The Emperor's Tomb

TWENTY-TWO

ANTWERP

9:05 PM

CASSIOPEIA HUSTLED DOWN THE STREET SEARCHING FOR A place to hide. Three men had been following her since she’d left the hotel. Her left arm cradled the dragon lamp. She carried it carefully, nestled within a plastic bag, surrounded by balled paper.

Redbrick buildings and whitewashed houses surrounded her, all guarding a maze of empty cobbled streets. She rushed past a quiet square, the three men fifty meters behind. No one else could be seen. She could not allow them to take the lamp. Losing it meant losing Sokolov’s son.

“Over here,” she heard a voice say.

Across the street stood Cotton Malone.

“I got your message,” Cotton said. “I’m here.”

He was waving her toward him.

She ran, but when she made it to the corner he was gone.

The three men kept pace.

“Here.”

She stared down a narrow lane. Cotton was fifty meters away, still waving her forward.

“Cassiopeia, you’re making a mistake.”

She turned.

Henrik Thorvaldsen appeared.

“You can’t help him,” he said.

“I have the lamp.”

“Don’t trust him,” he said, and then the Dane was gone. Her eyes searched the street and buildings. The three men had not advanced closer and Cotton was still waving for her to come.

She ran.

Cassiopeia awoke.

She was lying on the park bench. Daylight had waned, the sky now the color of faded ink. She’d been asleep awhile. She glanced back, past the tree trunk. The Toyota remained parked and there were no police or loiterers in sight. She shook the grogginess from her brain. She’d been more tired than she realized. The gun lay beneath her shirt. The dream lingered in her mind.

Don’t trust him, Thorvaldsen had said.

Cotton?

He was the only other person there.

She was a good thirty-minute walk away from the Dries Van Egmond Museum. The jaunt would allow her to make sure no one was following. She tried to force her emotions to subside, her mind to stop questioning, but she couldn’t. Viktor Tomas’ appearance had unnerved her.

Was that who Henrik was referring to?

She spotted a water fountain, walked over, and savored a few long gulps.

She wiped her mouth and steadied herself.

Time to get this over with.

MALONE STEPPED OFF THE NATO CHOPPER AT A SMALL AIRFIELD north of Antwerp. Ivan followed Stephanie onto the tarmac. Stephanie had arranged the quick flight from Copenhagen. When they were clear of the blades, the helicopter departed back into the night sky.

Two cars awaited with drivers.

“Secret Service,” she told them. “Out of Brussels.”

Ivan had said little on the trip, just small talk about television and movies. The Russian seemed obsessed with American entertainment.

“All right,” Malone said. “We’re here. Where’s Cassiopeia?”

A third car approached from the far side of the terminal, passing rows of expensive private planes.

“My people,” Ivan said. “I must talk to them.”

The pudgy Russian waddled toward the car, which stopped. Two men emerged.

He stepped close to Stephanie and asked, “He has people here?”

“Apparently so.”

“Do we have any independent intelligence on this?” he quietly asked.

She shook her head. “Not enough time. It’ll be tomorrow, at the earliest, before I have anything.”

“So we’re bare-ass-to-the-wind, flying blind.”

“We’ve been there before.”

Yes, they had.

Ivan stepped back toward them, saying as he walked, “We have problem.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Malone muttered.

“Vitt is on the move.”

“How’s that a problem?” Stephanie asked.

“She escapes her captors.”

Malone was suspicious. “How do you know that?”

Ivan pointed at the two standing beside the car. “They watch and see.”

“Why didn’t they help her?” But he knew the answer. “You want her to lead you to the lamp.”

“This is intelligence operation,” Ivan said. “I have job to do.”

“Where is she?”

“Nearby. Headed for a museum. Dries Van Egmond.”

His anger grew. “How the hell do you know that?”

“We go.”

“No, we don’t,” Malone said.

Ivan’s face stiffened.

“I’m going,” Malone made clear. “Alone.”

Ivan’s haggard face cracked a smile. “I am warned of you. They say you are Lone Ranger.”

“Then you know to stay out of my way. I’ll find Cassiopeia.”

Ivan faced Stephanie. “You take over now? You think I allow that.”

“Look,” Malone said, answering for her. “If I go alone, I have a better chance of finding out what you want. You show up with the goon squad and you’re going to get zero. Cassiopeia is a pro. She’ll go to ground.”

At least he hoped so.

Ivan jabbed a forefinger at Malone’s chest. “Why do I trust you?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing about you.”

The Russian removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and clamped one between his lips. He found matches and lit the smoke. “I not like this.”

“Like I care what you like. You want the job done. I’ll get it done.”

“Okay,” Ivan said as he exhaled. “Find her. Get what we want.” He pointed toward the car. “Has navigation that can lead the way.”

“Cotton,” Stephanie said. “I’ll arrange a little privacy. The Antwerp police are aware of what’s happening. They just don’t know where. I have to assure them there will be no property destruction, besides maybe a broken window or door. Just get her and get out.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I realize it shouldn’t be a problem, but you have a reputation.”

“This isn’t a World Heritage Site, is it? I seem to destroy only those.”

“Just in and out, okay?”

He turned to Ivan. “Once I make contact, I’ll call Stephanie. But I’m going to have to gauge Cassiopeia. She may not want partners.”

Ivan raised a finger and pointed. “She might not want, but she gets partners. This matter is bigger than one four-year-old boy.”

“That’s exactly why you’re staying here. First time those words are uttered and she’s gone.”

He did not plan to make the same mistake he’d made in Paris with Thorvaldsen. Cassiopeia needed his help and he was going to give it to her. Unconditionally and with full disclosure.

And Ivan could go to hell.