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"Careful, Edwin," Daniels said. "Lots of unknowns here."
"And women can't be trusted?"
The president chuckled. "I'm glad you said it and not me."
Davis hung up and stared at her, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. "You need to stay here."
"Like hell."
"You don't have to do this."
His cool assumption made her laugh. "Since when? You're the one who involved me."
"I was wrong."
She stepped close and gently caressed his bruised face. "You would have killed the wrong man in Asheville if I hadn't been there."
He grasped her wrist in a light embrace, his hand jittery. "Daniels is right. This is wholly unpredictable."
"Hell, Edwin, that's my whole life."
EIGHTY-SIX
MALONE HAD SEEN SOME IMPRESSIVE THINGS. THE TEMPLAR TREASURE. The Library of Alexandria. The tomb of Alexander the Great. But none of those compared to what he now saw.
A processional way of irregularly shaped and polished slabs, lined on both sides with close-packed buildings of varying shapes and sizes, stretched ahead. Streets crisscrossed and intersected. The cocoon of rock that encased the settlement reached hundreds of feet into the air, the farthest wall maybe two football fields away. Even more impressive were the vertical rock faces rising like monoliths, polished smooth from ground to ceiling, etched with symbols, letters, and drawings. His flashlight revealed in the wall nearest him a melding of whitish yellow sandstone, greenish red shale, and black dolerite wedges. The effect was like that of marble-of standing inside a building rather than a mountain.
Pillars lined the street at defined intervals, and supported more of the quartz that gently glowed, like night-lights, investing everything with a dim mystery.
"Grandfather was right," Dorothea said. "It truly does exist."
"Yes, he was," Christl proclaimed, her voice rising. "Right about everything."
Malone heard the pride, felt her flush of excitement.
"All of you thought him a dreamer," Christl continued. "Mother berated him and Father. But they were visionaries. They were right about it all."
"This will change everything," Dorothea said.
"Of which you have no right to share," Christl said. "I always believed in their theories. It's why I pursued that line of study. You laughed at them. No one will laugh at Hermann Oberhauser anymore."
"How about we hold off on the accolades," Malone said, "and have a look."
He led the group forward, peering down the side streets as deep as their flashlight beams would allow. A strong foreboding rocked through him, but curiosity nudged him forward. He almost expected people to drift out from the buildings and greet them, but only their footsteps could be heard.
The buildings were a mixture of squares and rectangles with walls of cut stone, laid tight, polished smooth, held together with no mortar. The two flashlights revealed facades ablaze with color. Rust, brown, blue, yellow, white, gold. Low-pitched roofs produced pediments filled with elaborate spiral designs and more writing. Everything seemed tidy, practical, and well organized. The Antarctic freezer had preserved it all, though there was evidence of geological forces at work. Many of the quartz blocks in the towering light crevices had fallen. A few walls had collapsed, and the street contained buckles.
The thoroughfare drained into a circular plaza with more buildings lining its circumference, one a colonnaded temple-like structure with beautifully decorated square columns. In the center of the plaza stood the same unique symbol from the book cover, an enormous shiny red monument surrounded by tiers of stone benches. His eidetic memory instantly recalled what Einhard had written.
The Advisers stamped their approval to enactments with the symbol of righteousness. Its shape, carved into red stone, centers the city and watches over their annual deliberations. Atop is the sun, half ablaze in glory. Then the earth, as a simple circle, and the planets represented by a dot within the circle. The cross beneath them reminds of the land, while the sea waves below.
Square pillars dotted the plaza, maybe ten feet tall. Each crimson and topped with swirls and ornamentation. He counted eighteen. More writing had been etched onto their facades in tight rows.
Laws are enacted by the Advisers and inscribed upon the Righteous Columns in the center of the city so that all will know the provisions.
"Einhard was here," Christl said. She'd apparently realized the same thing. "It's as he described."
"Since you didn't share what he wrote with us," Dorothea said. "It's hard to know."
He watched as Christl ignored her sister and studied one of the columns.
They were walking on a collage of mosaics. Henn examined the pavement with his light. Animals, people, scenes of daily life-each alive with bright color. A few yards away stood a circular stone ledge, perhaps thirty feet in diameter and four feet tall. He walked toward it and gazed over. A black stone-lined hole opened in the earth.
The others approached.
He found a rock the size of a small melon and tossed it over the side. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. A minute. Still no sound of the bottom.
"That's a deep hole," he said.
Similar to the predicament he'd dug for himself.
DOROTHEA DRIFTED AWAY FROM THE PIT. WERNER FOLLOWED AND whispered, "You okay?"
She nodded, again uncomfortable with his husbandly concern. "We need to finish this," she whispered. "Move it along."
He nodded.
Malone was studying one of the square red pillars.
Each breath she took parched her mouth.
Werner said to Malone, "Would it be faster if we divide into two groups and explore, then meet back here?"
