The Charlemagne Pursuit (Cotton Malone 4)

"Where did these visitors come from?" she asked.

"The sea. They sailed with expert precision. Recently ancient marine tools were discovered off Cyprus that date back twelve thousand years, some of the oldest artifacts ever found there. Finding those means that someone was actually sailing the Mediterranean, and occupying Cyprus, two thousand years earlier than anyone ever believed. In Canada seafarers would have been drawn by rich kelp beds. It's logical these people sought out choice spots for food and trade."

"Like I said," Davis said. "A bunch of science fiction."

"Is it? Did you know that prophecy mixed with god-like benefactors from the sea forms a big part of Native American lore? Mayan records talk of Popul Vuh, a land where light and dark dwelled together. Prehistoric cave and rock drawings in Africa and Egypt show an unidentified people of the sea. The ones in France, dated to ten thousand years ago, show men and women dressed in comfortable clothes, not the furs and bones usually associated with people of that time. A copper mine found in Rhodesia has been dated to forty-seven thousand years ago. The site seemed to have been mined for a specific purpose."

"Is this Atlantis?" Davis asked.

"There's no such thing," Scofield said.

"I bet there's a bunch of people in this hotel who'd disagree with you."

"And they'd be wrong. Atlantis is a fable. It's a recurring theme throughout many cultures, just as the Great Flood is part of the world's religions. It's a romantic notion, but the reality is not so fantastic. Ancient submerged megalithic constructions have been found on shallow seafloors, near coastlines, all over the world. Malta, Egypt, Greece, Lebanon, Spain, India, China, Japan-all have them. They were built before the last ice age and, when the ice melted around 10,000 BCE, sea levels rose and consumed them. These are the real Atlantis, and they prove Occam's razor. No elaborate solutions where simple ones will suffice. All explanations are rational."

"And the rational one here is?" Davis asked.

"While cavemen were just learning to farm with stone tools and live in crude villages, there existed a people who built seaworthy vessels and charted the globe with precision. They seemed to understand their purpose and tried to teach us things. They came in peace. Never once is there any mention of aggression or hostility. But their messages became lost over time, especially as modern humankind began to consider itself the pinnacle of intellectual achievement." Scofield cast Davis a stern look. "Our arrogance will be our downfall."

"Foolishness," Davis said, "can have the same effect."

Scofield seemed ready for that rebuke. "All over this planet these ancient people left messages either as artifacts, maps, or manuscripts. These messages are neither clear nor direct, granted, but they are a form of communication, one that says, Yours is not the first civilization, nor the cultures you consider to be your roots the true beginning. Thousands of years ago we knew what you have only recently discovered. We traveled all across your young world, when ice fields blanketed the north and southern seas were still navigable. We left maps of the places we visited. We left knowledge of your world and the cosmos, of mathematics, science, and philosophy. Some of the races we visited retained that knowledge, which has helped you build your world. Remember us."

Davis did not seem impressed. "What does this have to do with Operation Highjump and Raymond Dyals?"

"A great deal. But again, that's classified. Believe me, I wish it wasn't. But that I cannot change. I gave my word and I've kept it all these years. Now, since you both think I'm nuts-which, by the way, is my opinion of you-I'm leaving."

Scofield stood. But before he walked away, he hesitated.

"One thought you might consider. A exhaustive study was done a decade ago at Cambridge University, by a team of world-renowned scholars. Their conclusion? Less than ten percent of the records from antiquity have survived till now. Ninety percent of ancient knowledge is gone. So how do we know if anything is truly nonsense?"

SIXTY-ONE

WASHINGTON, DC

1:10 PM

RAMSEY STROLLED THE CAPITOL MALL, HEADED FOR THE SPOT where, yesterday, he'd met Senator Aatos Kane's aide. The same young man stood in the same wool overcoat, shuffling his feet from the cold. Today Ramsey had made him wait forty-five minutes.

"Okay, Admiral. I get the point. You win," the aide said as he approached. "Make me sweat it out."

He knotted his brow in dismay. "It's not a contest."

"Right. I jammed it up your ass last time, you stuck it up my boss' ass afterward, now we're all kissin' cousins. It is a game, Admiral, and you won."

He removed a small plastic device, the size of a television remote control, and switched it on. "Forgive me."

The unit quickly confirmed that no listening devices were present. Hovey was on the far side of the Mall monitoring to make sure no parabolic devices were in use. But Ramsey doubted that would be a problem. This minion worked for a pro who understood that you had to give in order to receive.

