his grin, then drifted toward the terminal exits and a taxi. He hadn’t brought a bag. Depending on how long he stayed, he’d buy some things later, after he found the link.
But before leaving the building he needed to check one more thing.
At the exit doors he approached an information counter and plucked a city map from its holder. He casually turned and studied it, allowing his gaze to drift from the map to the stream of people flowing through the broad terminal.
He’d expected String Bean to be waiting for him to leave, if indeed he was following.
Instead, his problem tailed Pam.
Now he was concerned.
He tossed the map on the counter and headed across the terminal. Pam entered one of the many cafés, apparently intent on passing the time with a meal or a coffee. String Bean assumed a position in a duty-free shop where he could clearly observe the café.
Interesting. Apparently Malone wasn’t the flavor-of-the-day.
He, too, entered the café.
Pam was sitting in a booth, and he walked over. Surprise flooded her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Changed my mind. Why don’t you come along?”
“I’d really like that.”
“One condition.”
“I know. My mouth stays shut.”
STEPHANIE ALLOWED THORVALDSEN’S WORDS TO AGAIN PLAY across her mind. Then she calmly asked, “You’re a member of the Order of the Golden Fleece?”
“For thirty years. I always thought it nothing more than a way for people with money and power to mingle with one another. That’s what we do most of the time—”
“When you’re not paying off politicians or bribing for contracts.”
“Come now, Stephanie. You know the way of the world. I don’t make the rules. I just play by the ones in place.”
“Tell me what you know, Henrik. And please, no bullshit.”
“My investigators traced the two dead men from yesterday to Amsterdam. One has a lady friend. She told us that her lover worked regularly for another man. Once she managed to see him, and from her description I believe I’ve seen him, too.”
She waited for more.
“Interestingly, for many years now, at Order functions, I’ve heard quite a bit about the lost Library of Alexandria. The occupant of the Blue Chair, Alfred Hermann, is obsessed with the subject.”
“You know why?”
“He believes there’s much we can learn from the ancients.”
That she doubted, but she needed to know, “What’s the connection between the two dead men and the Order?”
“The man the woman described has been present at Order functions. Not a member. An employee. She didn’t hear his name, but her boyfriend once used a term I’ve heard before, too. Die Klauen der Adler.”
She silently translated. The Talons of the Eagle. “You going to tell me more?”
“How about when I’m sure?”
Back in June, when she’d first met Thorvaldsen, he hadn’t been all that forthcoming, which had only fueled the already existing friction between them. But since then she’d learned not to underestimate the Dane. “Okay. You said the Order’s main interest was the Middle East. What did you mean?”
“I appreciate you not pressing.”
“Got to start cooperating with you sometime. Besides, you weren’t going to tell me anyway.”
Thorvaldsen chuckled. “We’re a lot alike.”
“Now, that scares me.”
“It’s not all that bad. But to answer your question about the Middle East, unfortunately the Arab world only respects strength. They also know how to deal, however, and they have much to bargain with, especially oil.”
She couldn’t argue with that conclusion.
“Who’s the Arab’s number one enemy?” Thorvaldsen asked. “America? No. Israel. That’s the thorn in their side. There it sits. Right in the middle of their world. A Jewish state. Partitioned out in 1948 when nearly a million people were, if you believe the Arab line, forcibly displaced. Land Palestinians, Egyptians, Jordanians, Lebanese, and Syrians had claimed for centuries was simply
But before leaving the building he needed to check one more thing.
At the exit doors he approached an information counter and plucked a city map from its holder. He casually turned and studied it, allowing his gaze to drift from the map to the stream of people flowing through the broad terminal.
He’d expected String Bean to be waiting for him to leave, if indeed he was following.
Instead, his problem tailed Pam.
Now he was concerned.
He tossed the map on the counter and headed across the terminal. Pam entered one of the many cafés, apparently intent on passing the time with a meal or a coffee. String Bean assumed a position in a duty-free shop where he could clearly observe the café.
Interesting. Apparently Malone wasn’t the flavor-of-the-day.
He, too, entered the café.
Pam was sitting in a booth, and he walked over. Surprise flooded her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Changed my mind. Why don’t you come along?”
“I’d really like that.”
“One condition.”
“I know. My mouth stays shut.”
STEPHANIE ALLOWED THORVALDSEN’S WORDS TO AGAIN PLAY across her mind. Then she calmly asked, “You’re a member of the Order of the Golden Fleece?”
“For thirty years. I always thought it nothing more than a way for people with money and power to mingle with one another. That’s what we do most of the time—”
“When you’re not paying off politicians or bribing for contracts.”
“Come now, Stephanie. You know the way of the world. I don’t make the rules. I just play by the ones in place.”
“Tell me what you know, Henrik. And please, no bullshit.”
“My investigators traced the two dead men from yesterday to Amsterdam. One has a lady friend. She told us that her lover worked regularly for another man. Once she managed to see him, and from her description I believe I’ve seen him, too.”
She waited for more.
“Interestingly, for many years now, at Order functions, I’ve heard quite a bit about the lost Library of Alexandria. The occupant of the Blue Chair, Alfred Hermann, is obsessed with the subject.”
“You know why?”
“He believes there’s much we can learn from the ancients.”
That she doubted, but she needed to know, “What’s the connection between the two dead men and the Order?”
“The man the woman described has been present at Order functions. Not a member. An employee. She didn’t hear his name, but her boyfriend once used a term I’ve heard before, too. Die Klauen der Adler.”
She silently translated. The Talons of the Eagle. “You going to tell me more?”
“How about when I’m sure?”
Back in June, when she’d first met Thorvaldsen, he hadn’t been all that forthcoming, which had only fueled the already existing friction between them. But since then she’d learned not to underestimate the Dane. “Okay. You said the Order’s main interest was the Middle East. What did you mean?”
“I appreciate you not pressing.”
“Got to start cooperating with you sometime. Besides, you weren’t going to tell me anyway.”
Thorvaldsen chuckled. “We’re a lot alike.”
“Now, that scares me.”
“It’s not all that bad. But to answer your question about the Middle East, unfortunately the Arab world only respects strength. They also know how to deal, however, and they have much to bargain with, especially oil.”
She couldn’t argue with that conclusion.
“Who’s the Arab’s number one enemy?” Thorvaldsen asked. “America? No. Israel. That’s the thorn in their side. There it sits. Right in the middle of their world. A Jewish state. Partitioned out in 1948 when nearly a million people were, if you believe the Arab line, forcibly displaced. Land Palestinians, Egyptians, Jordanians, Lebanese, and Syrians had claimed for centuries was simply
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