Library of Gold (34 page)

Judd appeared in the driveway beside the hotel. He scrutinized the area, then gave a casual nod.

“Everything okay?” he asked when she joined him.

Her gaze went to a black shadow that ran along the drive, suddenly aware that in the dark it was hard to tell the difference between a dog and a wolf. She sighed. “Thanks for everything, Judd. I’ll translate Charles’s message for you tonight, but then I’m going to fly out tomorrow for home.”

He did not try to change her mind. “I’m glad you’ve hung in as long as you have. You’ve been a great help, Eva.”

They went in the hotel’s rear entrance and climbed the stairs. The room was larger than the one in Istanbul and again had two beds. This time it overlooked the next-door hotel and the driveway far below. In the distance, the Parthenon shone.

As Judd bolted the door, she set their meal on a table beside the radiator and shrugged off her shoulder satchel to get the
scytale
and leather ribbon.

Watching expectantly, he dropped the duffel bag onto the bed nearest the door and removed his Beretta and the S&W 9 mm pistol and suppressor he had picked up from Preston.

She unlatched the snap that closed the side pocket of the satchel and reached inside. Instantly her hand felt an awful wetness. She pulled out the
scytale
and strip.

“Oh, no,” she breathed. “No.”

“What?”

“The ink’s run.” She held up the long piece of leather, soggy, the letters bleeding into one another. “It must’ve happened in the yacht, when we got drenched.”

“Is the message readable?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She grabbed a box of tissues from the bureau and sat on the other bed, holding the strip beneath the bright light of the lamp. As she dried it, he sat across from her, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, watching tensely.

“The letters are a blur,” she reported. “I may be able to get something, though.”

Remembering how Andy Yakimovich had done it, she carefully wrapped the strip around the
scytale
, pressing and pushing it gently into place, watching to make certain the blurred letters fit in lines. She worked a long time in the silent room. Finally she grasped the
scytale
’s ends, holding the leather in place with her thumbs.

“A few words make sense,” she said. “I can partly read where it says the secret is hidden in
Spies,
but I can’t read the following sentence.” She caught her breath at the next words, the signature at the end: “
Te amo,
Eva, 3-8-08.”

“What is it?” Judd leaned forward.

She translated: “‘I love you, Eva.’ ”

He saw where she was looking. “It’s dated the month before Charles disappeared. That answers one of your questions. A critical one, I imagine.”

She hesitated as she felt an onslaught of emotions. “I always thought of Charles as my strength, my anchor. When I’d have doubts or get sidetracked, he’d bring me back to center. Now I think that’s what he believed to be love. But the truth is it wasn’t concern or interest in me. He just couldn’t stand that I wasn’t as focused, as compulsive as he was.” She looked at him. “We still don’t know where the library’s location is written in
The Book of Spies
.”

There was a long silence of deep disappointment.

Judd sat up straight.“I’ll just have to find it in
Spies
myself.”

But the book was enormous. Trying to uncover the message without a clue or expert help could be impossible. And there was an even larger problem—he did not even know where the book was.

“Don’t worry, Eva. You should still go home tomorrow.” His gaze was steady. “I really meant it when I said you’d done a good job. In fact, you were invaluable. Without you I likely wouldn’t have been successful in Rome or Istanbul.”

His mobile rang, and he snatched it up.

She checked her watch. It was past four
A.M.

“Yes, Tucker.” His jaw clenched as he listened. He told Tucker about the Carnivore’s attempt to wipe them and his change of mind, then about their discovery the leather strip was damaged. “We’re at the Hotel Hecate. I understand. Be careful.”

Eva watched as he punched the Off button.

When he turned to her, his expression was grim. “Cathy Doyle—that’s Tucker’s boss—has died in a car accident, and the man who took her place appears to be the leak. Another hired gun just tried to erase Tucker.”

“Oh, God. How’s Tucker?”

“Angry. Worried. The usual. In other words, he’s fine. He’s at the Baltimore airport. He’s flying here to help.”

“He didn’t have any new information about
Spies
or the Library of Gold?”

“No, but he’s given NSA my mobile number, so if one of the numbers on Charles’s cell is activated, both he and I will get the news. There’s more. Preston hired the guy to take out Tucker
after
we left him hogtied in the Grand Bazaar.”

