Davis dropped to his knees, leaning forward, as if praying, head bowed, arms at his sides. Chinos stood ready. She heard Davis catch his breath. Her mouth went dry. Chinos stepped closer, seemingly intent on finis.h.i.+ng the fight. But Davis summoned all his reserves and lurched upward, tackling his opponent, planting his head into the man's ribs.

Bone cracked.

Chinos howled in pain and fell to the tiles.

Davis pummeled the man.

Blood gushed from Chinos' nose and splattered on the tiles. His arms and legs went limp. Davis kept peppering him with hard, sharp punches from a closed fist.

"Edwin," she called out.

He didn't seem to listen.

"Edwin," she screamed.

He stopped. Breath wheezed from him, but he did not move.

"It's done," she said.

Davis shot her a murderous look.

He finally crawled off his opponent and came to his feet, but his knees immediately weakened and he stumbled. He straightened one arm and caught himself, tried to remain standing, but couldn't.

He collapsed to the tiles.

SEVENTY.

OSSAU, 3:00 AM.

MALONE WATCHED AS C CHRISTL REMOVED A LAPTOP FROM HER travel bag. They'd returned to the inn without seeing or hearing anyone. Snow had started to fall outside, a wind spinning it into fluffy eddies. She switched on the machine, then removed a handheld scanner and connected it to one of the USB ports. travel bag. They'd returned to the inn without seeing or hearing anyone. Snow had started to fall outside, a wind spinning it into fluffy eddies. She switched on the machine, then removed a handheld scanner and connected it to one of the USB ports.

"This is going to take a while," she said. "It's not the fastest scanner there is."

He held the book from the church. They'd thumbed through all of the pages, which seemed a complete translation of each letter of the language of heaven into its Latin counterpart.

"You realize this is not going to be exact," she said. "Some of the letters could have double meanings. There could be no corresponding Latin letter or sound. That sort of thing."

"Your grandfather did it."

She eyed him with an odd mixture of annoyance and grat.i.tude. "I can also instantly convert Latin to German or English. I didn't really know what to expect. I was never quite sure if Grandfather was to be believed. A few months ago Mother allowed me access to some of his notebooks. Father's, too. But they told me little. Obviously, she withheld what she deemed important. The maps, for example. The books from Einhard's and Charlemagne's graves. So there was always a nagging doubt that Grandfather may have simply been a fool."

He wondered about her openness. Refres.h.i.+ng. But also suspect.

"You saw all that n.a.z.i memorabilia he collected. He was obsessed. The odd thing is that he was spared the disasters of the Third Reich, yet he seemed to regret not being a part of their downfall. In the end, he was just bitter. It was almost a blessing he lost his mind."

"But he now has another chance to be proven right."

The machine dinged, signaling it was ready.

She accepted the book from him. "And I plan to give him every chance. What are you going to do while I work?"

He laid back on the bed. "I intend to sleep. Wake me when you're done."RAMSEY MADE SURE D DIANE M MCCOY LEFT FORT L LEE AND HEADED back to Was.h.i.+ngton. He did not revisit the warehouse so as not to draw any more attention, explaining to the base commander that he'd borne witness to a minor territorial dispute between the White House and the navy. The explanation seemed to have satisfied any questions that may have arisen from so many high-level visits over the past couple of days. back to Was.h.i.+ngton. He did not revisit the warehouse so as not to draw any more attention, explaining to the base commander that he'd borne witness to a minor territorial dispute between the White House and the navy. The explanation seemed to have satisfied any questions that may have arisen from so many high-level visits over the past couple of days.

He glanced at his watch. 8:50 PM PM.

He sat at a table in a small trattoria on the outskirts of Was.h.i.+ngton. Good Italian food, understated setting, excellent wine bar. None of which he cared about tonight.

He sipped his wine.

A woman entered the restaurant. Her tall, slender frame was draped by a st.i.tched-velvet aletta coat and dark vintage jeans. A beige cashmere scarf wrapped her neck. She threaded a path around the tightly packed tables and sat with him.

The woman from the map store.

"You did good with the senator," he told her. "Right on the mark."

She acknowledged his compliment with a nod.

"Where is she?" he asked. He'd ordered surveillance on Diane McCoy.

"You're not going to like it."

A new chill sheathed his spine.

"She's with Kane. Right now."

"Where?"

"They roamed the Lincoln Memorial, then walked the basin to the Was.h.i.+ngton Monument."

"Cold night for a stroll."

"Tell me about it. I have a man with her now. She's headed home."

All disturbing. The only connection between McCoy and Kane would be him. He'd thought her placated, but he may have underestimated her resolve.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked. Hovey.

"I need to take this," he said. "Could you wait near the door?"

She understood and left.

"What is it?" he said into the phone.

"The White House is on the line. They want to speak with you."

Nothing unusual. "So?"

"It's the president."

That was was unusual. unusual.

"Connect us."

A few seconds later he heard the booming voice the whole world knew. "Admiral, I hope you're having a good night."

"It's cold, Mr. President."

"You got that right. And getting colder. I'm calling because Aatos Kane wants you on the Joint Chiefs. He says you're the man for the job."

