ASHEVILLE

YOU PUSHED SCOFIELD TOO HARD , STEPHANIE TOLD EDWIN Davis.

They were still sitting in the alcove. Outside, a glorious afternoon illuminated distant winter forests. To their left, toward the southeast, she caught a glimpse of the main chGteau a mile or so away, perched high on its own promontory.

Scofield's an ass, Davis said. He thinks Ramsey cares that he's kept his mouth shut all these years.

We don't know what Ramsey cares about.

Somebody is going to kill Scofield.

She wasn't so sure. And what do you propose we do about it?

Stick close to him.

We could take him into custody.

And lose our bait.

If you're right, is that fair to him?

He thinks we're idiots.

She didn't like Douglas Scofield, either, but that shouldn't factor into their decisions. There was one other thing, though. You realize, we still have no proof of anything.

Davis checked the clock across the lobby. I have to make a call.

He left his chair and approached the windows, nestling into a floral sofa ten feet away, facing away, toward outside. She watched him. He was both troubled and complex. Interesting to know, though, like her, he struggled with emotions. And he didn't like to talk about them, either.

Davis motioned for her to come closer.

She walked over and sat beside him.

He wants to talk to you again.

She cradled the cell phone to her ear, knowing exactly who was on the other end.

Stephanie, President Daniels said, this is growing complex. Ramsey has maneuvered Aatos Kane. The good senator wants me to bestow the Joint Chiefs position on Ramsey. There's no way in hell that's going to happen, but I didn't let Kane know that. I once heard an old Indian proverb. If you live in the river, then you should make friends with the crocodiles. Apparently, Ramsey is practicing that truism.

Or it may be the other way around.

Which is what really makes this complex. Those two haven't joined forces voluntarily. Something's happened. I can kick the can down the street for a few days, but we need to make progress on your end. How's my boy?

Eager.

Daniels chuckled. Now you see what I have to put up with from you. Tough to keep a leash on things?

You could say that.

Teddy Roosevelt said it best. 'Do what you can with what you have, where you are.' Stay with this.

I don't think I have much choice, do I?

No, but here's a tidbit. The Berlin station chief for naval intelligence, a captain named Sterling Wilkerson, was found dead in Munich.

Which you believe is not coincidental.

Crap, no. Ramsey is working something here and over there. I can't prove it, but I feel it. What about Malone?

Haven't heard from him.

Tell me straight up. Do you think this professor is in danger?

I don't know. But I think we ought to hang around till tomorrow, to be sure.

Here's something I didn't tell Edwin. I need a poker face.

She smiled. Okay.

I have my doubts about Diane McCoy. I learned a long time ago to pay attention to my enemies 'cause they're the first to learn your mistakes. I've been watching her. Edwin knows that. What he doesn't know is that she left the building today and drove into Virginia. Right now she's at Fort Lee, inspecting a warehouse the army leases to naval intelligence. I checked. Ramsey was there himself yesterday.

Something she already knew, thanks to her staff.

Davis motioned that he was going to get something to drink from a hospitality table near the hearth and with gestures asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head.

He's gone, she said into the phone. I assume you're telling me this for a reason.

It seems Diane has made friends with the crocodiles, too, but I'm worried she's going to get eaten.

Couldn't happen to a nicer person.

I do believe you have a mean streak.

I have a realist streak.

Stephanie, you sound worried.

As much as I may object, I have a feeling our man is here.

You want help? Daniels asked.

I do, but Edwin doesn't.

Since when do you listen to him?

This is his show. He's on a mission.

Love is hell, but don't let it be his downfall. I need him.

SMITH WAS ENJOYING THE PIANO MUSIC AND A CRACKLING FIRE in the hearth. Lunch had been great. The salad and appetizer were both superb and the soup was delicious, but the fresh lamb with seasonal vegetables had been the best by far.

He'd come upstairs after the man and woman approached Scofield and whisked him away from his meal. He hadn't been able to hear what was said downstairs or here. He wondered, were these the same two from last night? Hard to say.

