The Charlemagne Pursuit

NINE

MALONE'S GAZE RAKED THE ROOM. EVERY DETAIL BECAME CRITICAL. An open doorway to his right drew his alarm, especially the unexplored darkness beyond.

"It's only us," his hostess said. Her English was good, laced with a mild German accent.

She motioned, and the woman from the cable car strutted toward him. As she approached he saw her caress the bruise on her face from where he'd kicked her.

"Perhaps I'll get the chance to return the favor one day," she said to him.

"I think you already have. Apparently, I've been played."

She smiled with clear satisfaction, then left, the door clanging shut behind her.

He studied the remaining woman. She was tall and shapely with ash-blond hair cut close to the nape of a thin neck. Nothing marred the creamy patina of her rosy skin. Her eyes were the color of creamed coffee, a shade he'd never seen before, and cast an allure that he found hard to ignore. She wore a tan rib-necked sweater, jeans, and a lamb's-wool blazer.

Everything about her screamed privilege and problem.

She was gorgeous and knew it.

"Who are you?" he asked, bringing out the gun.

"I assure you, I'm no threat. I went to a lot of trouble to meet you."

"If you don't mind, the gun makes me feel better."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. To answer your question, I'm Dorothea Lindauer. I live near here. My family is Bavarian, with ties back to the Wittelsbachs. We're Oberbayer. Upper Bavarian. Connected to the mountains. We also have deep ties to this monastery. So much that the Benedictines grant us liberties."

"Like killing a man, then leading the killer to their sacristy?"

The skin between Lindauer's eyebrows creased. "Among others. But that is, you must say, a grand liberty."

"How did you know that I'd be on that mountain today?"

"I have friends who keep me informed."

"I need a better answer."

"The subject of USS Blazek interests me. I, too, have wanted to know what really happened. I assume you have now read the file. Tell me, was it informative?"

"I'm out of here." He turned for the door.

"You and I have something in common," she said.

He kept walking.

"Both of our fathers were aboard that submarine."

STEPHANIE PUSHED A BUTTON ON HER PHONE. SHE WAS STILL IN her office with Edwin Davis.

"It's the White House," her assistant informed through the speaker.

Davis kept silent. She immediately opened the line.

"Seems we're at it again," the booming voice said through both the handset she held and the speaker from which Davis listened.

President Danny Daniels.

"And what is it I did this time?" she asked.

"Stephanie, it would be easier if we could get to the point." A new voice. Female. Diane McCoy. Another deputy national security adviser. Edwin Davis' equal, and no friend of Stephanie's.

"What is the point, Diane?"

"Twenty minutes ago you downloaded a file on Captain Zachary Alexander, US Navy, retired. What we want to know is why naval intelligence is already inquiring about your interest, and why you apparently, a few days ago, authorized the copying of a classified file on a submarine lost thirty-eight years ago."

"Seems there's a better question," she said. "Why does naval intelligence give a damn? This is ancient history."

"On that," Daniels said, "we agree. I'd like that question answered myself. I've looked at the same personnel file you just obtained, and there's nothing there. Alexander was an adequate officer who served his twenty years, then retired."

"Mr. President, why are you involved in this?"

"Because Diane came into my office and told me we needed to call you."

Bullshit. No one told Danny Daniels what to do. He was a three-term governor and one-term senator who had managed twice to be elected president of the United States. He wasn't a fool, though some thought him so.

"Forgive me, sir, but from everything I've ever seen, you do exactly what you want to do."

"A perk of this job. Anyway, since you don't want to answer Diane's question, here's mine. Do you know where Edwin is?"

Davis waved his hand, signaling no.

"Is he lost?"

Daniels chuckled. "You gave that SOB Brent Green hell and probably saved my hide in the process. Balls. That's what you have, Stephanie. But on this one, we have a problem. Edwin's on a lark. He has some sort of personal thing going here. He grabbed a couple of days leave and took off yesterday. Diane thinks he came to see you."

"I don't even like him. He almost got me killed in Venice."

"The security log from downstairs," McCoy said, "indicates that he's in your building right now."

"Stephanie," Daniels said, "when I was a boy, a friend of mine told our teacher how he and his father went fishing and caught a sixty-five-pound bass in one hour. The teacher was no idiot and said that was impossible. To teach my buddy a lesson about lying, she told him how a bear came from the woods and attacked her, but was fended off by a tiny hound who beat the bear back with just a bark. 'You believe that?' the teacher asked. 'Sure,' my pal said, 'because that was my dog.' "

Stephanie smiled.

"Edwin's my dog, Stephanie. What he does gets run straight to me. And right now, he's in a stink pile. Can you help me out on this one? Why are you interested in Captain Zachary Alexander?"

Enough. She'd gone way too far, thinking she was only helping out first Malone, then Davis. So she told Daniels the truth. "Because Edwin said I should be."

Defeat flooded Davis' face.

"Let me speak to him," Daniels said.

And she handed over the phone.