Tesla Secret, The (9 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Library of Mafra Palace wasn't like any library Nick had seen before. The room was the length of a football field. Ceilings of white plaster molded with floral accents radiated in ribbed arches from a high, closed dome in the center. The library was a testament to the golden age of Baroque architecture.

The floor was paved with tiles in white, rose and gray. Under the central dome, the tiles formed a circle of geometric patterns bounded by a square. It looked like an expensive oriental rug woven of marble. Two tiers of wooden shelves stretched away on either side of the room. Thousands of books lined the shelves. Marble columns supported the second tier and a balcony bordered by a marble balustrade. Pale moonlight streamed through large windows. The library was eerily beautiful in the cold light.

Dark shapes swooped down on them and darted away as they moved into the room. Ronnie ducked and swore.

"Bats. They've got bats in here. Rats and bats. What the hell kind of a palace is this?"

Nick laughed. "Rats and Bats. Sounds like a good name for a rock band."

"The bats eat insects that would eat the books," Selena said. "The Portuguese let them live in here."

Lamont sighed. "How do you know stuff like that?" He looked at the leather bound volumes lining the shelves. "Lots of books. Where's the Codex?"

"The Codex isn't on display. Look for another room. There has to be a place where they keep damaged books for restoration or storage."

Five minutes later they found it, locked with an electronic key pad. Ronnie took a device from his pack and placed it against the lock. Digital numbers in green blurred and stopped one by one until a five number combination appeared. The door clicked open.

In the security station near the main entrance, a red warning light illuminated. The guard watching the monitors didn't see it. He was lying on the floor. The back of his skull was gone, where a bullet had exited and taken most of his brain with it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The restoration room was the size of a large garage. A workbench along one wall bore a neat array of glues, inks and odd tools no one but a book restorer would ever understand. A leather bound volume lay on the bench, open to a drawing of a medieval knight stepping off into an abyss.

Selena walked over to the table.

"This is incredible." Selena's voice was hushed, almost reverent. "This is a 14th Century illustrated edition of
Le Morte D'Artur
. The Death of Arthur."

"King Arthur?" Nick walked to her, looked down at the book.

"The same."

"Very nice," Nick said, "but not what we came for."

"Sorry." She scanned the room. "Try that cabinet with the keypad. It's temperature controlled."

The code they had used to enter the room opened the cabinet. Inside was an oblong wooden box about six inches deep and a foot long. Selena took it out and opened the lid.

"This is it," she said. She closed the lid and placed the box in a large, empty pocket in front of her jacket. It made the jacket bulge out in front. Nick thought of Afghanistan and suicide bombers. He shook off the memory.

His ear began itching.

"Something's not right," he said.

Nick's ear burned. He tugged on it. Ronnie and Lamont looked at each other. They all knew what that meant.

"Shit," Ronnie muttered.

"Kill the lights." Nick's voice was quiet, calm. He felt the old pre-combat surge.

He let the door open a crack. They heard muffled whispers, the scrape of a boot on marble. MP-5 up by his cheek, Nick pulled the door open.

Five men, dressed in black, wearing balaclavas and holding ugly, short barreled automatic weapons.

Nick opened fire. The gunfire lit the library in bright flashes with a disorienting, strobe-like effect. Everyone began yelling and shooting. Something slammed into his chest and spun him around. He saw Selena hit as he went down. It was a ballet of death, shadow men dancing in the moonlight and the light from the guns... 

...and the bullets shattered the market stalls around him, ricocheting from the stone walls, the AKs a constant roar in his ears. He made it to a doorway. Across the dirt street a child ran toward him shouting about Allah. The child had a grenade...

...and he was back in Portugal. The flashback was over. The fight was over. He'd been gone for a minute. He broke out in a cold sweat. Five black shapes lay crumpled on the marble. The floor was littered with spent brass. The smell of the guns filled the air.

Lamont bent over him. "You all right?" He helped Nick to his feet.

"Yeah." His chest was bruised. His left arm was numb. Selena was doubled over, gasping for air.

"S'all right," she said. She struggled for breath. "Knocked the wind out of me."

Ronnie helped her up. She pulled the box with the Codex from her jacket. The round had punched through the book and been stopped by the armor  underneath.

"Nick," Lamont said.

"I'm okay. Jesus, I love this armor."

