The Blue Chair released his hold. Orange and yellow wings sputtered then caught air.

“But I could just as easily let it go.” The old man focused on him with eyes full of zest. “Use Malone’s instincts to our advantage.”

“That’s the plan.”

“What will you do once the link is found?” the Blue Chair asked.

“Depends.”

“Malone will need to be killed.”

“I can handle that.”

The old man threw him a glance. “He might prove a challenge.”

“I’m ready.”

“There’s a problem.”

He’d wondered why he’d been summoned back to Vienna.

“The Israelis are alerted. Seems George Haddad made another call to the West Bank, and Jewish spies within the Palestinian Authority reported his contact to Tel Aviv. They know he’s alive, and I assume they know where he is, too.”

That was a problem.

“The Chairs are aware of this exposure and have ratified the authority I granted you to handle the matter as you see fit.”

Which he planned to do anyway.

“As you know, the Israelis have far different motivations than we do. We want the link. They want it gone.”

Sabre nodded. “They bombed their own people in that café just to kill Haddad.”

“Jews are a problem,” the Blue Chair quietly declared. “They’ve always been difficult. Being different and obstinate breeds unmitigated pride.”

Sabre decided to leave that comment alone.

“We intend to help end the Jewish problem.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a problem.”

“Not for us, but for our Arab friends. So you must stay ahead of the Israelis. They cannot be allowed to interfere.”

“Then I need to leave.”

“Where did Malone go?”

“London.”

The Blue Chair went silent, concentrating on the bugs fluttering in his lap. Finally he swiped the butterflies away. “On the way to London, there’s a stop you need to make.”

“Is there time?”

“No choice. Another contact within the Israeli government has some information that he will only convey, in person, to you, and he wants to be paid.”

“Don’t they all?”

“He’s in Germany. It shouldn’t take long. Use one of the company jets. I’m told this man has been sloppy. He’s exposed, though he doesn’t realize it. Resolve our account with him.”

He understood.

“And needless to say, there will be others there, watching. Please make the show memorable. The Israelis need to understand this is a high-stakes affair.” The old man shifted in the wooden chair, then angled his stiletto of a nose back down toward the plate. “You’re also aware of what occurs this weekend?”

“Of course.”

“I need a financial dossier on a certain individual. By Friday. Can it be done?”

He knew the correct answer, though he didn’t have time for that, either. “Certainly.”

The Blue Chair told him the name he was to investigate, then said, “Have the information delivered here. In the meantime, do what you do best.”

WASHINGTON, DC

7:30 AM

STEPHANIE DECIDED TO STAY IN THE CAPITAL. THE MAJOR players were all here, and if she was going to help Malone she would need to be close to every one of them. She was connected to Atlanta and Magellan Billet headquarters through her laptop and cell phone and presently had three agents heading for Denmark. Another two were already in London, a solo on the way to Washington. Her hotel room, for now, would be command central.

She’d been waiting for the past twenty minutes, and when the phone on the desk finally rang, she smiled. One thing about Thorvaldsen, he was punctual. She lifted the receiver. “Yes, Henrik.”

“So sure it was me?”

“Right on time.”

“Lateness is rude.”

“I couldn’t agree more. What did you learn?”

“Enough to know we have a problem.”

Yesterday Thorvaldsen had dispatched a squadron of investigators to back track the movements of the two men Malone had shot. Since one of them had killed a federal agent, she was also able to muster Europol’s help.

“Ever heard of der Orden des Goldenen Vliesses? The Order of the Golden Fleece?”

“It’s a European economic cartel. I’m aware of it.”

“I need an Internet connection to your laptop.”

“That’s classified,” she said lightheartedly.

“I assure you, with what I know, I have all the clearances I need.”

She told him the routing address. A minute later five photographs materialized on her screen. Three were head shots-two, full-body. The five men were well into their seventies, faces like caricatures, full of dull angles, cold and expressionless, each casting a veneer of sophistication-the aristocratic bearing of men accustomed to having their way.

“The Order of the Golden Fleece was re-formed in the late forties, just after the communist socialization of Austrian industry. It was organized in Vienna, the initial membership restricted to a select group of industrialists and financiers. In the fifties it diversified, adding manufacturing and mining magnates, along with more financiers.”

She slid a notepad closer and clicked open a ballpoint pen. “What do you mean, re-formed?”

“The name comes from a French medieval order that Philip, the duke of Burgundy, created in 1430. But that group of knights lasted only a few decades. Through the centuries reincarnations appeared, and a social Order of the Golden Fleece still exists in Austria. But it’s the economic cartel of the same name that poses a threat.”

Her eyes were locked on the screen, her memory absorbing the stern faces.

“An interesting group,” Thorvaldsen said. “A strict code of statutes governs the Order’s business. Membership is restricted to seventy-one. A Circle of five chairs governs. What’s called the Blue Chair heads both the Circle and the Order. These people wear crimson robes and dangle gold medallions around their necks. Each medallion is forged with fire steels and flints emitting tongues of flame encircling a golden fleece. Quite dramatic.”

She agreed.

“You need to understand about the five on your screen. The face at the top left is an Austrian industrialist, Alfred Hermann. He presently occupies the Blue Chair. A billionaire several times over, he’s the owner of European steel factories, African mines, Far East rubber plantations, and banking concerns worldwide.”

Thorvaldsen explained about the other four. One owned a controlling interest in the VRN Bank that was nationwide in Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and Holland, along with pharmaceutical and automobile companies. Another dominated the European securities markets with investment firms that handled portfolios for many European Union nations. A third wholly owned two French companies and one Belgian that, outside the United States, were the world’s leading aircraft producers. The last was the self-designated “king of concrete,” his companies the leading producers throughout Europe, Africa, and the Middle East.

“That’s a formidable group,” she said.

“To say the least. A distinctive Aryan flavor permeates the Chairs, and always has-German, Swiss, and Austrian members dominating. The Chairs are elected from the membership and serve for life. A Shadow is simultaneously chosen who can immediately step in and succeed at death. The Blue Chair is elected by the Chairs and likewise serves for life.”

“Efficient devils.”

“They pride themselves on it. The entire membership meets twice a year in a formal Assembly, once in late spring, the other just before winter, on a four-hundred-acre estate owned by Alfred Hermann outside Vienna. The rest of the year business is conducted by the Chairs or through standing committees. There’s a chancellor, treasurer, and secretary, along with a support staff that work out of Hermann’s château. Organization is intentionally streamlined. No unnecessary parliamentary delays.”