For the past few hours Scofield had been approached by one person after another. In fact, the whole conference seemed a lovefest geared toward him. The professor was listed as one of the event's original organizers. He was the keynote speaker tomorrow night. He was also conducting a candlelight tour through the main mansion this evening. Tomorrow morning was what the brochure called Scofield's Hog Wild Adventure. Three hours of boar hunting with bow and arrow, in a nearby forest, led by the professor himself. The woman at the registration desk had said the early-morning jaunt was popular, and about thirty folks went along each year. Two more people interested in Dr. Douglas Scofield was not necessarily cause for alarm. So Smith quelled his paranoia and did not allow it to get the best of him. He didn't want to admit it, but he was shaken from last night.

He watched as the man rose from the sofa and headed for a green-clothed table beside the hearth, pouring himself a glass of ice water.

Smith stood and casually walked over, refilling his teacup from a silver server. The service was a nice touch. Refreshments for guests all day. He added a little Splenda he hated sugar and stirred.

Theman retreated toward the alcove, sipping his water, to where the woman was ending a cell phone call. The fire in the hearth had burned low, barely sputtering now. One of the attendants opened an iron grate and added a few logs. He knew he could follow those two and see where it led, but luckily he'd already decided on amore definitive tack.

Something innovative.

Guaranteed to produce results.

And fitting for the great Douglas Scofield.

MALONE REENTERED THE L'ARLEQUINANDHEADED FOR ITS RESTAURANT , where colorful rugs covered an oak-planked floor. His entourage followed him inside and peeled off their coats. Isabel spoke with the man who'd worked the registration desk earlier. The attendant left, closing the restaurant doors behind him. Malone shucked his jacket and gloves and noticed that his shirt was damp from perspiration.

There are only eight rooms upstairs, Isabel said, and I've let them all for the night. The owner is preparing a meal.

Malone sat on one of the benches that lined two oak tables. Good. I'm hungry.

Christl, Dorothea, and Werner sat opposite him. Henn stood off to the side, holding a satchel. Isabel assumed a position at the head of the table. Herr Malone, I'm going to be truthful with you.

I seriously doubt that, but go ahead.

Her hands tightened and her fingers eagerly tapped the tabletop.

I'm not your child, he said, and I'm not in the will, so get to the point.

I know that Hermann visited here twice, she said. Once before the war, in 1937. The other time in 1952. My mother-in-law told Dietz and I about the trips shortly before she died. But she knew nothing of what Hermann did here. Dietz himself came about a year before he disappeared.

You've never mentioned that, Christl said.

Isabel shook her head. I never realized a connection between this place and the pursuit. I only knew that both men visited. Yesterday, when you told me about here, I immediately realized the link.

The adrenaline rush from the church had drained, and Malone's body felt heavy with fatigue. But he needed to focus. So Hermann and Dietz were here. That's of little use since, apparently, only Hermann found anything. And he didn't tell anybody.

Einhard's will, Christl said, makes clear that you clarify this pursuit by applying the angel's perfection to the lord's sanctification. That gets you from Aachen to here. Then only those who appreciate the throne of Solomon and Roman frivolity shall find their way to heaven.

Dorothea and Werner sat silent. Malone wondered why they were even here. Maybe they'd already played their part in the church? He pointed at them and asked, Have you two kissed and made up?

Is that important to anything? Dorothea asked.

He shrugged. Is to me.

Herr Malone, Isabel said. We must solve this challenge.

Did you see that church? It's a ruin. There's nothing there from twelve hundred years ago. The walls are barely standing and the roof is new. The flooring is cracked and crumbled, the altar eroding away. How do you plan to solve anything?

Isabel motioned and Henn handed her the satchel. She unbuckled its leather straps and removed a tattered map, the paper a pale rust color. She carefully unfolded and laid the sheet, maybe twenty-four by eighteen inches, flat on the table. He saw that it was not of any country or continent, but was a sectional representation of a jagged coastline.

This is Hermann's map, used during the 1938 Nazi expedition to Antarctica. It's where he explored.

There's no writing, he said.

