“Your pope doesn’t scare me,” Zovastina said to Michener.
“It’s not our intent to scare anyone.”
“You’re a sanctimonious hypocrite.”
Michener said nothing.
“Not much to say?” she asked.
“I’ll pray for you, Minister.”
She spit at his feet. “I don’t need your prayers, priest.” She motioned toward Cassiopeia. “Time to go. Leave the bow and arrows. You won’t be needing them.”
Cassiopeia dropped both to the floor.
“Here’s her gun,” Viktor said, and he handed over the weapon.
“Once we’re away, I’ll call. If you don’t hear from me in three hours, kill the priest. And Viktor,” she paused, “make sure he suffers.”
Viktor and Michener left the presbytery and walked through the darkened nave.
“Shall we?” Zovastina said to Cassiopeia. “I assume you’ll behave yourself?”
“Like I have a choice.”
“The priest will appreciate it.”
They left the presbytery.
Malone turned to Thorvaldsen. “And they’re just going to leave, with no response from us?”
“It had to be done,” Stephanie said, as she and another man stepped from the shadows of the south transept. She introduced the lean man as Edwin Davis, deputy national security adviser, the voice from the phone earlier. Everything about him was neat and restrained, from the pressed slacks and stiff cotton shirt, to his shiny, narrow calf-leather shoes. Malone ignored Davis and asked Stephanie, “Why did it have to be done?”
Thorvaldsen answered. “We weren’t sure what was going to happen. We were just trying to make something happen.”
“You wanted Cassiopeia to be taken?”
Thorvaldsen shook his head. “I didn’t. But Cassiopeia apparently did. I could see it in her eyes, so I seized the moment and accommodated her. That’s why I asked you to drop your weapon.”
“Are you nuts?”
Thorvaldsen stepped closer. “Cotton, three years ago I introduced Ely and Cassiopeia.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“When Ely was young, he foolishly experimented with drugs. He wasn’t careful with needles and, sadly, contracted HIV. He managed the disease well, taking various cocktail combinations, but the odds were not in his favor. Most of those infected eventually contract AIDS and die. He was lucky.”
He waited for more.
“Cassiopeia shares his illness.”
Had he heard right?
“A blood transfusion, ten years ago. She takes the symptomatic drugs and manages her disease, as well.”
He was shocked, but a lot of her comments now made sense. “How’s that possible? She’s so active. Strong.”
“Take the drugs every day and you can be, provided the virus cooperates.”
He stared at Stephanie. “You knew?”
“Edwin told me before we came out here. Henrik told him. He and Henrik have been waiting for us to arrive. That’s why Michener took me aside.”
“So what were me and Cassiopeia? Expendables? With deniability?” he asked Davis.
“Something like that. We had no idea what Zovastina would do.”
“You sorry son of a bitch.” He moved toward Davis.
“Cotton,” Thorvaldsen said, “I approved it. Be mad at me.”
He stopped and stared at his friend. “What gave you that right?”
“When you and Cassiopeia left Copenhagen, President Daniels called. He told me what happened to Stephanie in Amsterdam and asked what we knew. I told him. He suggested I could be useful here.”
“Along with me? That why you lied to me about Stephanie being in trouble?”
Thorvaldsen cast a glance toward Davis. “Actually, I’m a bit perturbed about that, too. I only told you what they told me. It seems the president wanted all of us involved.”
He looked at Davis. “I don’t like the way you do business.”
“Fair enough. But I have to do what I have to do.”
“Cotton,” Thorvaldsen said, “there was little time to think this through. I was improvising as it happened.”
“You think?”
“But I didn’t believe Zovastina would do anything foolish here in the basilica. She couldn’t. And she’d be caught totally off guard. That’s why I agreed to challenge her. Of course, Cassiopeia was another matter. She killed two people.”
“And one more on Torcello.” He cautioned himself to stay focused. “What is all this about?”
“One part,” Stephanie said, “is to stop Zovastina. She’s planning a dirty war and has the resources to make it a costly one.”
“She contacted the Church and they tipped us off,” Davis said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“You could have told us all that,” he said to Davis.
“No, Mr. Malone, we couldn’t. I’ve read your service record. You were a superb agent. A long list of successful missions and commendations. You don’t strike me as naive. You, of all people, should understand how the game is played.”
“That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t play anymore.”
He paced about and allowed himself a moment to calm down. Then he approached the wooden box lying open on the floor. “Zovastina risked everything just to look at these bones?”
“That’s the other part to all of this,” Thorvaldsen said. “The more complicated portion. You read some of the manuscript pages Ely found about Alexander the Great and his draught. Ely came to believe, perhaps foolishly, that from the symptoms described, the draught might have some effect on viral pathogens.”
“Like HIV?” he asked.
Thorvaldsen nodded. “We know there are substances found in nature—tree bark, leafy plants, roots—that can combat bacteria and viruses, maybe even some cancers. He was hoping this might be one of those.”
His mind recalled the manuscript. Overcome by remorse and sensing that Ptolemy was sincere, Eumenes revealed the resting place, far away, in the mountains, where the Scythians taught Alexander about life. “The Scythians are the ones who showed Alexander the draught. Eumenes said Alexander was buried where the Scythians taught him about life.”