"Talk to me," he said.

"The senator spoke to the president this morning. He told him what he wanted. The president inquired as to our interest and the senator said he admired you."

One aspect of Diane McCoy's solo performance was now confirmed. He stood, hands in his coat pockets, and listened for more.

"The president had some reservations. He said you're not a staff favorite. His White House people had other names in mind. But the senator knew what the president wanted."

He was curious about that. "Tell me."

"There's about to be a vacancy on the Supreme Court. A resignation. The justice wants to give the current administration the pick. Daniels has a name in mind and wants us to shepherd it through Senate confirmation."

Interesting.

"We chair the Judiciary Committee. The nominee is a good one, so no problem. We can make it happen." The aide sounded proud to be part of the home team.

"Did the president have any serious problems with me?"

The aide allowed himself a grin, then a chuckle. "What do you want? A friggin' engraved invitation? Presidents don't like to be told what to do, nor do they like to be asked favors. They like to be the one who asks. Daniels, though, seemed receptive to the whole thing. He doesn't think the Joint Chiefs is worth a crap anyway."

"Lucky for us he only has less than three years left in office."

"I don't know how lucky that makes us. Daniels is a proven dealer. He knows how to give and take. We've had no problems dealing with him, and he's popular as hell."

"The devil you know as opposed to the one you don't?"

"Something like that."

He needed to extract what he could from this source. He had to know who else, if anyone, was aiding Diane McCoy in her surprising crusade.

"We're interested in when you'll move on the governor of South Carolina," the aide said.

"The day after I move into my new office at the Pentagon."

"And what if you can't deliver the governor?"

"Then I'll just destroy your boss." He allowed an almost sexual enjoyment to sweep into his eyes. "We'll do this my way. Clear?"

"And what is your way?"

"First off, I want to know exactly what you're doing to make my appointment happen. Every detail, and not just what you want to tell me.

If my patience is tried, then I think I'll take your suggestion from last time, retire, and watch all of your careers dissolve to nothing."

The aide held up his hands in mock surrender. "Slow down, Admiral. I didn't come here to fight. I came to brief you."

"Then brief me, you little piece of crap."

The aide accepted the rebuke with a shrug. "Daniels is on board. He says it'll be done. Kane can deliver the votes on the Judiciary Committee. Daniels knows that. Your announcement will come tomorrow."

"Before Sylvian's funeral?"

The aide nodded. "No need to wait."

He agreed. But there was still Diane McCoy. "Any objection lodged from the Office of the National

Security Adviser?"

"Daniels didn't mention it. But why would he?"

"Don't you think we need to know if staffers plan to sabotage what we're doing?"

The aide threw him a wistful smile. "That shouldn't be a problem. Once Daniels is on board, that's it. He can handle his people. What's the problem, Admiral? You got enemies over there?"

No. Merely a complication. But he was beginning to realize its limited extent. "Tell the senator that I appreciate his efforts and to stay in touch."

"Am I dismissed?"

His silence signaled yes.

The aide seemed glad the conversation was over and departed.

Ramsey walked over and sat on the same bench he'd warmed earlier. Hovey waited five minutes, then approached, sat beside him, and said, "Area is clean. Nobody was listening."

"We're fine with Kane. It's McCoy. She's doing this on her own."

"Maybe she thinks getting you is her ticket to greater and better."

Time to find out how bad his aide wanted greater and better. "She may have to be eliminated. Just like Wilkerson."

Hovey's silence was more explicit than words.

"Do we have much on her?" Ramsey asked the captain.

"Quite a bit, but she's relatively boring. Lives alone, no relationships, workaholic. Co-workers like her, but she's not one that everybody wants to sit next to at state dinners. She probably using this as a way to up her worth."

Made sense.

Hovey's cell phone rang, dulled through his wool coat. The call was short and ended quickly. "More problems."

He waited.

"Diane McCoy just tried to access the warehouse at Fort Lee."

MALONE ENTERED THE CHURCH, HENN AND CHRISTL AHEAD of him. Isabel had descended from the choir and stood with Dorothea and Werner.

He decided to stop the charade and came up behind Henn, jamming the gun into the man's neck and relieving him of his weapon.

He then stepped back and aimed the barrel at Isabel. "Tell your butler to stay cool."

"And what would you do, Herr Malone, if I refused? Shoot me?"

He lowered the gun. "No need. This was all a dog-and-pony show. Those four had to die. Though clearly none of them realized it. You didn't want me talking to them."