The Alexandria Link

SIXTY-ONE

CAMP DAVID, MARYLAND

STEPHANIE REGISTERED THE PRESIDENT’S WORDS. “WHAT DO YOU mean your traitor?”

Daniels threw her a troubled look. “Someone in this government is messing with me. They’re advancing their own policies, furthering their own goals, thinking I’m either too lazy, too pathetic, or too dumb to know. Now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the ringleader. My so-called loyal vice president. He’s an ambitious sucker.”

“Mr. President-” she said.

“Now, that’s a first, too. Mr. President. Maybe we’re making some progress in our relationship.”

“I’ve had my reservations about you and this administration.”

“That’s the problem with career bureaucrats. Us politicians come and go. But you people stay, and stay, and stay. Which means you have lots to compare with. Unfortunately for me, Stephanie, you’re turning out to be right on this one. I’m surrounded by traitors. My vice president wants this job so bad he can’t stand it. And to get it, he’s willing to make a deal with the devil.” Daniels paused, and she did not interrupt his thoughts. “The Order of the Golden Fleece.”

Had she heard right?

“He’s there. Right now. Meeting with its head. A man named Alfred Hermann.”

She had seriously underestimated Danny Daniels. Just as she had Brent Green. Both men were quite informed. Cassiopeia rocked in her chair, but Stephanie could see she was listening closely. She’d told Cassiopeia about the Order.

“My father was a member,” Cassiopeia said.

That had not been mentioned earlier when they’d talked.

“For many years he and Henrik attended together. I chose not to continue the membership after his death.”

“Good move,” Daniels said. “That group has been linked to a number of global instabilities. And they’re good. No fingerprints anywhere. Of course, the key players usually end up dead. Like any good gang, they have an enforcement arm. A man called the Talons of the Eagle. Typical Europeans. A hired gun with a grand title. They’re the ones who took Malone’s boy.”

“And you’re just now telling us?”

“Yes, Stephanie, I am. One of the prerogatives of being the head of the free world is I can pretty much do what I damn well please.” He threw her a dissecting glance. “There’s a lot going on here. Happening fast. From several angles. I’ve done the best I can under the circumstances.”

She drew him back to the point. “What’s the vice president doing with the Blue Chair?”

“Blue Chair? Good to see you’re informed, too. I was hoping you were. The VP is selling his soul. That Order is after, of all things, the Library of Alexandria. They’re looking for proof of a theory, and though I thought the whole thing bizarre, apparently there’s more to it.”

“What do the Israelis say?” Cassiopeia asked.

“They don’t want anything found. Period. Leave it alone. Seems the Order has been squeezing the Saudi royal house for decades and now they’ve decided to just swirl everything up. Get the Jews and Arabs all riled. Not a bad play, actually. We’ve been known to do the same thing. But this will escalate. Fanatics are impossible to predict, whether they be Arab, Israeli-” He paused. “-or American.”

“What do you want me to do?” Stephanie asked.

“Let me tell you something else you don’t know. Cotton made a second call back to Green. He needed a favor. So Green approved a military airlift for Malone, his ex-wife, and a third man to, if you can believe it, the Sinai. They’re in transit now. Our guess is that this third man is the Order’s hired gun. Malone also requested an ID check from Green-which, by the way, the attorney general ignored. No inquiries at all. So we checked. The name Cotton gave was James McCollum. The description doesn’t match, but there was a guy by that name who’s ex-army, special forces, now a freelance mercenary. Seems to have the right résumé to work for the Order, wouldn’t you say?”

“How did he get connected with Malone?” Cassiopeia said.

Daniels shook his head. “Don’t know, but I’m glad Cotton’s the one with him. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to help.”

“We could radio that transport,” Cassiopeia said.

The president shook his head. “No way. We can’t let anyone know we’re in the loop. I want my traitors. And to get them we have to remain silent.”

“And the finalists are,” she said, “Larry Daley and Brent Green.”

Daniels cocked his head. “The winner of that contest gets an all-expense-paid trip straight to federal prison. After I personally kick his ass.”

His habit of command seemed to return.

“You two are all I have to find out the answer to the question of the day. I can’t involve any other agency for obvious reasons. I allowed all this to stay in motion so you’d have an opportunity. Stephanie, I knew you were on to Daley, but thankfully you didn’t act on him. Now we need to find the truth.”

“You actually think the attorney general is involved?” Cassiopeia asked.

“I have no idea. Brent plays that holier-than-thou act to perfection, and maybe he is a God-fearing Bible-toting Christian. But he’s also a man who doesn’t want to leave a position of power and influence to go be ”of counsel‘ window dressing at some Washington law firm. That’s why he stayed for the second term. Hell, everyone else jumped ship-polished up their résumés with all that juicy government experience and cashed in their contacts. Not Brent.“

She felt she needed to say, “He told me that he leaked the Alexandria Link, looking for the traitor himself.”

“Hell, maybe he did. I don’t know. What I do know is that my deputy national security adviser has been bribing Congress. My vice president is plotting with one of the richest men in the world. And two nations in the Middle East, which normally despise each other, are currently working together to stop a fifteen-hundred-year-old library from being found. That about sum it up, Stephanie?”

“Yes, Mr. President. We get the picture.”

“Then find my traitor.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

He smiled at the decisive nature of her question.

“I’ve given that a lot of thought. Let’s have something to eat, then the two of you get some sleep. Both of you look beat. You can rest here in safety.”

“This can’t wait till morning,” she said.

“Has to. You know what makes good grits? Not boiling. It’s the simmering in the pot, with the lid on and the heat down low. That’s what turns rough cornmeal into heaven. Now we’re going to let this simmer for a few hours, then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”