Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan. He never crossed the Pamirs into China. Instead, he veered south to India, where his conquests ended when his army revolted.” Ely pointed to the map. “The area here, between the Jaxartes and Oxus Rivers, Alexander conquered in 330 BCE. To the south was the land of Bactria. To the north Scythia.”
She instantly connected the dots. “That’s where Alexander learned about the draught from the Scythians.”
Ely seemed impressed. “That’s right. Samarkand existed then, in a region called Sogdiana, though the city itself was named Maracanda. Alexander established one of his many Alexandrias, here, calling it Alexandria Eschate, the Furthest. It was the city most east in his empire, and one of the last he founded.”
Ely traced his finger on the map and noted, with a pen, an X. “Klimax was a mountain, here, in what was once Tajikistan, now in the Federation. A place revered by the Scythians and, later, by Alexander, after he negotiated a peace with them. It was said that their kings were buried in these mountains, though no evidence of that has ever been found. The museum in Samarkand sent a couple of expeditions to look around, but found nothing. Pretty barren place, in fact.”
“It’s exactly where the scytale points,” Thorvaldsen said. “Have you been to the area?”
Ely nodded. “Two years ago. Part of an expedition. I’m told that a good bit of this is now privately owned. One of my colleagues at the museum said there’s a huge estate at the base of the mountain. A monstrous thing. Under construction.”
Stephanie recalled what Edwin Davis had told her about the Venetian League. Members were buying property, so she played a hunch. “Do you know who owns it?”
He shook his head. “No idea.”
“We need to go,” Thorvaldsen said. “Ely, can you lead us there?”
The younger man nodded. “It’s about three hours south.”
“How are you feeling?”
Stephanie realized what the Dane meant.
“She knows,” Thorvaldsen said. “Ordinarily, I would have never said a thing, but these are far from ordinary times.”
“Zovastina has been supplying my daily medications. I told you she’s been good to me. How’s Cassiopeia?”
Thorvaldsen shook head. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid her health may well be the least of her worries.”
A car engine grew louder outside.
Stephanie stiffened and raced to the window. A man slid out of an Audi with an automatic rifle.
“My guard,” Ely said over her shoulder. “From the village.”
The man shot out the tires on their car.
SEVENTY-TWO
SAMARKAND
CASSIOPEIA WAS HAVING TROUBLE GAUGING ZOVASTINA.
“I was just visited by the deputy national security adviser to the American president. He told me the same thing you said at the airport. That I missed something in Venice and that you know what that is.”
“And you think this is going to get me to tell you?”
Zovastina admired the two stout trees, their trunks held close to the ground by a coiled rope. “I had this clearing prepared years ago. Several have felt the agony of being torn apart alive. A couple of them actually survived their arms being ripped from their bodies. It took a few minutes for them to bleed to death.” She shook her head. “Horrible way to leave this world.”
Cassiopeia was helpless. Little she could do but try and bluff her way out. Viktor, who was supposedly here to help, had done nothing but make her situation worse.
“After Hephaestion died, Alexander killed his personal physician this same way. I thought it ingenious, so I resurrected the practice.”
“I’m all you have,” she said in a flat tone.
Zovastina seemed curious. “Really? And what is it you have?”
“Apparently, Ely didn’t share with you what he did with me.”
Zovastina stepped close. She was a muscular woman, sallow-faced. Worrisome was the transient look of madness that occasionally revealed itself in anxious dark eyes. Especially now, when her guts were being stoked with both curiosity and anger. “Do you know the
“You brought me.”
“You never resisted.”
“You risked a lot coming to Venice. Why? It couldn’t be all political.”
She noticed that Zovastina’s eyes seemed a bit less belligerent.
“Sometimes we’re called upon to act for others. To risk things. No quest worth the effort is without risk. I’ve been searching for Alexander’s grave, hoping there might be answers there to some perplexing problems. Ely surely told you about Alexander’s draught. Who knows if there’s anything there? But to find the place. How glorious that would be.”
Zovastina spoke more in wonder than anger. She seemed genuinely moved by the thought. On the one hand she cast herself a foolish romantic, consumed with notions of greatness gained from dangerous quests. On the other, according to Thorvaldsen, she was plotting the death of millions.
Zovastina clamped Cassiopeia’s chin in a strong hold. “You need to tell me now what you know.”
“The priest lied to you. In the basilica’s treasury is an amulet that was found in the remains of St. Mark. A heart scarab with a phoenix carved into it. Remember the riddle.
Zovastina seemed not to hear her. “You are beautiful.” Her breath stank of onion. “But you’re a liar and a cheat. Here to deceive me.”
Zovastina released her grip and stepped away.
Cassiopeia heard the bleating of goats.
MALONE MOUNTED THE HORSE.
“None of the roof guards will pay us any attention,” Viktor said. “You’re with me.”
Viktor hopped back onto his ride. “They’re beyond the playing field, in the woods. She’s planning on killing Vitt.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Viktor kicked his horse. Malone followed.
They galloped from the corral toward an open field. He noticed striped poles at each end and an earthen pan in its center and knew what was played here.
He glanced back and noticed gun posts atop the palace. As Viktor had predicted, no one seemed alarmed, surely accustomed to their Supreme Minister’s exploits. Ahead, at the far end of the field, stood a thick stand of trees. Two paths cut a route into them. Viktor brought his horse to a stop. Malone reined his in, too. His legs dangled against dark streaks of sweat on the animal’s flanks.