"That all depends if you agree, sir." He kept his voice low, below the level of m.u.f.fled conversations around him.

"I do. Thought about it all day, but I agree. Would you like the job?"

"I'd willingly serve wherever you like."

"You know how I feel about the Joint Chiefs, but let's be real. Nothing's going to change, so I need you there."

"I'm honored. When would this be made public?"

"I'll have your name leaked within the hour. You'll be the morning news story. Get ready, Admiral-it's a different ballpark than naval intelligence."

"I'll be ready, sir."

"Glad to have you aboard."

And Daniels was gone.

A breathless moment pa.s.sed. His defenses dropped. His fears abated. He'd done it. Whatever Diane McCoy was doing mattered not.

He was now the appointee.DOROTHEA LAY IN THE BED, TREMBLING IN THAT STATE BETWEEN sleep and wakefulness where thoughts could sometimes be controlled. What had she done, making love to Werner again? That was something she'd never thought possible-a part of her life that had surely ended. sleep and wakefulness where thoughts could sometimes be controlled. What had she done, making love to Werner again? That was something she'd never thought possible-a part of her life that had surely ended.

Maybe not.

Two hours ago she'd heard the door for Malone's room open, then close. A murmur of voices seeped through the thin walls, but nothing she could decipher. What was her sister doing in the middle of the night?

Werner lay pressed beside her in the narrow bed. He was right. They were married and their heir would be legitimate. But having a baby at age forty-eight? Perhaps that was the price she would be required to pay. Werner and her mother had apparently forged some sort of alliance, strong enough that Sterling Wilkerson had to die-strong enough to transform Werner into some semblance of a man.

More voices leaked from next door.

She rose from the bed and approached the connecting wall, but could understand nothing. She padded lightly across the thinly carpeted flooring to the window. Fat snowflakes fell in silence. All of her life she'd lived in mountains and snow. She'd learned to hunt, shoot, and ski at an early age. She wasn't afraid of much-only failure, and her mother. She rested her naked body against the chilly windowsill, frustrated and mournful, and stared at her husband, curled under the comforter.

She wondered if her bitterness toward him was nothing more than grief overflowing for their dead son. For a long time afterward the days and nights had a.s.sumed a nightmarish quality, a sensation of rus.h.i.+ng forward with no purpose or destination in view.

A chill stole the room, and her courage.

She folded her arms across her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

It seemed with each pa.s.sing year that she became more bitter, more dissatisfied. She missed Georg. But maybe Werner was right. Maybe it was time to live. To love. To be loved.

She flexed her legs in a long stretch. The room next door had gone quiet. She turned and stared back out the window at the snow-pelted darkness.

She caressed her flat belly.

Another baby.

Why not.

SEVENTY-ONE.

ASHEVILLE, 11:15 PM.

STEPHANIE AND E EDWIN D DAVIS REENTERED THE I INN ON B BILTMORE Estate. Davis had risen from his brawl, caught in the clutch of pain, his face bruised, but his ego intact. Chinos was in custody, albeit unconscious at a local hospital with a concussion and multiple contusions from the beating. The local police had escorted the ambulance and would remain there until the Secret Service arrived, which should be within the hour. Doctors had already told the police it would be morning before the man could be questioned. The chateau had been sealed and more police were combing its interior seeing what, if anything, Chinos had left behind. Tapes from security cameras located throughout the house were being carefully reviewed in search of more information. Estate. Davis had risen from his brawl, caught in the clutch of pain, his face bruised, but his ego intact. Chinos was in custody, albeit unconscious at a local hospital with a concussion and multiple contusions from the beating. The local police had escorted the ambulance and would remain there until the Secret Service arrived, which should be within the hour. Doctors had already told the police it would be morning before the man could be questioned. The chateau had been sealed and more police were combing its interior seeing what, if anything, Chinos had left behind. Tapes from security cameras located throughout the house were being carefully reviewed in search of more information.

Davis had said little since he'd climbed from the pool. A call to the White House had confirmed both their ident.i.ties and credentials, so they hadn't been forced to answer questions. Which was good. She could see that Davis was not in the mood.

The estate's chief of security had accompanied them back to the inn. They approached the main registration desk and the administrator found what Davis wanted, handing him a slip of paper: "Scofield's suite number."

"Let's go," Davis said to her.

They located the room on the sixth floor and Davis banged on the door.

Scofield answered, wearing one of the inn's signature robes. "It's late and I have an early morning tomorrow. What could you two possibly want? Didn't you cause enough havoc earlier?"

Davis brushed the professor aside and marched into the suite, which contained a generous living area with a sofa and chairs, a wet bar, and windows that surely provided spectacular mountain views.

"I put up with your a.s.shole att.i.tude this afternoon," Davis said, "because I had to. You thought we were nuts. But we just saved your a.s.s, so we'd like some answers in grat.i.tude."

"Someone was here to kill me?"

Davis pointed at his bruises. "Look at my face. He's in the hospital. It's time you tell us some things, Professor. Cla.s.sified things."

Scofield seemed to swallow some of his insolence. "You're right. I was an a.s.s to you today, but I didn't realize-"