“You don’t strike me as a man who bows to authority.”
“Neither do you.”
He thought about Avignon and what he and Stephanie had done there on a rainy June night.
“Then let’s find a place to hide till everyone leaves.”
STEPHANIE TIPTOED BACK INTO THE ALCOVE. SHE NEEDED TO find Daley’s hiding place before things climaxed upstairs. She hoped neither Dixon nor Daley was in a rush, though Daley had sounded hurried.
Cassiopeia was already quietly searching.
“The report said he never left this desk with the flash drives. He used them on his laptop, but didn’t leave with them. He’d always tell her to head on to the bedroom and he’d be right along.” Her words were more breath than voice.
“We’re really pushing it staying here.”
She stopped and listened. “Sounds like they’re still busy.”
Cassiopeia eased opened the desk drawers, testing for hiding places. But Stephanie doubted that she’d find anything. Too obvious. Her gaze again scanned the bookshelves and her eyes stopped at one of the political treatises, a thin, taupe-colored volume with blue lettering.
She recalled the story Daley had shared with Green when he’d boasted about his newfound authority with the Magellan Billet.
What was it he’d said?
She reached for the book, opened it, and discovered that the last third of the pages had been glued together; a cavity about a quarter inch deep had been hollowed out. Nestled inside were five flash drives, each labeled with a Roman numeral.
“How did you know?” Cassiopeia whispered.
“I’m actually frightened that I did. I’m beginning to think like the idiot.”
Cassiopeia started for the rear of the house, toward the back door, but Stephanie grabbed her arm and motioned for the front. Confusion stared back at her-an expression that questioned,
They stepped into the den, then the foyer.
An alarm keypad adjacent to the front door indicated that the system was still idle. She held Dixon’s gun.
“Larry,” she called out.
Silence.
“Larry. Could I have a moment?”
Footsteps thumped across the upper floor and Daley appeared in the bedroom doorway, pants on, bare- chested.
“Love the hair, Stephanie. New look? And the clothes. Catchy.”
“Just for you.”
“What are you doing here?”
She flashed the book. “Came for your stash.”
Alarm flooded Daley’s boyish face.
“That’s right. Time for you to sweat. And Heather?” Her voice rose. “I’m disappointed in your choice of lovers.”
Dixon paraded naked from the bedroom, sporting not even a hint of shame. “You’re dead.”
Stephanie shrugged. “That remains to be seen. At the moment I have
“What are you going to do?” Daley asked.
“Haven’t decided yet.” But she wanted to know, “You two been at this long?”
“It’s not your concern,” Dixon said.
“Just curious. I interrupted only to let you know that now there’s more to this game than just
“You apparently know quite a bit,” Daley said. “Who’s your friend?”
“Cassiopeia Vitt,” Dixon answered.
“I’m flattered you know me.”
“I owe you for the dart in the neck.”
“No need to thank me.”
“Back to bed for you two,” Stephanie said.
“I don’t think so.” Dixon started down the stairs, but Stephanie aimed the automatic. “Don’t push me, Heather. I’m recently unemployed and have a warrant out for my arrest.”
The Israeli stopped, perhaps sensing that this was not the time to challenge.
“The bedroom,” Stephanie said.
Dixon hesitated.
“Now.”
Dixon retreated to the top of the stairs. Stephanie gathered up the Israeli’s clothes, including her shoes. “You wouldn’t dare risk public exposure,” she said to Daley, “coming after us. But she might. This will at least slow her down.”
And they left.
FORTY-NINE
VIENNA
6:40 PM
THORVALDSEN DONNED THE CRIMSON VESTMENT. ALL MEMBERS were required to wear their robe during Assembly. The first session would begin at seven, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Too much talk, usually, and little action. He’d never needed a cooperative to accomplish his goals. But he enjoyed the fellowship that came after the gatherings.
Gary was sitting in one of the upholstered chairs.
“How do I look?” he asked in a jovial tone.
“Like a king.”
The regal robes were ankle-length, made of velvet and richly embroidered in gold thread with the Order’s motto,
He reached for the neck chain. Solid gold with a black enameled flint forming fire steels. An ornate golden fleece hung from its center.
“This is presented to each member when inducted. Our symbol.”
“Looks expensive.”
“It is.”
“This really important to you?”
He shrugged. “It’s something I enjoy. But it’s not like a religion.”
“Dad told me you’re Jewish.”
He nodded.
“I don’t know much about Jews. Only that millions were killed in World War II. It’s not something I really understand.”
“You’re not alone. Gentiles have wrestled with our existence for centuries.”
“Why do people hate Jews?”
He’d many times pondered that question-along with the philosophers, theologians, and politicians who’d debated it for centuries. “It started for us with Abraham. Ninety-nine years old when God visited him and made a
