restraint.
Out of the woods, another horse approached. A tall, gangly steed atop which rode Irina Zovastina. The Supreme Minister was dressed in leather boots and a quilted leather jacket. She surveyed the scene, dismissed Viktor and the other men, then dismounted.
“Just you and me,” Zovastina said.
VIKTOR SPURRED THE HORSE AND RACED BACK TO THE STABLES. AS soon as he’d arrived at the palace, Zovastina had ordered him to prepare the trees. It was not the first time. Three years ago she’d similarly executed a man who’d plotted revolution. No way to convert him, so she’d tied him between the trunks, brought his coconspirators to watch, then slashed the bindings herself. His body had been ravaged as the trees righted themselves, part of him dangling from one, the rest from the other. Afterward, his compatriots had been easily converted.
The horse galloped into the corral.
MALONE WAITED IN THE TACK ROOM. VIKTOR HAD SMUGGLED him into the palace inside the trunk of a car. No one had questioned or searched the chief of the guard. Once the car was parked in the palace garage, he’d slipped out and Viktor had provided him with palace credentials. Only Zovastina would recognize him and, with Viktor as his escort, they’d easily walked to the stables, where Viktor said he could wait in safety.
He did not like anything about this situation. Both he and Cassiopeia were at the mercy of a man they knew nothing about, besides Edwin Davis’ assurance that Viktor had, so far, proven reliable. He could only hope that Davis would confuse Zovastina enough to buy them time. He still carried his gun and he’d sat patient for the past hour. No sounds came from outside the door.
The stables themselves were magnificent, befitting the supreme leader of a massive Federation. He’d counted forty bays when Viktor had first brought him inside. The tack room was equipped with a variety of quality saddles and expensive equipment. He was no expert rider, but knew how to handle a horse. The room’s one window opened to the stable’s rear, and offered no view.
Enough. Time to act.
He drew his gun and opened the door.
No one in sight.
He turned right and headed for the open barn doorway at the far end, passing stalls accommodating some impressive-looking steeds.
He spotted a rider, beyond the doors, racing straight for the stables. He shifted and hugged the wall, approaching the exit, gun ready. Hooves ground to a halt and he heard the coarse exhales of the horse, exhausted from the gallop.
The rider slid from the saddle.
Feet pounded the earth.
He readied himself. A man rushed inside, then stopped abruptly and turned. Viktor.
“You don’t follow instructions well. I told you to stay in the tack room.”
He lowered the gun. “Needed some air.”
“I ordered this place cleared, but somebody might still have come out.”
He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “What’s happening?”
“It’s Vitt. She’s in trouble.”
SEVENTY-ONE
STEPHANIE WATCHED THORVALDSEN CLAMP ELY LUND IN A FERVENT embrace, like the affection of a father who’d found a lost son.
“It’s so wonderful to see you,” Thorvaldsen said. “I thought you were gone.”
“What in the world are you doing here?” Ely asked, amazement in his voice.
Thorvaldsen seemed to recover his composure and introduced Stephanie.
“Ely,” she said, “we’re kind of like an Egyptian mummy. Pressed for time. Lots happening. Can we talk?”
He led them both inside. The cabin was a dull place, sparsely furnished with lots of books, magazines, and papers. She noticed nothing electrical.
“No power here,” he said. “I cook with gas and heat with wood. But there’s clean water and lots of privacy.”
“How did you get here?” Thorvaldsen asked. “Is Zovastina holding you?”
A puzzled look came to the man’s face. “Not at all. She saved my life. She’s been protecting me.”
They listened as Ely explained how a man had barged into his Samarkand house and held him at gunpoint. But before anything had happened, another man saved him, killing the first. Then, his house was burned with the attacker inside. Ely had been taken to Zovastina, where she explained that her political enemies had targeted him. He was secretly brought to the cabin, where he’d remained the past few months. Only a solitary guard, who lived in the village, came to check on him twice a day and brought supplies.
“The guard has a mobile phone,” Ely said. “That’s how Zovastina and I communicate.”
Stephanie needed to know, “You told her about Ptolemy’s riddle? About elephant medallions and Alexander’s lost tomb?”
Ely grinned. “She loves to talk about it. The
She could see that Ely had no conception of what was happening, of the danger all of them, including him, were in. “Cassiopeia is Zovastina’s prisoner. Her life could be at stake.”
She saw all of the confidence leave him. “Cassiopeia’s here? In the Federation? Why would the Supreme Minister want to harm her?”
“Ely,” Thorvaldsen said, “let’s just say that Zovastina is not your savior. She’s your jailer, though she’s constructed a clever jail-one that kept you contained without much effort.”
“You don’t know how many times I wanted to call Cassiopeia. But the Supreme Minister said we needed secrecy right now. I might place others in jeopardy, including Cassiopeia, if I involved them. She assured me all this would be over soon, and I could call who I wanted and go back to work.”
Stephanie decided to get to the point. “We solved Ptolemy’s riddle. We found a scytale that contained a word.” She handed him a square of paper upon which was written. “Can you translate it?”
“Klimax. Old Greek for ladder.”
“What possible significance could that have?” she asked.
He seemed to shake himself free of any speculation. “Is this in the context of the riddle?”
“It’s supposedly the place where the grave is located.
Ely seemed to grasp the enormity with no prompting. He stepped across to one of the tables and plucked a book from one of the stacks. He thumbed through, found what he was after, then flattened the volume on the table. She and Thorvaldsen stepped close and saw a map labeled “Alexander’s Bactrian Conquests.”
“Alexander swept eastward and took what is today Afghanistan and the Federation-what was once