Locations were denoted by 's. X's seemed to note mountains. A pinpointed something central, and a route was shown to and from, but not a single word anywhere.

My husband left this behind when he sailed for America in 1971. He took another drawing with him. But I know exactly where Dietz was headed. She held up a second folded map from the satchel. Newer, blue, titled International Travel Map of Antarctica, Scale 1:8,000,000. That information is all on here.

She reached into the satchel and brought out two final objects, both sheathed inside plastic bags. The books. One from Charlemagne's grave, which Dorothea had shown him. The other from Einhard's tomb, which Christl had possessed.

She tabled Christl's and lifted Dorothea's.

This is the key, but we can't read it. The ability to do that is here, in that monastery. I fear that, though we know where to go in Antarctica, the trip would be unproductive unless we know what's on these pages. We must have, as Einhard wrote, a full comprehension of heaven.

Your husband went without one.

His mistake, Isabel said.

Can we eat? Malone asked, tired of listening to her.

I understand you're frustrated with us, Isabel said. But I came to make a bargain with you.

No, you came to set me up. He stared at the sisters. Again.

If we discover how to read this book, Isabel said. If it seems worth the trip, which I believe it will be, then I assume you'll be going to Antarctica?

Hadn't thought that far ahead yet.

I want you to take my daughters with you, along with Werner and Ulrich.

Anything else? he asked, almost amused.

I'm quite serious. It's the price you'll pay to know the location. Without that location, the trip would be as futile as Dietz's.

Then I guess I won't know, because that's insane. We're not talking about a romp in the snow. This is Antarctica. One of the toughest places on earth.

I checked this morning. The temperature at Halvorsen Base, which is the closest landing strip to the location, was minus seven degrees Celsius. Not all that bad. The weather was also relatively calm.

Which can change in ten minutes.

You sound like you've been there, Werner said.

I have. It's not a place where you want to hang out.

Cotton, Christl said. Mother explained this to us earlier. They were headed for a specific location. She pointed to the map on the table. Do you realize that the submarine could be lying in the water near that location?

She'd played the one card he'd been dreading. He'd already assumed the same thing. The court of inquiry's report had noted NR-1A's last known location 73| S, 15 | W, approximately 150 miles north of Cape Norvegia. That could now be matched with another reference point, which might be enough to allow him to find the sunken vessel. But to be able to do that, he had to play ball.

I assume that if I agree to take along these passengers, I won't be told anything until we're in the air?

Actually, not until you're on the ground, Isabel said. Ulrich was trained in navigation by the Stasi. He'll direct you, once there.

I'm positively crushed at the lack of faith you have in me.

About as much as you have in me.

You realize that I won't have the final say on who goes. I'll need help from the US military to get there. They may not allow anybody else.

Her morose heavy face lightened by a fleeting smile. Come now, Herr Malone, you can do better than that. You'll have the power to make things happen. Of that I'm sure.

He faced the others sitting across the table. Do you three have any idea what you're getting into?

It's the price we have to pay, Dorothea said.

Now he understood. Their game wasn't over.

I can handle it, Dorothea said.

Werner nodded. I can, too.

He stared at Christl.

I want to know what happened to them, she said, her eyes downcast.

So did he. He must be insane.

Okay, Frau Oberhauser, if we solve the pursuit, you have a deal.

Chapter SIXTY-THREE

RAMSEY OPENED THE HATCH AND EXITED THE HELICOPTER . HE'D flown directly from Washington to Fort Lee in the chopper that naval intelligence maintained around-the-clock at administrative headquarters.

A car waited for him and he was driven to where Diane McCoy was being held. He'd ordered her detainment the moment Hovey had informed him of her visit to the base. Holding a deputy national security adviser could present a problem, but he'd assured the base commander that he'd assume full responsibility.

He doubted there'd be any fallout.

This was McCoy's jaunt, and she wasn't about to involve the White House. That conclusion was fortified by the fact that she'd made no calls from the base.

He left the car and entered the security building, where a sergeant-major escorted him to McCoy. He entered and closed the door. She'd been made comfortable in the chief of security's private office.

About time, she said. It's been nearly two hours.

