The Templar Legacy by Steve Berry Page A

taught at the University of Toulouse, in southern France. Five years ago he was lost in the Pyrénées. An avalanche. His body never found. Malone knew that tragedy had been accentuated by the fact that Stephanie and her son had not been close. A lot of bad blood flowed in the Nelle family, none of which was any of his business.
    “That damn journal was like a ghost come back to haunt me,” she said. “There it was. Lars’s handwriting. The note told me about the auction and the availability of the book. I remembered Lars speaking of it, and there were references in the journal, so I came to buy it.”
    “And danger bells weren’t clanging in your head?”
    “Why? My husband was not involved in my line of work. His was a harmless quest for things that don’t exist. How was I to know there were people involved who would kill?”
    “That man leaping from the Round
     Tower was clear enough. You should have come to me then.”
    “I need to do this alone.”
    “Do what?”
    “I don’t know, Cotton.”
    “Why is that book so important? I learned at the auction that it’s a nondescript account of no importance. They were shocked it sold for so much.”
    “I have no idea.” Exasperation returned to her tone. “Truly, I don’t. Two weeks ago I sat down, read Lars’s notebook, and I have to say I became fascinated. I’m ashamed to say I never read one of his books until last week. When I did, I began to feel awful about my attitude toward him. Eleven years can add a lot of perspective.”
    “So what did you plan to do?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. Just buy the book. Read it and see what happened from there. While I was over here, I planned to go to France and spend a few days at Lars’s house. I haven’t been there in a while.”
    She apparently was trying to make peace with demons, but there was reality to consider. “You need help, Stephanie. There’s more happening here, and this is something I do have experience handling.”
    “Don’t you have a bookshop to run?”
    “My employees can handle things for a few days.”
    She hesitated, seemingly considering his offer. “You were the best I ever had. I’m still mad you quit.”
    “Had to do what I had to do.”
    She shook her head. “To have Henrik Thorvaldsen steal you away. Insult to injury.”
    Last year, when he’d retired and told her he planned to move to Copenhagen, she’d been happy for him, until learning about Thorvaldsen’s involvement. Characteristically, she’d never explained herself and he knew better than to ask.
    “I have some more bad news for you,” he said. “The person who outbid you for the book? On the phone? It was Henrik.”
    She cast him a look of disdain.
    “He was working with Peter Hansen,” he said.
    “What led you to that conclusion?”
    He told her what he learned at the auction and what the man had said to him over the radio. I detest those who deceive me. “Apparently Hansen was playing both ends against the middle and the middle won.”
    “Wait outside,” she said.
    “That’s why I came. You and Henrik need to talk. But we need to leave here with caution. Those men may still be out there.”
    “I’ll get dressed.”
    He moved toward the door. “Where’s Lars’s journal?”
    She pointed to the safe.
    “Bring it.”
    “Is that wise?”
    “The police are going to find Hansen’s body. It won’t take them long to connect the dots. We need to be ready to move.”
    “I can handle the police.”
    He faced her. “Washington bailed you out of Roskilde because they don’t know what you’re doing. Right now, I’m sure someone in Justice is trying to find out. You hate questions, and you can’t tell the attorney general to go to hell when he calls. I’m still not sure what you’re doing, but I know one thing, you don’t want to talk about it. So pack up.”
    “I don’t miss that arrogance.”
    “And your ray-of-sunshine personality has left my life incomplete, too. Could you just