The Alexandria Link

397 Pages·2016·1.55 MB·English

by  Berry Steve

CONTENTS
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
EPIGRAPH
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PART THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
PART FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
WRITER’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY STEVE BERRY
COPYRIGHT
For Katie and Kevin
Two shooting stars,
who drifted back into my orbit
History is the distillation of evidence surviving the past.
—OSCAR HANDLIN, Truth in History (1979)
Since the first Adam who beheld the night and the day and the shape of his own
hand, men have made up stories and have fixed in stone, in metal, or on parchment
whatever the world includes or dreams create. Here is the fruit of their labor: the
Library…The faithless say that if it were to burn, history would burn with it. They
are wrong. Unceasing human work gave birth to this infinity of books. If of them all
not even one remained, man would again beget each page and every line.
—JORGE LUIS BORGES,
regarding the Library of Alexandria
Libraries are the memory of mankind.
—JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writers should be careful with the pronoun I. A book is a team effort, and the team I’m
privileged to be a part of is truly a wonder. So for the fifth time, lots of thanks. First,
Pam Ahearn, my agent, who met a storm named Katrina but made it through. Next, to
the wonderful folks at Random House: Gina Centrello, an extraordinary publisher and
extremely charming lady; Mark Tavani, my editor, now a married man who remains far
wiser than his years; Cindy Murray, who outdoes herself each time with publicity; Kim
Hovey, whose marketing skills are beyond description; Beck Stvan, the talented artist
with a great eye for covers; Laura Jorstad, who again copyedited with precision; Carole
Lowenstein, who always makes the pages easy on the eyes; and finally to all those in
promotions and sales—absolutely nothing could be achieved without their superior
efforts.
One other individual deserves a special mention. Kenneth Harvey. At a dinner in
South Carolina a few years ago, Ken pointed me toward a Lebanese scholar named
Kamal Salibi and a rather obscure theory that eventually turned into this novel. Ideas
spring up at the oddest times and from the most unexpected sources—a writer’s task is
to recognize them. Thanks, Ken.
Also, I have a new Elizabeth in my life who’s smart, beautiful, and loving. Of course,
my eight-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, continues to bring nothing but joy. Finally, this
book is for my two grown children, Kevin and Katie, who make me feel both old and
young.
PROLOGUE
PALESTINE
APRIL 1948
GEORGE HADDAD’S PATIENCE ENDED AS HE GLARED AT THE MAN bound to the chair. Like
himself, his prisoner possessed the swarthy skin, aquiline nose, and deep-set brown
eyes of a Syrian or a Lebanese. But there was something about this man Haddad simply
did not like.
“I’ll only ask one more time. Who are you?”
Haddad’s soldiers had caught the stranger three hours ago, just before dawn. He’d
been walking alone, unarmed. Which was foolish. Ever since the British decided last
November to partition Palestine into two states, one Arab, the other Jewish, war had
raged between the two sides. Yet this fool had walked straight into an Arab stronghold,
offering no resistance, and had not said anything since being bound to the chair.
“Did you hear me, imbecile? I asked who you are.” Haddad spoke in Arabic, which
the man clearly understood.
“I’m a Guardian.”
The answer meant nothing to him. “What’s that?”
“We’re keepers of knowledge.”
He was not in the mood for riddles. Just yesterday the Jewish underground had
attacked a nearby village. Forty Palestinian men and women had been herded into a
quarry and shot. Nothing unusual. Arabs were being systematically murdered and
expelled. Land that their families had occupied for sixteen hundred years was being
confiscated. The nakba, the catastrophe, was happening. Haddad needed to be out
fighting the enemy, not listening to nonsense.
“We’re all keepers of knowledge,” he made clear. “Mine is how to wipe from the face
of this earth every Zionist I can find.”
“Which is why I’ve come. War is not necessary.”
This man was an idiot. “Are you blind? Jews are flooding this place. We’re being
crushed. War is all we have left.”
“You underestimate Jewish resolve. They’ve survived for centuries and will
continue.”
“This land is ours. We shall win.”
“There are things more powerful than bullets that can provide you victory.”
“That’s right. Bombs. And we have plenty of those. We’ll crush every one of you
thieving Zionists.”
“I’m not a Zionist.”
The declaration came in a quiet tone, then the man went silent. Haddad realized that
he needed to end this interrogation. No time for dead ends.