He unbuttoned his overcoat. He'd already been told she'd been searched and electronically swept. He sat in a chair beside her. I thought you and I had a deal.

No, Langford. You had a deal for you. I had nothing.

I told you that I would make sure you were a part of the next administration.

You can't guarantee that.

Nothing in this world is a certainty, but I can narrow the odds. Which I'm doing, by the way. But recording me? Trying to get me to admit things? Now coming here? This is not the way, Diane.

What's in that warehouse?

He needed to know, How did you learn about it?

I'm a deputy national security adviser.

He decided to be partially honest with her. It contains artifacts found in 1947 during Operation Highjump and again in '48 during Operation Windmill. Some unusual artifacts. They were also part of what happened to NR-1A in '71. That sub was on a mission concerning those artifacts.

Edwin Davis talked to the president about Highjump and Windmill. I heard him.

Diane, surely you can see the damage that could be done if it was revealed that the navy did not search for one of its subs after it sank. Not only didn't it search, but a cover story was fabricated. Families were lied to, reports falsified. You might have been able to get away with that then different times but not today. The fallout would be enormous.

And how do you figure into that?

Interesting. She wasn't all that informed. Admiral Dyals gave the order not to search for NR-1A. Even though the crew agreed to those conditions before they left port, his reputation would be destroyed if that came out. I owe that man a lot.

Then why kill Sylvian?

He wasn't going there. I didn't kill anybody.

She started to speak, but he stopped her with a halting hand. I don't deny, though, that I want his job.

The room grew tense, like the descending weight of a hushed poker game which, in many ways, this encounter resembled. He bore his gaze into her. I'm being straight with you in the hope that you'll be straight with me.

He knew from Aatos Kane's aide that Daniels had been receptive to the idea of his appointment, which ran contrary to McCoy's theatrics. It was vital that he maintain a set of eyes and ears within the Oval Office. Good decisions were always based on good information. Problem that she was, he needed her.

I knew you'd come, she said. Interesting that you have personal control of that warehouse.

He shrugged. It's under naval intelligence. Before I headed the agency, others looked after it. That's not the only repository we maintain.

I imagine it's not. But there's a lot more happening here than you want to admit. What about your Berlin station chief, Wilkerson? Why did he end up dead?

He assumed that tidbit would make it into everyone's daily briefing booklet. But there was no need to confirm any linkage. I'm having that investigated. The motivations may be personal, though he was involved with a married woman. Our people are working the case right now. Too soon to say anything sinister.

I want to see what's in the warehouse.

He watched her face, neither hostile nor unfriendly. What would that prove?

I want to see what this is about.

No, you don't.

He watched her again. She had a pouting mouth. Her light hair hung like two inward-curving curtains on both sides of a heart-shaped face. She was attractive and he wondered if charm might work. Diane, listen to me. You don't need to do this. I'll honor our agreement. But to be able to do that, I have to do this my way. You coming here is jeopardizing everything.

I'm not prepared to trust my career to you.

He knew a little of her history. Her father was a local Indianan politician who'd made a name for himself after getting elected lieutenant governor, then proceeded to alienate half the state. Maybe he was witnessing some of that same rebellious streak? Perhaps. But he had to make things clear. Then I'm afraid you're on your own.

He sensed comprehension washing over her. And I'll end up dead?

Did I say that?

You didn't have to.

No, he didn't. But there was still the problem of damage control. How about this. We'll say there's been a disagreement. You came here on an exploratory mission, and the White House and naval intelligence have worked out an arrangement whereby the information you want will be provided. That way, the base commander will be satisfied and no more questions, aside from what's already been raised, will be asked. We leave smiling and happy.

He spotted defeat in her eyes.

Don't screw with me, she said.

I haven't done a thing. You're the one going off half-cocked.

I swear to you, Langford, I'll bring you down. Don't screw with me.

He decided diplomacy was the better tack. At least for the moment. As I've repeatedly said, I'll keep my end of our bargain.

