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Cotton Malone stood on the balcony and calmly watched the books burn

He was standing next to Yossef Sharma, president of a tiny central Asian nation nestled firhanistan, China and a host of other Aton had, for years, conveniently ignored Shar his audacious plan to burn nearly every book in his country

“We’ve been collecting for the past e” Sharion “Tonight, there are fires in every quarter of the nation All to rid us of Western influence”

“I al his eyes off the spectacle

“After to the Koran, will be punishable by i, they’re obedient”

Malone continued to watch as people, bundled in coats and jackets, picked their way over slippery cobbles to heap more books onto the blaze Clatter from flutes and tambourines added to the surreal spectacle

“That crazy obedience,” Malone said, “ else, explains your current predicahanistan, and you knohat that led to”

“Lucky for me, and this country, you know that to be false”

He smiled “More lucky for you”

Malone was a navy commander turned lawyer turned Justice Departned to a covert division within Justice known as the Magellan Billet Twelve specially trained agents, all lawyers, working under a no-nonsense lady named Stephanie Nelle On the outside, Nelle rerandmothers, but inside she possessed the resolve of a Roht the tour would be both lio, and the past decade had been anything but dull Tonight was a good exa on the balcony of a presidential palace beside a uniformed despot, while an immense bonfire fueled by books roared below, each breath from the cool, arid air laced with the scent of smoke and sorrow

“You tell your govern what I have to in order to survive This nation is Musli leader” The presidentthose books because I ordered it? Never It’s because they want to”

Malone was no stranger Twice he’d worked here, both times directly with Sharma Malone had actually becoion of over a hundred thousand square miles, home to four million people, 85 percent of ere Sunni Muslims He’d studied its history and knew about its expansive tradition of writers, poets and coes But yesterday he’d painfully watched while the entire national archive had been cleared The loss of so e was incalculable, but a United Nations protest had been swiftly rebuked by Sharma Now Malone’s sto below He was a confir to him His ho about thenment to peruse rare-book shops

In disgust, he allowed his gaze to drift away from the fire to the picturesque re the plaza He knew that s had stood since the nineteenth century, surviving the Soviet takeover in 1922, a Muslim rebellion in 1935, the fall of communism in 1991 and an Islamic revolution a year later Finally, he faced Sharma and said, “Why am I here?”

“To see this happening”

He doubted that And that, as far as he was concerned, was the trouble with central Asia Truth was an underrated commodity

“And to give you this”

Sharma reached over to a s was tooled with brass fittings in excellent condition Malone accepted it and studied the cover In English ritten, Canterbury Tales

“I thought you ht like that”

Sharma knew hio to prison if I have this”

Sharma smiled “For you, an exception I kno much you love them It’s a seventeenth-century edition For some reason we had it shelved in our archive”

He carefully balanced the book in his palm and was about to open it when Sharma stopped him “Not here Later”

He thought the coe

“There’s another gift Inside Especially for you So later, back at your hotel”

He knew better than to question So he nodded in understanding, slipped the tiny volume into his jacket pocket and turned his attention back to the bonfire

Malone returned to his hotel roo after two hours, when he and Sharma vacated the balcony He locked the door and removed his jacket Its brown leather smelled of ash

He sat on the bed and studied the copy of Canterbury Tales A second Speght edition, dated 1602 A text read and owned by the likes of Milton, Pepys, Dryden and Pope Worth in the neighborhood of ten thousand American dollars, provided a copy could even be found

Yet he was now holding one

Given to him by Yossef Sharma

He opened the book and, toward the center of the dingy yellowed pages, found a scrap of paper He freed it and read the felish script

In the mountains, to the north, visit the ruins of Rampur Arrive at noon tomorrow Someone wishes to speak with you, alone

Share He apparently wanted Malone to go—which was the real reason why he’d been invited to the country—but did not want any fingerprints of his on the effort

Typical Sharma The man was a friend of the United States, but no one, other than a feith the highest security clearance, knew that To the world Yossef Sharma was an oppressive ruler of an unimportant nation, but for years he’d quietly provided the West with soence out of central Asia He possessed a superb spy network and the price for his services was the privilege to run his country as he saw fit Of course, his efforts at generating utter chaos ahbors was protected by one lucky truth—none of them had time to bother with him

But now this

What was Sharma up to?

Malone awoke early and prepared himself for the journey north He secured a car fro with a road map and noted that Raes in the country The drive froh narrow passes where snow still lingered even now, in August Cave entrances honeycombed many of the precipices

He drove leisurely, taking care to ensure that he was not being followed He h flat-bottoes, where he spottedbooks

He found Rampur

Earlier, at the American embassy, he’d learned that Bactrians in the first century, Arabs in the seventh, Turks in the tenth, then Mongols, Afghans, Russians and Soviets had all, at one time or another, claie to its walls Currently, the surrounding forested hillsides, n a few n, posted just off the pavement ahead, specifically forbade any entrance to the ruins But Malone had been invited, so he stepped out into the brisk thin air and stuffed his Billet-issue Glock into a shoulder harness beneath his jacket He knew that wild boar, brown bears and snow leopards all patrolled these ed predators, the kind that toted automatic weapons

A gravelly path wound upward and required a steady foot and the practiced head of a otiate Thunder rurab his breath, ad distant snow-covered peaks that matted the horizon

Another sign noted the beginning of the archeological site and again warned of no entrance Beyond, an aimless accumulation of limestone slabs, most of which were once walls and towers, lay piled upon one another Thorny bushes grew in clu the weathered stone, colored by summer irises and edelweiss No evidence existed of any recent archeological exploration In fact, the desolate spot, overhung by cliffs, appeared long abandoned

He checked his watch

11:57 am

“Mr Malone,” a male voice called out

He stopped walking and touched the Glock inside his jacket

“I was told you speak this language,” the voice said in Arabic

“You were told right”