The man nodded and gave more instructions then said, 'The tour group is out and in the buses. The house is empty, except for you.'
'And him,' Davis said, moving off.
The guard wasn't armed. Too bad. But she did notice in his shirt pocket one of the brochures she'd seen others in the tour group carrying. She pointed. 'Is there a sketch of this floor in there?'
The guard nodded. 'One of all four floors.' He handed it to her.'This is the basement. Recreation, kitchens, servants' quarters, storage. Lots of places to hide.'
Which she didn't want to hear. 'Call the local police. Get them over here. Then cover this stairway. This guy could be dangerous.'
'You don't know for sure?'
'That's the whole problem. We don't know crap.'
MALONE SAW A BOOK INSIDE THE BAG AND A PALE BLUE ENVELOPE protruding near its center. He reached in and removed the book.
'Lay the bag on the floor,' he said, and he gently rested the book atop, grabbing his light.
Christl slipped the envelope free and opened it, finding two sheets of paper. She unfolded them. Both were filled by a heavy masculine script-German-in black ink.
'It's Grandfather's writing. I've read his notebooks.'
STEPHANIE HURRIED AFTER DAVIS AND CAUGHT UP TO HIM WHERE the basement corridors offered a choice, one angling left, the other straight ahead. Glass-fronted doors opened off the path ahead into what looked like food pantries. She quickly checked the map. At the end of the hall she identified the main kitchen.
She heard a noise. From their left.
The schematic in the pamphlet indicated that the path ahead led to servants' bedrooms and did not connect with any other portion of the basement. A dead end.
Davis headed down the long corridor to their left, toward the noise.
They passed through an exercise room with parallel bars, barbells, medicine balls, and a rowing machine. To their right they found the indoor swimming pool, everything, including the vault overhead, white-tiled, with no windows, only harsh electric light. No water filled the deep shiny basin.
A shadow swept across the pool room's other exit.
They rounded the railed walk, Davis leading the way.
She checked the map. 'This is the only way out from the rooms beyond. Besides the main staircase, but hopefully the security guards have that covered.'
'Then we've got him. He has to come back this way.'
'Or he's got us.'
Davis stole a quick look at the map, then they passed through a doorway and down a few short steps. He gave her the gun. 'I'll wait.' He pointed left. 'That hall loops all the way around and ends back here.'
A sick feeling filled her gut. 'Edwin, this is crazy.'
'Just flush him this way.' A tremor shook his right eye. 'I have to do this. Send him my way.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I'll be ready.'
She nodded, searching for the right words, but she understood his intense desire. 'Okay.'
He retreated up the stairs they'd come from.
She advanced to the left and, at the main staircase leading up, spotted another security guard. He shook his head to indicate that no one had come his way. She nodded and pointed that she was headed left.
Two meandering, windowless corridors led her into a long rectangular room filled with historical exhibits and black-and-white photographs. The walls were painted in a collage of colorful images. The Halloween Room. She'd recalled a mention in the pamphlet about how guests at a 1920s Halloween party painted the walls.
She spotted Chinos, on the far side, weaving through the exhibits, heading for the only other exit.
'Stop,' she yelled.
He kept moving.
She aimed and fired.
Her ears stung from the gun's retort. The bullet found one of the display placards. She wasn't trying to hit the man, only scare him. But Chinos lunged through the doorway and kept running.
She followed.
She'd caught only a fleeting glance of the man, so it was impossible to know if he was armed.
She passed through a recreation room and entered a bowling alley, two lanes equipped with wood planking, balls, and pins. Had to be quite a convenience in the late nineteenth century.
She decided to try something.
'What's the point in running?' she called out. 'There's nowhere to go. The house is sealed.'
Silence.
Small dressing rooms opened to her left, one door after another. She imagined proper ladies and gentleman a hundred years ago changing into recreation clothes. The corridor ahead ended back where Davis waited near the swimming pool. She'd already made the loop.
'Just come on out,' she said. 'You're not getting to leave here.'
She sensed he was near.
Suddenly, twenty feet away, something appeared from one of the dressing rooms.
A bowling pin, propelled at her, swooshing through the air like a boomerang.
She ducked.
The pin thudded into the wall behind her and clattered away.
Chinos made his escape.
She recovered her balance and darted forward. At the corridor's end she peered around. No one in sight. She rushed to the steps and climbed the risers back into the pool room. Chinos was across, at the shallow end, where the door for the exercise room opened, rushing away. She raised her gun and aimed for his legs. But before she could fire, Davis exploded from the doorway and tackled him. They slammed into the wooden railing that surrounded the pool, which instantly gave way, and the two bodies fell three feet into the pool's empty shallow end.
Flesh and bones smacked hard tile.
SIXTY-NINE
To my son, this may be the last sane act I ever do. My mind is rapidly slipping into a deep fog. I have tried to resist but with no success. Before my wits fully leave me, I must do this. If you are reading these words then you have successfully completed Charlemagne's pursuit. God bless you. Know that I am proud. I also sought and discovered the lasting heritage of our great Aryan ancestors. I knew they existed. I told my Fuhrer, tried to convince him that his vision of our past was inaccurate, but he would not listen. That greatest of kings, the man who first foresaw a unified continent, Charlemagne, knew well our destiny. He appreciated what the Holy Ones taught him. He knew they were wise and he listened to their counsel. Here, in this sacred earth, Einhard hid the key to the language of heaven. Einhard was taught by the High Adviser himself, and he safeguarded what he was privileged to know. Imagine my ecstasy, over a thousand years later, at being the first to know what Einhard knew, what Charlemagne knew, what we, as Germans, have to know. But not a single soul appreciated what I'd discovered. I was, instead, branded dangerous, deemed unstable, and forever silenced. After the war, no one cared about our German heritage. To speak the word Aryan was to invoke memories of atrocities no one wanted to recall. That sickened me. If they only knew. If they'd only seen. As I had. My son, if you have come this far it is because of what I told you of Charlemagne's pursuit. Einhard made clear that neither he nor the Holy Ones have any patience with ignorance. Neither do I, my son. You have provedme right and proven yourself worthy. Now you can know the language of heaven. Savor it. Marvel at the place from which we came.
'YOUR MOTHER SAID HERMANN CAME HERE THE SECOND TIME IN the early 1950s,' Malone said. 'Your father would have been in his thirties then?'