MALONE ENJOYED DINNER, ESPECIALLY SINCE HE'D EATEN LITTLE all day. Interesting how, when he worked in the bookshop, hunger came with a predictable regularity. But in the field, on a mission, the urge seemed to completely disappear.

He'd listened to Isabel and her daughters, along with Werner Lindauer, talk about Hermann and Dietz Oberhauser. The tension between the daughters loomed large. Ulrich Henn had eaten with them, too, and he'd watched Henn carefully. The East German had sat in silence, never acknowledging that he was even hearing, but not missing a word.

Isabel was clearly in charge, and he'd noted the waves in the others' emotions as they rode her unsteady current. Neither daughter ever rose to challenge her. They either agreed or said nothing. And Werner said little of anything useful.

He'd passed on dessert and decided to head upstairs.

In the foyerlike lobby logs burned with a warm glow, filling the room with the scent of resin. He stopped and enjoyed the fire, noticing three framed pencil drawings of the monastery on the walls. One was an exterior sketch of the towers, everything intact, and he noticed a date in one corner. 1784. The other two were interior images. One was of the cloister, its arches and columns no longer bare. Instead carved images sprang from the stones with mathematical regularity. In the center garden the fountain stood in all its glory, water overflowing from its iron basin. He imagined cowled figures flitting to and fro among the arches.

The last drawing was of the inside of the church.

An angular view from the rear vestibule facing toward the altar, from the right side, where he'd made his advance through the columns toward the gunman. No ruin was shown. Instead stone, wood, and glass assembled in a miraculous union part gothic, part Romanesque. Artwork abounded on the columns, but with a delicate modesty, inconspicuous, a far cry from the church's current decay. He noticed that a bronze grille enclosed the sanctuary, the Carolingian curlicues and swirls reminiscent of what he'd seen in Aachen. The flooring was intact and detailed, differing shades of gray and black denoting what would have surely been color and variety. Dates on each print read 1772.

The proprietor was busy behind the front desk. He asked, These originals?

The man nodded. They've hung here a long time. Our monastery was once glorious, but no more.

What happened?

War. Neglect. Weather. They all devoured the place.

Before leaving the dinner table, he'd heard Isabel dispatch Henn to dispose of the bodies in the church. Her employee now donned his coat and disappeared into the night.

Malone caught a blast of cold from the front door as the owner handed him a key. He climbed wooden stairs to his room. He'd brought no clothes and the ones he wore needed cleaning, especially his shirt. Inside the room he tossed his jacket and gloves on the bed and removed his shirt. He stepped into the tiny bath and rinsed the shirt out in an enamel basin, using a little soap, then laid it across the radiator to dry.

He stood in his undershirt and studied himself in the mirror. He'd worn an undershirt since he was six years old a habit hammered into him. Nasty to be bare-chested, his father would say. You want your clothes to smell like sweat? He'd never questioned his father, he'd simply emulated him and always wore an undershirt deep V neckline, since wearing an undershirt is one thing, seeing it is another. Interesting how the pull of childhood memories could so easily be triggered. They'd had so short a time together. About three years he could remember, from ages seven to ten. He still kept the flag that had been displayed at his father's memorial in a glass case beside his bed. His mother had refused the memento at the funeral, saying she'd had enough of the navy. But eight years later when he'd told her that he was joining, she hadn't objected. What else would For-rest Malone's boy do? she'd asked him.

And he'd agreed. What else?

He heard a soft rap and stepped from the bath to open the door. Christl stood outside.

May I? she asked.

He motioned his assent and quietly closed the door behind her.

I want you to know that I didn't like what happened up there today. That's why I came after you. I told Mother not to deceive you.

Unlike yourself, of course.

Let's be honest, okay? If I had told you that I'd already made the connection between the will and the inscription, would you have even come to Aachen?

Probably not. But he said nothing.

I didn't think so, she said, reading his face.

You people take a lot of foolish risks.

There's much at stake. Mother wanted me to tell you something, not in front of Dorothea or Werner.

He'd been wondering when Isabel would make good on her promise of damn good information. Okay, who's been trying to kill me?