“So Preston is back in action, just as the Carnivore said he’d be. Did Tucker know anything about the Carnivore?”

“He said the Carnivore was one of the underworld’s dirty secrets. Too useful to too many sides to kill, and anyway too elusive to find. Apparently back in the cold war, Langley occasionally did business with him. Tucker said he’d heard the Carnivore had ironclad rules, but he’d never had any reason to hunt him.”

“Doesn’t it seem to you Cathy Doyle’s death was more than an accident?”

“Yes. The assholes.”

She watched as he slapped his thighs, stood up, and paced the room.

“Why don’t you ask me to stay?” she said. “You can use my expertise.”

He turned, his muscular face severe. “People either love this work, or they put up with it because they have a sense of mission, of commitment to something larger, something for the common good. In religion it’s called faith. In a nation it’s patriotism. The risk of death is worth it to them. I can’t ask you to stay. You could die.”

“Do you love the work?”

“Never have. As soon as this is over, I really am going back to being a civilian. I figure I’ve contributed enough. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“Will you be able to live peacefully?”

“If you’re asking whether I have flashbacks or I’m a prime candidate to take a sniper rifle up into some tower and wipe anyone who’s in sight, the answer is no. Most of us aren’t affected that way. We don’t even get into fistfights in bars. We’re just normal people who’ve been doing a tough job and have some bad memories.”

Relief washed over her. With sudden clarity she realized she had been dwelling on her own personal fears. “Charles and the book club conspired in something that should’ve been good but turned it into evil and a loss to civilization so large it’s incalculable. The Library of Gold belongs to the world. I have the knowledge to help you find it and the awful people behind it. With luck it’ll be soon enough to stop from happening whatever your father was so worried about.” She took a deep breath. “I want to make my own commitment. Make the mission mine, too, and try to be braver than I ever was able during the years with Charles and in the penitentiary. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll see this through.”

He sat on his bed, facing her. “You’re sure?” He studied her, his gray eyes grave.

“Absolutely.” And she meant it.

“Then I’m glad. I have a feeling you’ve always been brave. But do me a favor—don’t like the work too much.”

“Fat chance.” Setting aside the
scytale
, she turned to him, sitting cross-legged. She had an idea. “We’ve got to find another way to go about this. I’ll start with Charles’s tattoo. It had to have sent shudders through the book club. Even a hint someone might reveal the library’s location would be a threat to them. That’s my first point. The second is, when I saw Charles and Robin together there was something intimate about them. I don’t know whether they were close friends, close colleagues, or maybe lovers. But if I’m right, she’s connected to Charles, which means his tattoo may have thrown suspicion on her. I know I’d be suspicious. Read Preston’s note again.”

He took out the torn notebook page. “‘Robin Miller.
Book of Spies
. All we know is Athens—so far.’”

“The beginning part of the note is like a list. ‘Robin Miller.
Book of Spies.
’ One. Two. Then we get to the heart of the matter: ‘All we know is Athens—so far.’ The tone makes me think they don’t know where
The Book of Spies
—or Robin Miller—is, except they’re in Athens, and they must be found.”

“You think she not only has the book but she’s on the run with it,” he said.

“It’s a good possibility.”

He grabbed his mobile. “I’ll call her.” He tapped in one of the numbers from Charles Sherback’s cell. “I’m getting a recording,” he told her. Then: “Ms. Miller, my name is Judd Ryder. I’m in Athens, and I’ve got the resources to protect you from Preston. I’d like to buy
The Book of Spies
. Call as soon as you can. I’ll leave my mobile on.” Then he dialed the other number and left the same message.

“Fingers crossed,” she said.

He went into the bathroom and emerged with water glasses. He opened the bottle of wine to let it breathe. “I’m going to take a shower. Then we eat.”

He grabbed a clean T-shirt and shorts from the duffel and went into the bathroom. She listened to the music of the running shower and walked around the room, arms crossed, holding herself, feeling relieved she had decided to stay and hoping Robin would call soon. Then she emptied the side pocket of her satchel and laid out everything to dry.

