Pam scrolled down, and he read that it was one of Portugal’s best-known monuments, often referred to as the Jeronimos Monastery. Many of the country’s greatest figures, including its kings and queens, were entombed there.
“Why did this show up?” he asked Pam.
She clicked on a link.
“I typed in several key words and the search engine pointed straight here. In 1498, when da Gama returned from his voyage after discovering the route to India, the Portuguese king granted funds for the building of the monastery. The Order of St. Jerome took possession of the site in 1500, and the foundation stone was laid on January 6, 1501.”
He knew the significance of that date from his childhood. His mother had been Catholic and they’d attended church regularly, especially after his father died. January 6. The Feast of the Epiphany.
What had Haddad written in his journal?
“The main chapel at the monastery,” Pam said, “was eventually dedicated to St. Jerome. Cotton, you remember what Haddad said about him.”
He did. An early church father who, in the fourth century, translated many scriptural texts into Latin, including the Old Testament.
“There’s a link to more on Jerome,” she said, and the screen changed with another click of the mouse.
They all three read. Malone saw it first. “He’s the patron saint of libraries. Looks like this quest starts in Lisbon.”
“Not bad, Malone.”
“We earn our keep?”
“Like I said, I’m lousy with puzzles. You two seem good at them. But the rest is tougher.”
He grinned. “How about we take a stab at it together and see where it leads?”
FORTY-FOUR
VIENNA
1:00 PM
THORVALDSEN STEPPED FROM THE BATHROOM AND WATCHED Gary unpack. Other than what he’d been wearing when he was kidnapped a few days ago, the boy had no clothes. So yesterday Jesper had made a trip into Copenhagen and purchased a few things.
“This house is old, isn’t it?” Gary asked.
“Built many generations ago, like Christiangade.”
“Lots of old stuff in Europe. Not like back home.”
He grinned. “We have been around a bit longer.”
“Great room.”
He, too, thought the accommodations interesting. On the second floor. Near their host. A first for him. A dainty chamber with feminine furnishings that surely once belonged to a woman of taste.
“Do you like history?” he asked.
Gary shrugged. “Not until the past two summers. It’s a lot more interesting here, when you see it.”
He decided it was time to tell the boy their situation. “What did you think of our host and his daughter?”
“Not all that friendly. But they seem to like you.”
“I’ve known Alfred a long time, but I’m afraid he’s plotting something.”
Gary sat on the bed.
“I think he may have been behind your abduction.”
He watched as the boy began to realize their predicament. “You sure?”
He shook his head. “That’s why we’re here. To find out.”
“I want to know, too. Those men upset my mother, and I don’t like that.”
“You afraid?”
“You wouldn’t have brought me if I was in danger.”
He liked the answer. This lad was smart. “You watched two men die. Few fifteen-year-olds can claim that. You okay?”
“The one Dad shot deserved what he got. He tried to take me away. Dad did what he had to. What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. But a lot of people will be here over the next few days. Powerful people. From them, I should be able to learn what we need to know.”
“This like a club or something?”
“You could say that. People with similar interests who come together to discuss those interests.”
On the bedside table his cell phone jangled. He stepped across and spied the number. Jesper. He pushed TALK.
“A call has come through. From Tel Aviv.”
“Then by all means let’s hear it.”
A few seconds later, after the connection was established, he heard a deep baritone voice say, “Henrik, what have you started?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy. When you called yesterday I was suspicious, but now I’m downright paranoid.”
He’d placed a call yesterday to the Israeli prime minister’s office. Since he donated millions to Jewish causes and financed a multitude of Israeli politicians, including the current prime minister, his call had not been ignored. He’d asked one simple question-what’s Israel’s interest in George Haddad? He’d purposely not talked directly with the prime minister, directing his inquiry through his chief of staff, who was now, he noticed, uneasy. So he asked, “Did you find an answer to my question?”
“The Mossad told us to mind our own business.”
“Is that how they speak to those in charge?”
“It is when they want us to mind our own business.”
“So you have no answer?”
“I didn’t say that. They want George Haddad dead and they want Cotton Malone stopped. Seems Malone and his ex-wife are presently on their way to Lisbon, and that’s after four people were killed last night west of London at a museum. Interestingly, the Brits know Malone was involved in those killings, but didn’t move on him. They let him walk right out of the country. Our side thinks that’s because the Americans green-lighted what he did. They think America is back in our business-where it concerns George Haddad.”
“How do your employees know any of that?”
“They have a direct line to Malone. They know exactly where and what he’s doing. In addition, they’ve been anticipating this for some time.”
“Seems like everyone is busy there.”
“To say the least. The prime minister and I value your friendship. You’re a patron of this nation. That’s why you’re getting this call. The Mossad is going to take Malone out. Agents are on the way to Lisbon. If you can warn him, do it.”
“I wish that were so, but I have no way.”
“Then may God look after him. He’s going to need it.”
The line clicked dead.
He pushed END.
“Problem?” Gary said.
He grabbed his composure. “Just a minor matter with one of my companies. I still have a business to run, you know.”
The boy seemed to accept the explanation. “You said we were here for some kind of club, but you never told