A man named Langford Ramsey. She actually spoke with him. He sent the men who came after us in Garmisch, at Reichshoffen, and in Aachen. He also sent those today. He wants you dead. He's head of your naval intelligence. Mother deceived him into thinking she was his ally.

Now, there's something novel. Put my life at risk to save it.

She's trying to help you.

By telling Ramsey I'd be here today?

She nodded. We staged that hostage scenario with their cooperation so they'd both be killed. We didn't anticipate the other two coming. They were supposed to stay on the outside. Ulrich thinks the shots drew them. She hesitated. Cotton, I'm glad you're here. And safe. I wanted you to know that.

He felt like a man walking to the gallows after tying the noose himself.

Where's your shirt? she asked.

You live alone, you do your own laundry.

She added a friendly smile which sweetened the otherwise tense atmosphere. I've lived alone all my adult life.

Thought you were married once?

We never actually lived together. One of those errors in judgment that was quickly rectified. We had a few great weekends, but that was about all. How long were you married?

Almost twenty years.

Children?

A son.

Does he carry your name?

His name is Gary.

A sense of peace mingled with the silence.

She wore denim jeans, a stone-colored shirt and a navy cardigan. He could still see her tied to the column. Of course, women lying to him was nothing new. His ex-wife lied for years about Gary's parentage. Stephanie lied repeatedly, when necessary. Even his mother, a reservoir of locked emotions, a woman who rarely showed any feeling, lied to him about his father. To her, that memory was perfect. But he knew it wasn't. He desperately wanted to know the man. Not a myth, or a legend, or a memory. Just the man.

He was tired. It's time for bed.

She circled to the lamp that burned beside the bed. He'd switched off the bath light when he'd answered the door so, when she pulled the chain and extinguished the bulb, the room was plunged into darkness.

I agree, she said.

Chapter SIXTY-FOUR

DOROTHEA WATCHED FROM HER CRACKED-OPEN DOOR AS HER sister entered Cotton Malone's room. She'd seen her mother speak with Christl after dinner and wondered what had been said. She'd seen Ulrich leave and knew what task he'd been delegated. She wondered what her role would be. Apparently it was to make amends with her husband, as they'd been given a room together with one small bed. When she'd inquired to the proprietor about another he'd told her there were none.

It's not that bad, Werner said to her.

Depends on a person's definition of bad.

She actually found the situation amusing. They were both behaving like two adolescents on their first date. In one sense their predicament seemed comical, in another tragic. The tight confines made it impossible for her to escape the familiar miasma of his aftershave, his pipe tobacco, and the cloves from the gum he loved to chew. And the smells constantly reminded her that he was not one of the myriad men she'd enjoyed of late.

This is too much, Werner. And far too fast.

I don't think you have a whole lot of choice.

He stood near the window, arms clasped behind him. She was still perplexed by his actions in the church. Did you think that gunman would actually shoot me?

Things changed when I shot the other one. He was angry and he could have done anything.

You killed that man so easily.

He shook his head. Not easily, but it had to be done. Not all that different from bringing down a stag.

I never realized you had that inside you.

Over the past few days I've realized a lot of things about myself.

Those men in the church were fools, thinking only about getting paid. Like the woman in the abbey, she thought. There was absolutely no reason for them to trust us, yet they did.

The corners of his lips turned down. Why are you avoiding the obvious?

I don't think this is the place or time to debate our personal life.

His eyebrow raised in disbelief. There's no better time. We're about to make some irreversible decisions.

Their distance these past few years had dulled her once perfect ability to know for certain when he was deceiving her. She'd for so long ignored him simply allowed him to have his way. Now she cursed her indifference. What do you want, Werner?

The same things you want. Money, power, security. Your birth right.

That's mine, not yours.

Interesting, your birthright. Your grandfather was a Nazi. A man who adored Adolf Hitler.

He was no Nazi, she declared.

He just helped their evil along. Made it easier for them to slaughter people.

That's preposterous.

Those ridiculous theories about Aryans? Our supposed heritage? That we were some sort of special race that came from a special place? Himmler loved that garbage. It fed right into the Nazis' murderous propaganda.