Judd emerged with droplets shining on his short bleached hair, his face wet and relaxed. The T-shirt was damp, clinging to his tapered waist. His stomach muscles were amazing, like rebar, and he had good long legs beneath his shorts, straight, the hair golden brown and curly, lovely. She turned away, busying herself by taking out her shirt and shorts. Then she went into the bathroom without looking at him again.

“Drink your wine,” she told him over her shoulder. “Behave yourself.”

“I’ll save half for you.”

The hot water soothed her. She washed her hair, caught by surprise at the black color as it fell over her face. She had never in her life dyed her hair. Toweling off, she fastened on her ankle device, buttoned her shirt, and stepped into the shorts.

When she emerged from the bathroom he was sitting at the table, inspecting Charles’s notebook again.

“Find anything?” She slid into the chair across from him.

“Nothing.”

“No call from Robin?”

He shook his head. “Tell me about your family.”

“Isn’t that in my dossier?”

“Just the basics. Mother, father, brother, sister, and you. They moved from Los Angeles to Iowa. You didn’t. I’d really like to know.”

She hesitated.“There’s not much to say, really. Dad worked construction. Mom cleaned houses. Dad drank—a lot. He’d have tirades and slap Mom around when she tried to convince him to quit. Eventually she started drinking, too. They got along a lot better, but it still was miserable. We could never bring our friends home because we never knew what we’d find.”

“You were the oldest, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and probably the luckiest. In Al-Anon you learn about the family mediator, the peacemaker—that was me. It kept me from falling into the bottle, too, because I was always trying to smooth things over to protect my little brother and sister. Then Dad started losing one job after the other, and his uncle offered him work at a lumber company he owned in Council Bluffs. I’d had my brush with the law by then. They were good about that and stood by me. But when everyone left, I stayed on in L.A., to go to college.” Her shoulders were tense. She raised her arms above her head and stretched.

“You didn’t want to end up like them.”

“No, I didn’t, but it didn’t stop me from loving them. They came to visit me in prison several times. I don’t know how they scraped the money together to do it, but they did.” She bit her lip. “Love is a crazy emotion, isn’t it?”

He was watching her, kindness glowing in his eyes. “Let’s eat.”

He poured wine as she got out the food. The moussaka was warm and spicy, the zucchini and wild rice crunchy. It was a simple but fine meal, and for the moment the lamplit hotel room felt cozy and safe.

“What about you and your family?” she asked as she ate.

“You know part of it. Dad was ambitious, but the higher he rose, the more pressure he was under, and the more traveling he had to do. When I started school, Mom went back to work, teaching kindergarten. Then, after a couple of years, she quit so she’d be free when he was home. It was great for me. The door was always open for my friends. She’d make chocolate pudding and oatmeal cookies and let us play outside and get dirty.” He studied his wine. “What was rough for both of us was not having him around. But when he was, he filled the house with his personality, and he spent every moment with us. Now that I look back, it’s obvious he was trying to make it up to us.”

“I’ll bet he enjoyed you, too.”

“I hope so.” He lowered his head. “You should know Dad started telling me stories about the Library of Gold when I was young. He must’ve known about it then. And that makes me think he was in the book club when the decision was made to bring Charles on board. Knowing how managerial Dad was, I have to believe even if he didn’t make the final decisions, he must’ve at least known about the arrangements.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat. Then she shook off her anger. “You’re not him. You’ve made your own choices, and it seems to me they’re one hundred eighty degrees different from his. I think you’ve inherited his best traits.”

He poured the last of the garnet-colored wine into their glasses, then he held up his.

“To our partnership.” He grinned.

She touched her rim to his and smiled into his eyes. “To finding the Library of Gold.”

49

The afternoon was bright, sunlight bouncing off the windshields of cars as Martin Chapman’s plush limousine rolled up to the Hotel Grande Bretagne on Constitution Square. One of the globe’s top establishments, the hotel looked like a palace and had a long history as a seat of power, which Chapman appreciated: The Nazis had made it their headquarters when they occupied Greece during World War II, and later the British Expeditionary Force took it over. Wars had been planned here, and treaties signed. From kings to corporate heads, jet-setters to diplomats, it was the place to stay, the only hotel Chapman ever used when in Athens.