The Venetian Betrayal

actually happened after Alexander died.”

“We know what happened,” he said. “His empire became the prey of his generals and they played finders- keepers with his body. Lots of differing accounts about how they each tried to highjack the funeral cortege. They all wanted the body as a symbol of their power. That’s why it was mummified. Greeks burned their dead. But not Alexander. His corpse needed to live on.”

“It’s what happened between the time when Alexander died in Babylon and when his body was finally transported back west that concerned the manuscript,” Cassiopeia said. “A year passed. A year that’s critical to the elephant medallions.”

A soft ring broke the room’s silence.

Malone watched as Henrik removed a phone from his pocket and answered. Unusual. Thorvaldsen hated the things, and especially detested people who talked on one in front of him.

Malone glanced at Cassiopeia and asked, “That important?”

Her expression stayed sullen. “It’s what we’ve been waiting for.”

“Why you so chipper?”

“You may not believe this, Cotton, but I have feelings, too.”

He wondered about the caustic comment. When she’d visited Copenhagen during Christmas, they’d spent a few pleasant evenings together at Christiangade, Thorvaldsen’s seaside home north of Copenhagen. He’d even given her a present, a rare seventeenth-century edition on medieval engineering. Her French reconstruction project, where stone by stone she was building a castle with tools and raw materials from seven hundred years ago, continued to progress. They’d even agreed that, in the spring, he’d come for a visit.

Thorvaldsen finished his call. “That was the thief from the museum.”

“And how did he know to call you?” Malone asked.

“I had this phone number engraved on the medallion. I wanted to make it perfectly clear that we’re waiting. I told him that if he wants the original decadrachm he’s going to have to buy it.”

“Knowing that, he’ll probably kill you instead.”

“We’re hoping.”

“And how do you plan to prevent that from happening?” Malone asked.

Cassiopeia stepped forward, her face rigid. “That’s where you come in.”

TWELVE

VIKTOR LAID THE PHONE BACK IN ITS CRADLE. RAFAEL HAD STOOD by the window and listened to the conversation.

“He wants us to meet in three hours. At a house north of town, on the coastal highway.” He held up the elephant medallion. “They knew we were coming-and for some time-to have this made. It’s quite good. The forger knew his craft.”

“This is something we should report.”

He disagreed. Minister Zovastina had sent him because he was her most trusted. Thirty men guarded her on a daily basis. Her Sacred Band. Modeled after ancient Greece ’s fiercest fighting unit, which fought valiantly until Philip of Macedonia and his son, Alexander the Great, slaughtered them. He’d heard Zovastina speak on the subject. The Macedonians were so impressed with the Sacred Band’s bravery that they erected a monument in their memory, which still stood in Greece. When Zovastina assumed power, she’d enthusiastically revived the concept. Viktor had been her first recruit, and he’d located the other twenty-nine, including Rafael, an Italian whom he’d found in Bulgaria, working for that government’s security forces.

“Should we not call Samarkand?” Rafael asked again.

He stared at his partner. The younger man was a quick, energetic soul. Viktor had come to like him, which explained why he tolerated mistakes that others would never be allowed. Like jerking that man into the museum. But maybe that hadn’t been a mistake after all?

“We can’t call,” he quietly said.

“If this becomes known, she’ll kill us.”

“Then we can’t let it become known. We’ve done well so far.”

And they had. Four thefts. All from private collectors who, luckily, kept their wares in flimsy safes or casually displayed. They’d masked each of their crimes with fires and covered their presence well.

Or, maybe not.

The man on the phone seemed to know their business.

“We’re going to have to solve this ourselves,” he said.

“You’re afraid she’ll blame me.”

A knot clenched in his throat. “Actually, I’m afraid she’ll blame us both.”

“I’m troubled, Viktor. You carry me too much.”

He threw his partner a self-deprecating expression. “We both messed this one up.” He fingered the medallion. “These cursed things are nothing but trouble.”

“Why does she want them?”

He shook his head. “She’s not one to explain herself. But it’s surely important.”

“I overheard something.”

He stared up into eyes alive with curiosity. “Where did you hear this something?”

“When I was detailed to her personal service, just before we left last week.”

They all rotated as Zovastina’s day-to-day guards. One rule was clear. Nothing heard or said mattered, only the Supreme Minister’s safety. But this was different. He needed to know. “Tell me.”

“She’s planning.”

He held up the medallion. “What does that have to do with these?”

“She said it did. To someone on the phone. What we’re doing will prevent a problem.” Rafael paused. “Her ambition is boundless.”

“But she’s done so much. What no one has ever been able to do. Life is good in central Asia. Finally.”

“I saw it in her eyes, Viktor. None of that’s enough. She wants more.”

He concealed his own anxiety with a look of puzzlement.

Rafael said, “I was reading a biography of Alexander that she mentioned to me. She likes to recommend books. Especially on him. Do you know the story of Alexander’s horse, Bucephalas?”

He’d heard Zovastina speak of the tale. Once, as a boy, Alexander’s father acquired a handsome horse that could not be broken. Alexander chastised both his father and the royal trainers, saying he could tame the animal. Philip doubted the claim, but after Alexander promised to buy the horse from his own funds if he failed, the king allowed him the chance. Seeing that the horse seemed frightened by his shadow, Alexander turned him to the sun and, after some coaxing, managed to mount him.

He told Rafael what he knew.

“And do you know what Philip told Alexander after he broke the horse?”

He shook his head.

“He said, ‘Look for a kingdom that matches your size, for Macedonia has not enough space for you.’ That’s her problem, Viktor. Her Federation is larger than Europe, but it’s not big enough. She wants more.”

“That’s not for us to worry about.”

“What we’re doing somehow fits into her plan.”

He said nothing in response, though he, too, was concerned.

Rafael seemed to sense his reluctance. “You told the man on the phone that we’d bring fifty thousand euros. We have no money.”

He appreciated the change in subject. “We won’t need any. We’ll get the medallion without spending anything.”

“We need to eliminate whoever is doing this.”

Rafael was right. Supreme Minister Zovastina would not tolerate errors.