They sat in silence while Stephanie pondered the situation.
“Meagan Morrison” she said, “took Sam off at gunpoint. I watched on the museum’s closed-circuit TV. I decided to allow that to happen for a reason.”
“That boy’s no field operative.”
“He’s trained Secret Service. I expect him to act the part.”
“What’s his story?”
She shook her head. “You’re as bad as Thorvaldsen. He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Another sad and sorry tale. Found abandoned as an infant and was raised in an orphanage.”
“No adoption?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea why not.”
“Where?”
“New Zealand, of all places. He came to America when he was eighteen on a student visa and eventually became a citizen. Attended Columbia University, graduated top third in his class. Worked hard for a few years as an accountant, then earned his way into the Secret Service. All in all, a good kid.”
“Except he doesn’t listen to his superiors.”
“Hell, you and me both fit into that category.”
He grinned. “I assume Meagan Morrison is harmless.”
“More or less. It’s Thorvaldsen who’s the problem. Sam Collins left Washington a couple of weeks ago, just after being questioned again about his website. The Secret Service tracked him straight to Copenhagen. They decided to leave him alone, but when they learned Thorvaldsen had Ashby under close watch, they went to the president. That’s when Daniels dragged me in. He thought something big was happening, and he was right. He decided, considering my close personal relationship with Thorvaldsen, I was the best person to handle it.”
He smiled at her sarcasm. “Does Eliza Larocque know Meagan Morrison is harmless?”
The tension that rose from her silence charged the room.
Finally, she said, “I don’t know.”
“She didn’t send those men for the fun of it. We’d better find out. That could be a problem for Morrison and Sam, considering what just happened here.”
“I’ll deal with Sam. I need you to concentrate on Graham Ashby.”
“How in the world did I get myself in the middle of this mess?”
“You tell me.”
But they both knew the answer, so he simply asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Malone 5 - The Paris Vendetta
THIRTY-THREE
5:15 PM
THORVALDSEN WAS DROPPED OFF AT THE H?TEL RITZ BY THE private car that had brought him north, from the Loire Valley, into central Paris. Along the way he’d worked the phone, planning his next move.
He fled the late-afternoon cold and entered the hotel’s famous lobby, adorned with a collection of museum-caliber antiques. He especially loved the tale of when Hemingway liberated the Ritz in 1944. Armed with machine guns, the writer and a group of Allied soldiers stormed the hotel and searched every nook and cranny. After discovering that the Nazis had all fled, they retired to the bar and ordered a round of dry martinis. In commemoration, management christened the place Bar Hemingway, which Thorvaldsen now entered, the place still warmed by wooden walls, leather armchairs, and an atmosphere redolent of a different era. Photos taken by Hemingway himself adorned the paneling and some delicate piano music provided a measure of privacy.
He spotted his man at one of the tables, walked over, and sat.
Dr. Joseph Murad taught at the Sorbonne—a renowned expert on Napoleonic Europe. Thorvaldsen had kept Murad on retainer for the past year, ever since learning of Ashby’s passionate interest.
“Single-malt whiskey?” he asked in French, noticing Murad’s glass.
“I wanted to see what a twenty-two-euro drink tasted like.”
He smiled.
“And besides, you’re buying.”
“That I am.”
His investigators in Britain had telephoned him in the car and told him what they’d learned from the listening devices located in Caroline Dodd’s study. Since it meant little to him, Thorvaldsen had promptly, by phone, provided that intelligence to Murad. The scholar had called back half an hour later and suggested this face-to-face.
“Napoleon’s last will and testament definitely mentioned that book,” Murad said. “I’ve always thought it an odd reference. Napoleon had some sixteen hundred books with him on St. Helena. Yet he went out of his way to leave four hundred to Saint-Denis and specifically name The Merovingian Kingdoms 450–751 A.D. It’s the maxim of ‘what’s missing’ proven.”
He waited for the academician to explain.
“There’s a theory in archaeology. ‘What’s missing points to what’s important.’ For example, if three statues have square bases and a fourth a round one, it’s the fourth that’s usually important. It’s been shown over and over that this maxim is true, especially when studying artifacts of a ceremonial or religious nature. This reference in the will, to a specific book, could well be equally significant.”
He listened as Murad explained about Merovingians.