The Book of Spies

54

ROBIN MILLER had had a busy two days in Athens, and at last she was beginning to feel prepared as she walked through the twilight and deeper into Plaka. Besides oversize sunglasses, she wore a wig--a simple brown hairdo ending just below her ears. Long bangs brushed her dyed black eyebrows. Brown contact lenses colored her blue eyes, and she wore no eyeliner or mascara, no lipstick.
Her clothes were two sizes too large--baggy cotton pants and a loose button-down cotton shirt. Only her battered tennis shoes fit--bought at the Monastiraki Flea Market. She carried a shopping bag she had found on top of a trash can. It was stuffed with crumpled newspapers, while her billfold and other items were in her pockets. The first time she caught a reflection of herself in a shop window, she had not recognized the dowdy, overweight woman. She had smiled, pleased.
Now she needed money. As usual, Plaka marketplace was bustling. Vendors called from the doors of small shops, promoting their wares. A herd of black-robed Orthodox monks passed, holding black cell phones to their ears. She entered the little bank she had chosen and went up to a teller. Before disappearing to join the Library of Gold, she had put her life savings into a numbered Swiss account. Just a half hour ago, she had called the phone number she memorized long ago, releasing the funds to this bank.
The teller led her to a desk, where a bank officer had forms waiting. She filled in the account number and other required information and orally gave him her password.
"How do you wish the funds?" he asked.
"Four thousand in euros. A cashier's check for two thousand more. The rest in a second cashier's check. Leave the line to whom the checks are to be made out blank."
"So much money. Would you not like to open an account? It will be safe here."
"Thank you, no."
He nodded and left. Turning in her chair, she watched the people coming and going.
When he returned, he ceremoniously handed her a fat white envelope. "If there is anything more I can do to help with your financial matters, madame, please tell me."
She thanked him again and left. In total, she had about $40,000. It was not enough to ensure her safety from the book club for long. Still, at least she would have immediate cash.
The sun had set, and the shadows were deep across Plaka's crowded streets. She liked the drama of the approaching night, and it would help to hide her. She slid the envelope inside the waistband of her pants. Her feet felt light, and her heart was hopeful as she wound south through the marketplace. She wanted to be as close as possible to where she had left her rolling suitcase and The Book of Spies.
As she walked, she took out her cell phone and dialed. Sometimes fortune smiled. Trying to negotiate her freedom with Martin Chapman had frightened her, but now she had an alternative.
When the man's voice answered, she asked, "Is this Judd Ryder?"
"I am. Are you Robin Miller?" He had a strong voice. She liked that.
"Yes," she said. "Who are you?"
"I'm with the U.S. government. Do you know the location of the Library of Gold?"
So that was what he wanted. She ignored the question. "How did you hear about me?"
"I've been hunting for the library. I had a clue that took me to Istanbul, but Preston found me there and tried to eliminate me. There was a note in his pocket with your name, 'Athens,' and 'The Book of Spies' written on it. Earlier, in London, I'd gotten two phone numbers off Charles Sherback's cell, but I didn't know for sure to whom they belonged. I phoned both with the same message in hopes one of them was yours."
She bit her lip. "You know who killed Charles?"
"We'll talk about that when we meet."
She had been trying to put Charles out of her mind. Whenever she thought about him, a bottomless ache filled her. The loss was so great, so raw, her world so destroyed, she had a hard time thinking. After several deep breaths, she considered her situation. Ryder had escaped Preston, which went a long way toward indicating he might really be able to protect her. And she understood his hunger to find the library.
"I'm sure Preston is searching for me," she told him. "You're lucky to have gotten away."
"Luck had nothing to do with it. Explain why I should be doing business with you." The voice had grown harder.
"I worked at the Library of Gold, but I never learned exactly where we were. I can tell you the library is on an island, but I don't know which island. We're always flown in with hoods over our heads, usually from Athens. There's a helipad, a dock, and three buildings that look as if they're a vacation compound, with a swimming pool and tennis courts. About twenty people are on staff, most of them security. Tomorrow night is the annual banquet, so beginning today Preston has been putting on even more guards."
He seemed to like her answers. "Are there other islands in sight?"
"There's one far away. When the day's particularly clear, you can see the tip of it."
"Do you have The Book of Spies?"
"I've hidden it in Athens, and I'm willing to sell it to you."
"All right. Let's meet."
"I want five million dollars for it," she said firmly. "Before you object, the Getty paid five-point-eight million for The Northumberland Bestiary just a few years ago." The Bestiary was a rare thirteenth-century English Gothic illuminated manuscript. "This is the only copy ever made of The Book of Spies and should be worth a lot more, so I'm offering you a bargain."
"You're right; it's a good deal if you look at it from your perspective. On the other hand I'm offering something of even greater value--I'm going to get you safely out of Athens. What's your life worth?"
She felt a chill. "I'll settle for three million."
"Much better. I'll make the phone call to release the funds, but it'll take a few hours for it to be deposited into your account. Or you can have it in a cashier's check or any other financial instrument you like. By tomorrow morning you'll have your money."
"A cashier's check will be fine."
With a flush of excitement, she looked around. She had left Plaka and had entered the Makrigianni district. She was on the Dionysiou Areopagitou, a wide pedestrian boulevard. To her left stood a line of stylish houses in Art Deco and neoclassical styles, and to her right was the massive Acropolis, the city's long-ago spiritual center. With a thrill she stared up the slope. She could see only a white crest of the spotlighted ruins high above. Then she noticed people were streaming past her, toward the entrance to the Acropolis park, which lay below and on which were the remains of what had been ancient Athens's intellectual and cultural center. She could see bright lights in the Theater of Dionysus. There must be a concert or show of some kind, she decided. A crowd could be useful.
She explained where she would wait for him. "What do you look like?"
When he told her, she described her disguise.
"I'll be there in only a few minutes," he assured her.
CONTROLLING HIS frustration, Preston stood with his cell phone in his hand as he and two of his men scanned for Robin. They were in an alcove on Adrianou, Plaka's main street, which was packed with tourist shops. She had phoned from the outdoor cafe across the way. They had searched the area and seen no sign of her, which told him either she had spotted them and was hiding, or she had moved on.
When his cell rang, he snapped it up. The caller was Irene, his NSA contact.
"Your person of interest has been talking on her cell again." Irene sounded nervous. "The call ended about fifteen minutes ago. She was heading south. I can't help you anymore, Preston. Something's happened here. Everyone's being watched. I had to get into my car and drive off the premises to phone you. I'm worried they're going to investigate my NRO queries and searches." The NRO was the National Reconnaissance Office, which designed, built, and operated U.S. recon satellites--and collected the data from them.
Inwardly he swore. "Give me the exact information. Everything you've learned. I'll take it from here."