Disturbing thoughts swirled through her mind. Things her mother had told her, things she'd heard as a child. Her grandfather's admitted right-wing philosophies. His refusal to ever speak ill of the Third Reich. Her father's insistence that Germany was no better off postwarthan prewar, a divided Germany worse than anything Hitler ever did. Her mother was right. The Oberhauser family history needed to stay buried.

You must tread lightly here, Werner whispered.

There was something unsettling about his tone. What did he know?

Perhaps it eases your conscience to think me a fool, he said. Maybe it justifies your rejection of our marriage, and me.

She cautioned herself that he was an expert at baiting her.

But I'm no fool.

She was curious. What do you know of Christl?

He pointed at the door. I know she's in there with Malone. You understand what that means?

Tell me.

She's forging an alliance. Malone is connected to the Americans. Your mother chose her allies carefully Malone can make things happen when we need them to happen. How else could we get to Antarctica? Christl is doing your mother's bidding.

He was right. Tell me, Werner, are you enjoying the possibility of my failure?

If I were, I wouldn't be here. I'd simply let you fail.

Something in his desultory tone triggered alarm. He definitely knew more than he was saying and she hated his hedging.

She repressed a sudden shudder at the realization that this man, more stranger than husband, attracted her.

When you killed the man at the lodge, he asked, did you feel anything?

Relief. The word slipped out from between clenched teeth.

He stood impassive, seemingly considering the admission. We must prevail, Dorothea. If that means cooperating with your mother, and Christl, so be it. We cannot allow your sister to dominate this quest.

You and Mother have been working together for some time, haven't you?

She misses Georg as much as we do. He was this family's future. Now its entire existence is in doubt. There are no more Oberhausers.

She caught something in his tone and saw it in his eye. What he really wanted. You can't be serious? she asked.

You're only forty-eight. Childbirth is still possible.

Werner came close and gently kissed her on the neck.

She slapped him across the face.

He laughed. Intense emotion. Violence. So you are human, after all.

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, though the room was not warm. She was not going to listen to him anymore.

She headed for the door.

He lunged forward, grabbed her arm, and spun her around.

You're not going to walk away from me. Not this time.

Let go. But it was a weak command. You are a despicable bastard. The sight of you makes me sick.

Your mother has made clear that if we conceive she will give it all to you. He wrenched her close. Hear me, woman. Everything to you. Christl has no need for children or a husband. But maybe the same offer was made to her, as well? Where is she right now?

He was close. In her face.

Use your brain. Your mother has pitted the two of you against each other to learn what happened to her husband. But above all, she wants this family to continue. The Oberhausers have money, status, and assets. What they lack is heirs.

She freed herself from his grip. He was right. Christl was with Ma lone. And her mother could never be trusted. Had the same offer of an heir been made to her?

We're ahead of her, he said. Our child would be legitimate.

She hated herself. But the son of a bitch made sense.

Shall we get started? he asked.

Chapter SIXTY-FIVE

ASHEVILLE, 5:00 PM

STEPHANIE WAS A LITTLE DISCONCERTED . DAVIS HAD DECIDED they'd stay the night and reserved one room for them both.

I'm not ordinarily this kind of girl, she said to him as he opened the door. Going to a hotel on the first date.

I don't know. I heard you're easy.

She popped him on the back of the head. You wish.

He faced her. Here we are at a romantic four-star hotel. Last night we had a great date huddled in the freezing cold, then getting shot at. We're really bonding.

She smiled. Don't remind me. And by the way, love your subtlety with Scofield. Worked great. He warmed right up to you.

He's an arrogant, self-absorbed know-it-all.

Who was there in 1971, and knows more than you and me.

He plopped down onto a bright floral bedspread. The whole room looked like something out of a Southern Living magazine. Fine furnishings, elegant curtains, dTcor inspired by English and French manor houses. She actually would like to savor the deep tub. She hadn't bathed since yesterday morning in Atlanta. Is this what her agents routinely experienced? Wasn't she supposed to be in charge?

