Page 69 of The Last Kingdom

He checked the screen.

A text.

From the prince.

* * *

STEFAN STOOD IN CHRISTINE ERTL’S APARTMENT.

The place had clearly been rifled, books tossed about, the front door violently damaged. She’d called him a few hours ago to tell him about the intrusion, but he’d waited until a little before 9:00A.M.to summon his people. Christophe had already arrived and confirmed that he dropped the book off to Ertl immediately after leaving the church last night. Ertl confirmed that fact, telling him that she’d locked the book in her desk before going out for the evening. When she’d returned her door was hanging off its hinges and the book was nowhere to be found.

“Did you tell anyone about the book?” he asked Ertl.

The older woman shook her head. “Nein.No one.”

He turned to Christophe. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Only Lexi and Smith knew. I brought the book straight here.”

Outside in the hall he heard footsteps climbing the stairs. A few moments later Lexi and Smith appeared in the doorway. He’d texted them the address and told them both to come immediately.

“I want to know if either one of you revealed anything about the book to anyone?”

They both shook their heads. What else were they going to say?

“What happened?” Lexi asked.

“The book was stolen,” Stefan told her. “And I seem to have a spy working for me.”

“I agree,” Lexi said. “And I know who it is.”

Chapter 37

DERRICK TURNED OFF THE STREET AND SPED THE CAR DOWN Aconcrete ramp into the garage beneath the office tower. Malone sat on the passenger’s side. He’d picked him up south of Munich at Marc Fenn’s compound. He was upset that Fenn had moved unilaterally. That had not been the plan. And he’d apologized to Malone for the unexpected violation. He’d insisted on a full report of everything that had occurred, which Fenn provided and Malone corroborated, adding what else was found in the desk, along with Fenn’s deciphering of the message. Trinity had given him a full briefing on the Scythe, which included an identification of its leader, Jason Rife. Considering that Rife had gone to the trouble of making personal contact with Fenn, along with a demonstration of firepower, he’d decided that the chain of command should be informed. Once done, and after answering a lot of questions about what he was doing, he’d requested a meeting with agency officials, which Langley had approved.

They took a freight elevator straight to the eighteenth floor, which Derrick accessed with a code punched into a keypad. When the doors partedthey walked through a crowded storage room and down a maze of wide carpeted corridors, lined with offices, to a far corner. Tall glass doors led into a world of partitioned walls, false ceilings, and bright lights. A cube farm, fully equipped with desks and computers.

“This is officially Meridian Technology,” he told Malone. “A company that provides software for text analytics in over forty languages. Which can be really helpful, I might add. Unofficiallyit’s funded by the CIA, and sometimes we use these offices to coordinate our local activities. Everyone was told to come to work at noon today. That gives us a couple of hours of privacy.”

Cooperative corporations often provided cover for the CIA. Historically, that was usually offered by them to win favor for profitable government contracts. Electronics and software firms were the agency’s favorites.

The main workroom flowed through another wall of glass into a smaller area containing two mahogany desks. A door markedPRIVATEled into a large furnished office, the two outer walls tinted glass, one of the inner walls clear glass. The morning sun spread a bright brocade of light everywhere.

Waiting for him were two men. One was potato-nosed, with sagging jowls, pouched cheeks, and lusterless gray hair. The other was all spit-and-polish in a dark suit, white shirt, and silk tie, with a long neck like something seen at the zoo. The bigger man wore pleated dark trousers, an understated striped shirt, no tie, and suspenders that bulged from his massive girth.

“You look like crap, Derrick.”

“And you look like the broad side of a barn, as usual.”

The big man laughed. “So what else is new?”

“The pork roast is Randall Miller, CIA station chief here in Germany,” he told Malone. “The spare rib is Paul Bryie, from counter-terrorism.”

Malone introduced himself and they completed a round of perfunctory handshakes.

“Let’s have a seat,” Derrick said. “We have a problem, and I want to know everything you know about the Scythe.”

“Where’d you hear about that?” Miller asked, clearly a little perplexed.

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