Ronnie bent over one of the dead men. "Guess theirs wasn't as good as ours." He picked up one of their guns. "Russian. PP-19. Good weapon."

"Not good enough," Lamont said. "What are Russians doing here?"

"Same as us."

"This one is still alive." Ronnie knelt next to one of the prone figures. The man's eyes fluttered and opened. Blood ran from his mouth. Ronnie knew he wasn't getting up again. So did the man on the floor.

"Fuck your mother," he said in Russian. Then he was gone.

"Definitely Russians," Lamont said.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Elizabeth sat in Stephanie's office drinking coffee and thinking about people trying to kill her. She'd dressed all in black today. Black silk blouse, black suit, black shoes. It suited her mood. The only touch of color was a silver pin in the shape of a swan over her left breast, set with tiny diamonds.

Nine in the morning, and she was already on her fourth cup. Her stress levels were somewhere in the stratosphere.

Stephanie's desk had three large monitors and built in keyboards linking to the bank of Crays downstairs. A bobble doll of Elvis Presley was stuck on top of the monitor in the middle. A framed travel poster of Venice hung on one wall.

A large corkboard over the console was pinned with notes to herself and pictures of friends and family. A vase with fresh flowers was placed between two of the monitors. On the right wall was a realistic photo picture of a window looking out over an ocean scene and a sunny day.

"No clues?" Stephanie asked her. "Nothing to indicate who sent them?"

"No. My guess is AEON."

There were no long term physical effects from the bomb. She'd been partially deaf for a day. Her face bore several cuts from flying bits of the windshield. She had bruised ribs where she'd been thrown against the door. Apart from that, her body was fine.

The attack replayed itself in her mind. The car lifting into the air and crashing down onto it's side. The impact. The noise as it scraped along the pavement. The pistol recoiling in her hands as she shot at the faceless riders, the explosions. The scene was etched into her thoughts forever. She thought of her guards, one dead, one on life support.

She'd sent a plane to Portugal. The team was on the way back with the Codex.

"There was no ID on the men they killed in Mafra?" Stephanie reached out and tapped Elvis with her finger. He wobbled and bobbled.

"No, but they had Russian weapons. One of them died speaking Russian."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing important. They were after the Codex. It's just good luck we got there first."

"Bad luck for them." Stephanie tapped Elvis. He bobbled.

"They killed the museum guards. That wasn't necessary. I don't have any sympathy. The Portuguese are trying to figure out what happened, but I don't think they'll get anywhere."

"AEON would explain a Russian connection."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "This is getting messy. I wonder what's in that Codex? It has to be important to send in a team like that."

"What do you think they're trying to do?"

"Foxworth is up to something. He's made a serious effort to eliminate us."

"But why? All he's done is get us involved."

"I thought at first he might be trying to get even for Texas, but it's gone way beyond that. Or perhaps that's all it is."

"Going after you was a mistake."

"No," she said. "Failing was a mistake."

Elizabeth's voice was quiet and controlled, her green eyes an unusually dark color. Stephanie had no doubt that Foxworth had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Codex lay on Elizabeth's desk. There was a hole in the middle from the bullet. The bark pages were faded and brittle. The corners were chewed away by insects. There were tiny holes everywhere. The pages were long and narrow and covered with faded pictures and the strange shapes of Mayan glyphs. To Nick the writing looked like drawings of pieces of popcorn, with a helping of squiggles, pictures and rows of dots.

"You can read this?" he asked Selena.

She brushed a hand across her forehead. Her violet eyes shone with excitement. This was her element, ancient languages and writing that made the Times crossword puzzle look simple.

"Some of it. This example is unique. It has elements of early Mayan and Toltec mixed together. I'd guess it's from around 500 or 600 CE. It's going to take me a while to figure it all out, but I can do it."

"Can you make sense of what you see so far?" Elizabeth asked.

"Some of it. I don't know why AEON would want it  The first page is part of a construction record. Perhaps an inventory."

She pointed at a vertical row of glyphs and dots. "This is a list of building materials. The dots are numbers, how many units of stone, that kind of thing. I think some pages may be missing. Usually the first page praises the king and dates the record by his rule, glorifies his achievements. Like the Egyptian obelisks."

"How long will it take you to translate?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'm not sure. Mayan is one of the most documented of all the ancient languages but early variants like this aren't well understood. I'll need Steph to help me. I'll compare this with known texts and look for similarities and speed it up with the computers."

