The Alexandria Link

SEVENTY-NINE

SINAI PENINSULA

SABRE COULD NOT BELIEVE HIS GOOD FORTUNE. HE’D FOUND the Library of Alexandria. All around him were scrolls, papyri, parchments, and what the old man called codices-small, compact books, the pages brittle and brown, each one lying flat on the shelves beside the next, like bodies.

“Why is the air so fresh?” he wanted to know.

“Ventilation fans move the dry air from outside into here, where it’s cooled by the mountain. Another innovation added in recent decades. The Guardians before me were ingenious. They took their charge seriously. Will you?”

They stood in the third room, named Eternity, another mosaic hieroglyph-a squatting man, his arms raised like a referee signaling a touchdown-high on the wall. More shelved codices spanned its length, with narrow aisles in between. The Librarian had explained that these were books from the seventh century, just before the original Library at Alexandria was sacked for the final time by Muslims.

“Much was retrieved in the months leading up to that change in political rule,” the Librarian said. “These words exist nowhere else on this planet. Facts and events, what the world regards as history, would change if these were studied.”

He liked what he was hearing. It all translated into one thing-power. He needed to know more, and quickly. Malone may well have forced another Guardian to show him through the maze. But his adversary could also just wait until he came out. That seemed more logical. Sabre had marked each of the doors they’d taken with an X scratched into the stone. Finding his way out would be easy. Then he’d deal with Malone.

But first he needed to know what Alfred Hermann would have asked.

“Are there manuscripts here about the Old Testament?”

HADDAD WAS PLEASED THAT HIS GUEST HAD FINALLY COME TO the point of his visit. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to make this happen. After his faked death in London, he’d waited, the apartment wired for sound and video, and watched to see if anyone else came. Sure enough, the man holding a gun on him had found the information left on the computer and the audiotape.

At Bainbridge Hall, Haddad had then waited for Malone, since the material he’d stashed beneath his bed had pointed straight there. Sabre’s coming had been a bit of a surprise. His killing of the two men whom he’d sent into the mansion in the first place only confirmed the man’s ill intentions.

One of the Guardians had managed to follow Malone to the Savoy Hotel and witnessed a breakfast with Sabre. Then those same eyes had watched as the two, plus Malone’s ex-wife, boarded a flight to Lisbon. Since Haddad himself had fashioned the quest Malone was taking, he’d known exactly where the three were headed.

Which was why Adam and Eve were sent to Lisbon. To make sure that nothing prevented Malone and his new ally from making their way to the Sinai.

Haddad had thought the threat would be from governments-Israeli, Saudi, or American. But now he realized the greatest danger was from the man standing two meters away. He hoped Sabre was working for himself. And watching the expectancy in the other man’s words and actions, he was now sure that the threat was containable.

“We have many texts concerning the Bible,” he said. “That was a subject the library took a great interest in studying.”

“The Old Testament. In Hebrew. Are there manuscripts here?”

“Three. Two supposedly copied from earlier texts. One an original.”

“Where?”

He motioned to the doorway from which they’d entered. “Two rooms back. The Room of Province. If you intend to be the Librarian, you’re going to have to learn where materials are stored.”

“What do those Bibles say?”

He feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen letters. From Jerome and Augustine. They talk of the Old Testament being changed. That the translations were altered. There were other invitees, four, who studied that, too. One, a man five years ago, a Palestinian, who said that the Old Testament was a record of the Jews not in Palestine, but somewhere else in Saudi Arabia. What do you know about that?”

“A great deal. And those men are correct. The translations of the accepted Bible are wrong. The Old Testament is indeed a record of the Jews in a place other than Palestine. West Arabia, in fact. I have read many manuscripts here in the library that prove the point. I have even seen maps of ancient Arabia that indicate biblical locations.”

The gun came level and pointed straight at him. “Show me.”

“Unless you’re capable of reading Hebrew or Arabic, they will mean nothing.”

“One more time, old man. Show me or I’ll kill you and take my chances with your employees.”

He shrugged. “Simply trying to be helpful.”

SABRE HAD NO IDEA IF THE SHEETS AND CODICES SPREAD OUT before him were what Alfred Hermann sought. It didn’t matter. He intended to control everything around him.

“These are treatises written in the second century by philosophers who studied at Alexandria,” the Librarian said. “The Jews were just then beginning to become a political force in Palestine, asserting their supposed ancient presence, preaching an entitlement to the land. Sound familiar? These scholars determined that there was no ancient presence. They studied the Hebrew texts of the Old Testament, which the library maintained, and determined that the stories, as told at the time orally by the Jews, were far different in the texts, especially the oldest ones. Seems that as time progressed, the stories became more and more adapted to the Jews’ then homeland, which had become Palestine. They’d simply forgotten their past in Arabia. If not for place-names, which remained constant, and the Old Testament written in its original Hebrew, that history would have never been discovered.”

The Librarian pointed at one of the codices.

“That one is much later. Fifth century. When Christians decided they wanted the Old Testament to be included in their Bible. This treatise makes clear the translations were altered to conform the Old with the emerging New Testament. A conscious attempt to fashion a message using history, religion, and politics.”

Sabre stared at the books.

The Librarian motioned to another stack of parchments contained within a clear plastic container. “This is the oldest Bible we have. Written four hundred years before Christ. All in Hebrew. The world has nothing like this. I believe the oldest Bible, outside this room, dates from nine hundred years after Christ. Is this what you seek?”

Sabre said nothing.

“You’re an odd man,” the Librarian suddenly said.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know how many invitees have ventured here? Many thousands throughout the centuries. Our guest book is impressive. It started in the twelfth century with Averroës, the Arabic philosopher who wrote critically of Aristotle and challenged Augustine. He studied here. Those Guardians decided the time had come to share this knowledge, but selectively. Many of the names no one would recognize-just men and women of exceptional intelligence who came to the Guardians’ attention. Minds that made their own individual contributions to our knowledge. In the days before radio, television, and computers, Guardians lived in major cities, always on the watch for invitees. Thomas Aquinas, Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Poussin, Chaucer-men like that have all stood in this room. Montaigne wrote his Essays here. Francis Bacon conceived his famous statement I take all knowledge for my province here, in the Room of Province.”

“Is all that supposed to mean something to me?”

The old man shrugged. “I’m trying to explain your charge. You say you want to be the Librarian. If so, you will be granted quite a privilege. Those in the past who have served met Copernicus and Kepler and Descartes. Robespierre. Benjamin Franklin. Even Newton himself. All those learned souls benefited from this place, and the world benefited from their ability to comprehend and expand.”

“And none of them ever said they were here?”

“Why would they? We seek no credit. In that way they obtain the recognition. If we assisted them? That was our charge. Quite an accomplishment, it has been, to keep this alive. Can you carry on that tradition?”

Since he had no intention of allowing anyone else to see this place, he asked what he really wanted to know. “How many Guardians are there?”

“Nine. Our ranks are greatly depleted.”

“Where are they? I saw only two outside.”

“The monastery is large. They were about their duties.”

He motioned with the gun. “Let’s go back to the first room. I want to see something else.”

And the old man started walking.

He debated killing him here. But Malone should, by now, have figured out what was happening. He was either waiting at the other end of the maze or on his way through it.

Regardless, this old man would prove useful.