The 14th Colony: A Novel by Steve Berry Page A
Authors: Steve Berry
Tags: United States, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Crime, Espionage, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Political, Murder, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics
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Nikolai said.
“And it appears,” she said, “to have been abandoned for a while.”
During the drive Luke learned that Malone might be in trouble and that Cassiopeia had been sent to see about him, which seemed both good and bad. He hoped everything was okay, but their SVR ally had not been able to gather much new information from folks in Siberia. Of course, the $64,000 question that nobody would answer was why someone would shoot down Malone’s plane in the first place. Whoever they were, they possessed surface-to-air missiles, which meant far more was going on here than the Russkies wanted to admit—and far more than Uncle Danny had revealed.
Their driver produced a flashlight with a bright halogen beam. A faint hint of dawn was beginning to form to the east, but it would still be another two hours before the sun rose.
Luke grabbed the light and led the way back inside, which still cast the hollow atmosphere of a mausoleum. “She came straight here and knew exactly where she was going.”
“Any idea what she was after?” Stephanie asked Osin.
“Can I reserve that answer until after we have a look? I’ll try to be as direct as possible.”
Luke doubted that observation. From the few times he’d encountered the SVR, coy would be the most generous word he’d use to describe them. Totally untrustworthy? Liars? Both fit them to a T. But he understood that this was supposed to be sort of a joint operation, one he wanted to be part of, so he kept his comments to himself.
They followed him down the hall and into the study, where the light revealed the gash in the paneled wall.
“She knew how to handle that ax,” he said, pointing to it on the floor.
He was anxious to see what was beyond the opening, so he shone the beam inside. The room was small, maybe ten feet square, lined floor-to-ceiling on three sides with shelves. But unlike the ones out in the study, which sat empty and askew, these were brimming with books. A table sat in the center, on which rested a wooden easel, under glass, that displayed an open volume. A small chandelier dangled from the ceiling, sparkling in the light, its dusty bulbs useless without power.
“Some sort of concealed chamber,” he muttered. “Which sweet Anya knew all about. She busted through exactly where she needed to.”
He stepped inside, followed by Stephanie and Osin. With the flashlight he surveyed the shelves, studying the exposed spines. Most were books, others bound manuscripts, still more were wooden file cases holding loose sheets. He caught a few of the labels. MILITARY COMMAND CORRESPONDENCE. BATTLE OF PRINCETON. SIEGE OF BOSTON. CAPTURE OF TICONDEROGA. He scanned the entire room and read more spines.
One theme rang clear.
“It’s a Revolutionary War library,” he said.
“More than that,” Stephanie added. “These books are late-18th- and early-19th- and 20th-century histories of that time, leading up to the War of 1812.”
He estimated they were looking at several hundred volumes, everything sheathed in a thick coat of dust. Clearly, no one had been here for a long time. Here and there, sections of the shelves were empty, books that had once been there lying askew on the floor, their dust clearly disturbed.
“That’s what I heard,” Luke said. “Lots of thuds. She was raking those off.”
“Tell us, Nikolai,” Stephanie said. “What was she looking for?”
Osin did not reply. Instead, he removed the glass dome that protected the book on the easel and slowly turned the pages. He then closed the book so that its cover could be read.
Gold letters were etched into a black leather binding.
THE
ORIGINAL INSTITUTION
OF THE
GENERAL SOCIETY OF THE
CINCINNATI
AS FORMED BY THE OFFICERS OF THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES
AT THE CONCLUSION OF THE
REVOLUTIONARY WAR
WHICH GAVE INDEPENDENCE TO
AMERICA
Stephanie stepped closer and reopened the book, reading from a few of the pages. “It’s a history of the society. Its general proceedings,
“And it appears,” she said, “to have been abandoned for a while.”
During the drive Luke learned that Malone might be in trouble and that Cassiopeia had been sent to see about him, which seemed both good and bad. He hoped everything was okay, but their SVR ally had not been able to gather much new information from folks in Siberia. Of course, the $64,000 question that nobody would answer was why someone would shoot down Malone’s plane in the first place. Whoever they were, they possessed surface-to-air missiles, which meant far more was going on here than the Russkies wanted to admit—and far more than Uncle Danny had revealed.
Their driver produced a flashlight with a bright halogen beam. A faint hint of dawn was beginning to form to the east, but it would still be another two hours before the sun rose.
Luke grabbed the light and led the way back inside, which still cast the hollow atmosphere of a mausoleum. “She came straight here and knew exactly where she was going.”
“Any idea what she was after?” Stephanie asked Osin.
“Can I reserve that answer until after we have a look? I’ll try to be as direct as possible.”
Luke doubted that observation. From the few times he’d encountered the SVR, coy would be the most generous word he’d use to describe them. Totally untrustworthy? Liars? Both fit them to a T. But he understood that this was supposed to be sort of a joint operation, one he wanted to be part of, so he kept his comments to himself.
They followed him down the hall and into the study, where the light revealed the gash in the paneled wall.
“She knew how to handle that ax,” he said, pointing to it on the floor.
He was anxious to see what was beyond the opening, so he shone the beam inside. The room was small, maybe ten feet square, lined floor-to-ceiling on three sides with shelves. But unlike the ones out in the study, which sat empty and askew, these were brimming with books. A table sat in the center, on which rested a wooden easel, under glass, that displayed an open volume. A small chandelier dangled from the ceiling, sparkling in the light, its dusty bulbs useless without power.
“Some sort of concealed chamber,” he muttered. “Which sweet Anya knew all about. She busted through exactly where she needed to.”
He stepped inside, followed by Stephanie and Osin. With the flashlight he surveyed the shelves, studying the exposed spines. Most were books, others bound manuscripts, still more were wooden file cases holding loose sheets. He caught a few of the labels. MILITARY COMMAND CORRESPONDENCE. BATTLE OF PRINCETON. SIEGE OF BOSTON. CAPTURE OF TICONDEROGA. He scanned the entire room and read more spines.
One theme rang clear.
“It’s a Revolutionary War library,” he said.
“More than that,” Stephanie added. “These books are late-18th- and early-19th- and 20th-century histories of that time, leading up to the War of 1812.”
He estimated they were looking at several hundred volumes, everything sheathed in a thick coat of dust. Clearly, no one had been here for a long time. Here and there, sections of the shelves were empty, books that had once been there lying askew on the floor, their dust clearly disturbed.
“That’s what I heard,” Luke said. “Lots of thuds. She was raking those off.”
“Tell us, Nikolai,” Stephanie said. “What was she looking for?”
Osin did not reply. Instead, he removed the glass dome that protected the book on the easel and slowly turned the pages. He then closed the book so that its cover could be read.
Gold letters were etched into a black leather binding.
THE
ORIGINAL INSTITUTION
OF THE
GENERAL SOCIETY OF THE
CINCINNATI
AS FORMED BY THE OFFICERS OF THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES
AT THE CONCLUSION OF THE
REVOLUTIONARY WAR
WHICH GAVE INDEPENDENCE TO
AMERICA
Stephanie stepped closer and reopened the book, reading from a few of the pages. “It’s a history of the society. Its general proceedings,
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