Ruth Zimmerman?' she asked. It was just barely a question.
'Who are you?' Gideon asked.
'Tracy Davis, I'm a federal agent. I'm a negotiator.'
'Can I see an ID?'
Davis obliged by pulling one out and opening it for him. Gideon looked and noted, with some irony, that she was Secret Service.
'What's to negotiate?' Gideon said. 'You have us surrounded.'
'I'm going to try and make sure no one gets hurt.' Davis smiled weakly, and Gideon could tell, by looking in her eyes, that she was unsure how this was gong to go down. They were treating this like a hostage situation, which suddenly made Gideon feel very nervous.
'No one's going to get hurt,' Gideon said. He said it to reassure Ruth and himself as much as the folks surrounding them. 'I'm letting her go now, okay?'
He waited for Davis to say, 'Okay,' before he started moving, very slowly. Right now there was no doubt in his mind that there were snipers in place somewhere beyond the arched windows that overlooked the reading room. None of whom he wanted to spook.
Once his arm was free and Ruth was standing beside him, he held his hands out in front of him. He said, 'I have a gun in my pocket. Are people going to be nervous if I hand it over?'
Davis pulled out a walkie-talkie that was the size of a small cellular phone. She spoke quietly back and forth for a few moments, then she said, 'Is it in your jacket?'
Gideon nodded.
'What you want to do is take off the jacket and toss it over here by me.'
At this point, Ruth said, 'What's going on?'
Gideon shook his head as he Slowly began removing his jacket. 'You wanted to talk to the Feds? Here they are.'
They were both cuffed by the Feds and led out of the library. As they took him out, Gideon had a good look at how serious they were. As they passed out of the reading room, they entered a hallway that was filled with NYPD guys in ballistic helmets and flak jackets.
When they stepped out on to Fifth Avenue, the street had turned into a parking lot for cop cars, sedans, and two SWAT team vans. Gideon saw press crews, but they were so far away that he doubted that they could see anything.
Davis handed him off to a dark guy in a suit, and he hustled him into one of the sedans. The last Gideon saw of Ruth, she was shoved into the back of a different sedan. Gideon asked the driver, 'So, what federal agency are you with?'
The guy didn't answer him. He stared straight ahead, and Gideon could only get a good view of his crew cut and a strip of his face in the rearview mirror. Gideon looked over the man's shoulder, at his hands. He saw an academy ring.
'Marine, huh?'
'I'm not permitted to speak with you, sir.'
Gideon kept trying to get the guy to talk, but true to his word, the Marine didn't say a single word more. Eventually, he drove off, following two other sedans down Fifth. They were the first cars to leave the scene.
Gideon expected the reporters to converge, but the cops held the press, and everyone else, away from the small motorcade. As they left, Gideon looked back and saw what had to be a staged disturbance at the front of the library. Several men were being escorted by the NYPD cops, kicking and struggling, despite being chained and carried between four cops in riot gear. Designed to draw attention away from the anonymous sedans.
3.00 Mon. Mar. 22
COLONEL Mecham was glad to get out of Washington. The wrath of Emmit D'Arcy was not something that he wanted to face. He was fortunate in that D'Arcy, at the moment, was embroiled in a feud with the other members of the National Security Council, the ones who'd made the decision to pull the plug on Detective Gideon Malcolm, D'Arcy's loose cannon.
Mecham agreed that the plug needed to be pulled. It was pretty obvious that, due to the IUF's involvement, they'd already lost three people that could have been some source of intelligence. Mecham was certain that they could get more information from Detective Gideon Malcolm by bringing him in than by allowing him to stir things up.
Mecham landed at JFK at six in the morning. He walked off the plane, through the airport, and straight to the lobby where the car was waiting for him. The man waiting for him came to attention. Mecham nodded acknowledgement to the young Marine and said, 'At ease, soldier.'
'Yes, sir.'