"Like you did with the Minoan."

"Exactly."

"Then you'd better get started."

"Come on, Selena." Stephanie stood. "Let's go talk to Freddy."

Nick watched them leave. "Steph acts like those computers were people."

"Just don't say anything bad about them when she's around," Elizabeth said. "They're like a family to her." She picked up her pen. "Any ideas about Portugal?"

"Only a question. Why the Russians?" Nick said. "I don't think they were regular forces or Spetsnaz. Their armor was inferior. They were careless. Special Ops people wouldn't have done what they did. Besides, their uniforms had a red patch on them I'd never seen before."

"I think Ogorov sent them."

"AEON?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. The question is whether or not this is sanctioned by the Federation government."

"You think the Kremlin would cooperate with AEON? Foxworth?"

"No, but we need to find out exactly what we're up against. It makes a big difference if we're taking on the Federation."

"How are you going to find out?" Ronnie said.

"The old fashioned way. Ask. I think it's time for me to reach out and touch someone."

Part Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

General Alexei Ivanovich Vysotsky ran Department S, one of eight specialized departments within the
Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki
, Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service. Department S included the Special Operations Group called Zaslon, a group that did not officially exist.

Foreign Minister Ogorov had been playing SVR and FSB against each other and Alexei was determined to find out why. The
Federal'naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti
handled all internal security. The struggle for power between internal and foreign security dated back to when they had been directorates of the old KGB. Now they were separate organizations. The rivalry was worse than ever.

Ever since Vysotsky had found a way to eliminate the criminal Gelashvili, FSB had been in what the Americans called a snit. Vysotsky loved American slang. It was almost as good as Russian slang, except for the insults. No foreigner would ever match the essence or subtlety of the Russian insult.

Alexei had survived purges, plots and the transition to the new so-called democracy. He'd kept his deepest ambitions concealed, which was one reason he held his position of power. Few things took him by surprise anymore. Even so, he was surprised when his encrypted satellite phone signaled a call from Elizabeth Harker.

This will be interesting. What could she possibly want?

Vysotsky opened a drawer and activated an unapproved and unofficial security system that blanketed his office from every kind of  electronic surveillance. He assumed the room was bugged in ways he had not discovered. It wasn't personal, he knew, just the nature of the business. Especially in Russia. Whatever Harker had to say, he didn't want anyone else to hear it.

Alliance with her in the past had resulted in the end of a threat to the Motherland and confusion to the CIA. A satisfactory conclusion, but Alexei was wary of pressing his luck. Cooperation with Americans could easily be seen as treason. He didn't trust Harker. But he had to admit he enjoyed and appreciated her sharp decisiveness.

"Vysotsky."

"General. This is Director Harker." Her voice was clear over the satellite link. He pictured her in his mind. Probably dressed in black and white. Every picture he'd seen of her showed her in black and white.

"Director. How delightful to hear from you."

"General, there is something I would like to discuss with you."

"Please do."

"It might be better if we met in person."

Alexei was intrigued. Major Korov had given him a detailed briefing about Harker. Vysotsky's files on her were extensive. Briefings and files were a poor substitute for direct impressions.

Harker was a serious woman. Vysotsky respected seriousness. She kept her word. She was unafraid to do what needed to be done. They'd crossed boundaries together, but they were not allies. He smiled to himself. This woman had balls. What was so important it could not be discussed over a secure line?

"What could require us to meet?" he said.

"It concerns Foreign Minister Ogorov."

When she said that, Alexei knew he would have to meet with her.
Ogorov. Why would she want to talk about Ogorov?
He waited.

"I realize a trip to Washington might not be in your best interest. I suggest someplace nearer to Moscow. Copenhagen, perhaps?"

In the West, but not far away. A short flight for him, a long journey for her. Neutral ground, but he was vulnerable there. She was more vulnerable than he was, that close to Russian territory.

If he were in her place he would want to maintain the working status between them. Any unfortunate incident at their level within the intelligence world would lead to serious repercussions. She had nothing to gain by setting a trap.

"Copenhagen is acceptable. When do you suggest this meeting take place?"

"As soon as possible."

"I can be there in two days." He heard something tapping in the background on her end.

"Tivoli Gardens, then. Say morning? 9:00 A.M.?"

"Agreed. The veranda in front of the Nimb Hotel."

"Good. Until then." She ended the call.

Ogorov
, he thought,
what have you done?