The Alexandria Link

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 me what that has to do with me.”

“Actually, that’s an excellent question. Let me answer it as we walk. Come, I’ll show you the estate.”

ALFRED HERMANN HEARD THE DOOR TO HENRIK THORVALDSEN’S room close. The listening device installed in the bedchamber had worked perfectly. Margarete sat across from him as he switched off the speaker.

“That Dane is a problem,” she said.

Took her long enough to realize it. Clearly Thorvaldsen was here to probe, but he wondered about the phone call. His old friend had said little to indicate its nature, and he doubted that it had anything to do with business.

“Is he right?” Margarete said. “Did you take that boy?”

He’d allowed her to listen for a reason, so he nodded. “Part of our plan. But we also allowed him to be saved. At the moment Dominick is cultivating the seeds we planted.”

“The library?”

He nodded. “We think we have the trail.”

“And you plan to entrust Sabre with that information?”

“He’s our emissary.”

She shook her head in disgust. “Father, he’s a greedy opportunist. I’ve told you that for years.”

His patience ran out. “I didn’t allow you to learn what’s happening so that we could argue. I need your help.”

He saw that she’d caught the tension in his voice.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“Margarete, the world is a complicated place. You have to use the resources available. Focus. Help me deal with what is before us, and let Dominick worry about his part.”

She sucked a deep breath and slowly exhaled through clenched teeth, a habit she routinely employed when nervous. “What do you want me to do?”

“Wander the grounds. Casually run into Henrik. He thinks himself safe here. Make him feel that way.”