Premier king room, he said. It's all they had available. Its rate is way over government per diem but what the hell. You're worth it.

She sank into one of the upholstered club chairs and propped her feet on a matching footstool. If you can handle all this togetherness, I can, too. I have a feeling we're not going to get much sleep anyway.

He's here, Davis said. I know it.

She wasn't so sure, but she could not deny a bad feeling swirling around in her stomach.

Scofield is in the Wharton Suite on the sixth floor. He gets it every year, Davis said.

Desk clerk let all that slip?

He nodded. She doesn't like Scofield, either.

Davis fished the conference pamphlet from his pocket. He's leading a tour of the Biltmore mansion in a little while. Then, tomorrow morning, he's going boar hunting.

If our man's here, that's plenty of opportunities for him to make a move, not counting the time tonight in the hotel room.

She watched Davis' face. Usually its features never gave away a thing, but the mask had faded. He was anxious. She felt a dark reluctance mingling with an intense curiosity, so she asked, What are you going to do when you finally find him?

Kill him.

That would be murder.

Maybe. But I doubt our man will go down without a fight.

You loved her that much?

Men shouldn't hit women.

She wondered who he was talking to. Her? Millicent? Ramsey?

I couldn't do anything before, he said. I can now. His face clouded over once again, belying all emotion. Now tell me what the president didn't want me to know.

She'd been waiting for him to ask. It's about your co-worker. She told him where Diane McCoy had gone. He trusts you, Edwin. More than you know. She saw he caught what she hadn't said. Don't let him down.

I won't disappoint him.

You can't kill this man, Edwin. We need him alive, to get Ramsey. Otherwise the real problem walks.

I know. Defeat laced his voice.

He stood.

We need to go.

They'd stopped by the registration desk and signed up for the remainder of the conference before coming upstairs, obtaining two tickets for the candlelight tour.

We have to stay close to Scofield, he said. Whether he likes it or not.

CHARLIE SMITH ENTERED THE BILTMORE MANSION, FOLLOWING the private tour inside. When he'd registered for the Ancient Mysteries Revealed Conference under another name, he'd been presented a ticket for the event. A little quick reading in the inn's gift shop informed him that from early November until New Year's the mansion offered so-called magical evenings where visitors could enjoy the chGteau filled with candlelight, blazing fireplaces, holiday decorations, and live musical performances. Entry times were reserved, and tonight's was extra special since it was the last tour of the day, open only for conference attendees.

They'd been ferried from the inn in two Biltmore buses about eighty people, he estimated. He was dressed like the others, winter colors, wool coat, dark shoes. On the trip over he'd struck up a conversation about Star Trek with another attendee. They'd discussed which series they liked best, he arguing that Enterprise was by far superior, though his listener had preferred Voyager.

Everyone, Scofield was saying, as they stood in the frigid night before the main doors, follow me. You're in for a real treat.

The crowd entered through an elaborate iron grille. He'd read that each room inside would be decorated for Christmas, as George Vanderbilt had done, starting in 1885 when the estate was first opened.

He was looking forward to the spectacles.

Both the house.

And his own.

MALONE CAME AWAKE . CHRISTL SLEPT BESIDE HIM, HER NAKED body against his. He glanced at his watch. 12:35AM. Another day Friday, December 14 had started.

He'd been asleep two hours.

A warm pulse of satisfaction flowed through him.

He hadn't done that in awhile.

Afterward, rest had come in a no-man's-land of a twilight where detailed images roamed his restless mind.

Like the framed drawing hanging one floor below.

Of the church, from 1772.

Odd the way a solution had materialized, the answer laid out in his head like an open-faced hand of solitaire. It had happened that way two years ago. At Cassiopeia Vitt's chGteau. He thought about Cassiopeia. Her visits of late had been few and far between, and she was God knew where. In Aachen he'd thought about calling her for help, but decided this fight was his alone. He lay still and wondered about the myriad choices life offered. The swiftness of his decision regarding Christl's advances worked his nerves.

But at least something more had come of it.

Charlemagne's pursuit.

He now knew the end.

Chapter SIXTY-SIX