The Atlantis Code (26 page)

Leslie smiled back at him. “I’d be flattered if that were the case, but I’d be foolish to think so.”

“It’s this city,” Lourds answered honestly. “Some of the greatest minds in the world came here to talk. They wrote books, plays, and poetry that are still studied today. Royal families, merchant houses, and empires rose and fell here.” He stopped himself before he launched into a lecture.

“Have you ever been to a place that didn’t fill you with wonder?”

Lourds shook his head. “Never. At least, not places that have history. I’ve been to a few places that I knew little about, but as long as I had the language of the people who lived there, I found stories and dreams I could marvel over. Societies and cultures are unique and extraordinary, but they’re at their best when they’re juxtaposed. When they clash or compete.”

“Do you mean fight wars? That doesn’t sound good.”

“War isn’t good. But war is part of the process of world civilization. If we didn’t fight wars, people would seldom learn anything about other people. They wouldn’t exchange ideas, passion, or language. Everyone knows what an impact the Crusades had on the world at the time, in food, mathematics, and science. But few realize that the Chinese were mariners and explorers. They had huge sailing junks, some of them nearly seven and eight hundred feet long, and their sailors interacted with a number of cultures during their heyday.”

“But wouldn’t those
juxtapositions
break down languages instead? Adulterate them so they weren’t pure anymore?”

“Possibly, but the roots of the original language would be there, and the overlap of the languages allow a better study of both. Their similarities, their differences. It could actually sharpen a linguist’s appreciation of both.”

“I’ll take your word for that.” Leslie looked more somber. “On another note, I talked to my producer this morning. He’s bought us some time to pursue this story, but I’m starting to get some pressure to show them something.”

Lourds thought about that for a moment. “Have you told him about the cymbal?”

“You asked me not to.”

“Perhaps you could tell him that.”

“And that we’re on our way to the Max Planck Institute to find out about the slave trade?”

“Yes. But he has to remain quiet about that for now.”

“All right.” Leslie looked out at the city. “How long are we going to be here?”

“We’ll be headed to Leipzig immediately. Halle is less than an hour’s drive from Leipzig, but booking a room there could be more problematic. Also, Josef pointed out that in a town as small as Halle, we’d be easier to find. Josef has put everything together for us. There’s supposed to be a rental car waiting on the mainland.”

“Professor Lourds?”

Lourds studied the middle-aged woman sitting at a table at the outdoor café. A lime-colored gelato in the shape of a flower and garnished with a waffle biscuit sat before her.

“I recognized you from the picture Josef sent.” She opened the folder in front of her and displayed the snapshot Danilovic had taken at his home last night.

In the picture, Lourds held a brandy snifter and a cigar. He didn’t look like a fugitive either in the photograph or in person, but his insides had turned to ice water when she’d called his name.

“It’s quite a good likeness,” the woman said. “You’re a handsome man.”

“Thank you,” Lourds said, still off balance.

Leslie slid in smoothly at his side and took his arm.

The woman looked at Lourds, then at Leslie. She smiled again, but it wasn’t so friendly this time. “Well, then, Josef wanted me to give you this package.”

Lourds took the proffered manila envelope.

“You’ll find keys to the rental car and directions how to find it inside the envelope.” She stood and took her gelato with her. “I hope you have a safe and productive trip.”

“Thank you,” Lourds said.

“And if you ever get to Venice when you’re not babysitting, call me.” The woman gave Lourds a card. Swiveling gracefully, she turned and walked away in a manner that left both Lourds and Gary staring after her.

Lourds smelled the card. It was lilac scented.

Leslie plucked the card from Lourds’s hands. “Trust me. You won’t need that.” She deposited the card into the nearest waste receptacle and guided Lourds from the outdoor café and back into the street.

Lourds didn’t mind. He had a photographic memory for telephone numbers. Even international ones.

LEIPZIG, GERMANY
AUGUST 28, 2009

Although she hadn’t driven on the autobahns in Germany before, Natasha proved quite skilled. Lourds wasn’t too surprised, because he’d seen her drive in Moscow. Gary and Leslie sat in the back of the rental car and cursed and cried out respectively as Natasha wove in and out of the fast and frantic traffic.

The Radisson SAS Hotel Leipzig was located downtown on Augustusplatz. They left the rental in the parking garage and entered the main lobby.

“I’m going to secure our rooms,” Leslie said. “Why don’t you forage for food?”

They’d driven the last several hours and stopped only for gas. Lourds was ready for a real meal, but since it was so late—after 11
P.M.
local time—he doubted they’d have much success finding a restaurant open to serve them. His fears were confirmed when the clerk started talking.

“I’m afraid the Restaurant Orangerie is closed,” the young desk clerk said. She smiled an apology. “But the Lobby Lounge and Foyer Bar is open. They have a limited menu.”

“Thank you,” Lourds told her. Things were looking up. At least they wouldn’t starve.

The young desk clerk smiled at him. “Just let me know if you need anything else, sir. Anything at all.” Her eyes gleamed with possibilities.

“Are you always this brill with the women, mate?” Gary asked quietly as they walked away from the front desk. “Because if you are, I just don’t get it.”

“No,” Lourds said, and let it go at that.