Malone turned. "Not a bad idea. We have another five hours before we check in, and it's a long way back down that tunnel. We need to make that trek only once."
No one argued.
"So there's no fight among anyone," Malone said, "I'll take Dorothea. You and Christl go with Henn."
Dorothea glanced at Ulrich. His eyes told her that would be fine.
So she said nothing.
MALONE DECIDED THAT IF ANYTHING WAS GOING TO HAPPEN, NOW was the time, so he'd quickly agreed with Werner's suggestion. He was waiting to see who'd make the first move. Keeping the sisters and the married people apart seemed smart, and he noticed that no one objected.
That meant he'd now have to play the hand he'd dealt himself.
EIGHTY-SEVEN
MALONE AND DOROTHEA LEFT THE CENTRAL PLAZA AND VENTURED deeper into the cluster, the buildings packed tight like dominoes in a box. Some of the structures were shops with one or two rooms, opening directly to the street with no other obvious function. Others were set back, accessed by walkways leading between the shops to front doors. He noticed no cornices, eaves, or guttering. The architecture seemed eager to use right angles, diagonals, and pyramidal forms-curves appeared in restraint. Ceramic pipes, married with thick gray joints, ran house to house, and up and down the exterior walls-each beautifully painted-part of the decor, but also, he surmised, practical.
He and Dorothea investigated one of the dwellings, entering through a sculpted bronze door. A mosaic-paved central courtyard was surrounded by four square rooms, each carved from stone with clear depth and precision. Onyx and topaz columns seemed more for decoration than support. Stairs led to an upper story. No windows. Instead, the ceiling consisted of more quartz, the pieces arched together with mortar. The weak light from outside refracted through and was magnified, making the rooms more resplendent.
"They're all empty," Dorothea said. "As if they took everything and left."
"Which may be exactly what happened."
Images sheathed the walls. Groups of well-dressed woman seated on either side of a table, surrounded by more people. Beyond, a killer whale-a male, he knew from the tall dorsal fin-swam in a blue sea. Jagged icebergs floated nearby, dotted with colonies of penguins. A boat cruised the surface-long, thin, with two masts and
the symbol from the plaza, emblazoned in red, on square sails. Realism seemed a concern. Everything was well proportioned. The wall reflected the flashlight beam, which drew him closer to caress the surface.
More of the ceramic pipes ran floor to ceiling in every room, their exterior painted to blend with the images.
He examined them with unconcealed wonder.
"Has to be some sort of heating system. They had to have a way to keep warm."
"The source?" she asked.
"Geothermal. These people were smart, but not mechanically sophisticated. My guess is that pit in the central plaza was a geothermal vent that would have heated the whole place. They channeled more heat into these pipes and sent it all over the city." He rubbed the shiny exterior. "But once the heat source faded, they would have been in trouble. Life here would have been a daily battle."
A fissure marred one of the interior walls and he traced it with his light. "This place has taken some earthquake hits over the centuries. Amazing it's still standing."
No reply had been offered to either of his observations, so he turned.
Dorothea Lindauer stood across the room, a gun pointed at him.
STEPHANIE STUDIED THE HOUSE THAT DANNY DANIELS' DIRECTIONS had led them to find. Old, dilapidated, isolated in the Maryland countryside, surrounded by dense woods and meadows. A barn stood to its rear. No other cars were in sight. They'd both come armed, so they stepped from the vehicle, weapons in hand. Neither of them said a word.
They approached the front door, which hung open. Most of the windows were shattered clear. The house was, she estimated, two to three thousand square feet, its glory having faded long ago.
They entered cautiously.
The day was clear and cold and bright sunshine flooded in through the exposed windows. They stood in a foyer, parlors opening to their left and right, another corridor ahead. The house was single-story and rambling, connected by wide hallways. Furniture filled the rooms, draped in filthy cloths, the wall coverings peeling, the wood floors buckling.
She caught a sound, like scraping. Then a soft tap, tap, tap. Something moving? Walking?
She heard a snarl and growl.
Her eyes focused down one of the halls. Davis brushed past and led the way. They came to a doorway into one of the bedrooms. Davis dropped behind her but kept his gun aimed. She knew what he wanted her to do, so she eased close to the jamb, peeked inside, and saw two dogs. One tawny and white, the other a pale gray, both busy eating something. They were each a good size and sinewy. One of them sensed her presence and raised its head. Its mouth and nose were bloodstained.
The animal growled.
His partner sensed danger and came alert, too.
Davis moved up behind her.
"Do you see it?" he asked.
She did.
Beneath the dogs, lying on the floor, was their meal.
A human hand, severed at the wrist, three fingers missing.
MALONE STARED AT DOROTHEA'S GUN. "YOU PLAN TO SHOOT ME?"
"You're in league with her. I saw her go into your room."
"I don't think a one-night stand qualifies as being in league with someone."
"She's evil."
"You're both nuts."