Later, after they’d consumed appetizers, entrées, and desserts, Lourds sat back on one of the big sofas and stared at the televisions. Only a few people were in the lounge.

The conversation was light and mostly tired, but it centered around the upcoming meeting with Professor Joachim Fleinhardt at the Max Planck Institute. Lourds had contacted the man en route and set up the meeting for the morning.

“Okay,” Leslie said, “I’ve had all the fun that I can enjoy for one day. I’m off to bed. Tomorrow seems to be something of a red-letter day for us.”

“Possibly,” Lourds said. “It’s research. You can never quite tell what you’re going to get out of research.”

Leslie patted him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you. Professor Hapaev believed she had an answer as to the origins of the cymbal and she placed her trust in you to find it. I think we’re in good hands.”

Lourds thanked her for the compliment, but he knew from his own work that universities and newspeople tended to be quite disappointed when someone didn’t deliver something astounding after there had been a big buildup.

“I’m to bed as well,” Gary said.

“You? Sleep?” Lourds asked. Of them all, Gary seemed to sleep the least.

“They have cable,” Gary replied with a grin. “That means either Adult Swim on Cartoon Network or porn. Either will be entertainment enough.” He left.

Lourds turned to Natasha. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Natasha asked. She sat across from him. Even though she appeared relaxed, Lourds was aware that she was constantly on point. She saw everyone and everything in the lobby area.

“Too tired for a nightcap? I’m buying.”

“Trying to be polite, Professor?”

Lourds shrugged. “The thought of you going up to your room and sitting there to stare at walls bothers me somewhat. You didn’t get to sleep in the car during the drive.”

“Sleeping isn’t a necessary thing when you’re being hunted. While we’re in motion, I feel we’re safest.”

The idea of being hunted was disconcerting to Lourds, and it must have shown on his face.

“You’ve got your eyes so firmly on the prize that you’re forgetting others are doing the same. Only we’re the prize. We’re a threat to whatever they’re doing.”

“And they can’t have that?”

Natasha shook her head. “Apparently not. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sent Gallardo after us.”

“But how did they find us in Odessa?”

A mirthless smile curved Natasha’s mouth. “That is the question, isn’t it? How would you think Gallardo found us?”

“If this were a spy movie, one of us would be carrying a tracking device. But we haven’t had that much contact with Gallardo—or his minions—for that to happen.”

“I agree.”

“His presence in Odessa wasn’t a coincidence.”

“If you thought so even for a moment, I’d consider you dangerously ignorant. For a university professor, your survival skills are impressive.”

“But not enough to keep me from getting killed.”

“Probably not.”

Lourds winced. “That’s brutally honest.”

“You live longer if you’re aware.”

“That leaves only one possibility, and I refuse to entertain it.”

“Then you’re more foolish than I’d hoped.” Disappointment showed on Natasha’s beautiful face.

“You’re insinuating that someone—either Leslie, Gary, or Josef—betrayed us.”

“Gallardo and his men nearly got us,” Natasha pointed out. “That’s more than someone telling him that we were in Illichivsk.”

Lourds silently conceded the point. “There has to be another answer.”

“There is. I could have turned us in.”

That surprised Lourds.

Natasha looked at him and shook her head. She looked both sad and amused. “That thought never entered your head?”

“No,” Lourds said truthfully.

“Why?”

“You’re Yuliya’s sister. You wouldn’t do that.”

“You are a man of the world, Professor Lourds. But do you know what my sister most enjoyed about you?”

Lourds shrugged.

“Your naiveté. She always maintained that you were one of the most innocent men she’d ever met.” Natasha stood. “It’s an early morning before us. I’d suggest you get some rest before then. Good night.”

“Good night.” Lourds watched her walk away. She had an admirable walk and a figure to flaunt it. He appreciated both in a manner that he considered was
not
overly naive.

MAX PLANCK INSTITUTE FOR SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY
HALLE AN DER SAALE, GERMANY
AUGUST 29, 2009

A
re you familiar with the work the Social Anthropology Institute does, Professor Lourds?” Joachim Fleinhardt turned out to be an interesting man. From their phone conversations, brief and to the point, Lourds had expected the man to be a pasty and portly chap who spent far too much time in the lab.

As it turned out, Fleinhardt was six feet six inches tall at least, a stunning example of hybrid vigor. He said that his German father had married a black American officer. The genetics of the match were clearly superior. Fleinhardt’s position here at the institute and his reputation indicated that he was as bright as they came. His skin was beautiful, dark and smooth, and he was lean and handsome. He moved like a professional athlete. That was intimidating enough.

He was also impeccably dressed, which made Lourds feel awkward in his jeans shorts and loose shirt unbuttoned over a soccer T-shirt. Lourds had dressed weather appropriate but not scholastically appropriate.

“No, I’m not as familiar as I should be, I have to admit,” Lourds said.

Fleinhardt strode through the pristine hallways of the institute with authority. Other people quickly gave way before him.

“My group deals with integration and conflict,” the professor said.

“The study of tribal wars?”

“And of the slave trade. You don’t get one without the other, I’m afraid. Africa, especially North Africa after the Europeans arrived and introduced new markets that the Yoruba people and others had never thought of, changed the face of those tribes.”