Books had always been her refuge.
As an adult, she recognized this was yet another coping mechanism. But it was one that had never failed her. Even now, she took solace in the stillness of a library, in the quiet turn of a page, in words that transported. It was a balm against the panic attacks that still plagued her.
While she knew such escapes were an emotional crutch, she had come to recognize her faith was not misplaced.
For truth be told, what harm could come from a book?
2
October 29, 11:04 a.m. CET
Larvik, Norway
Jakob Haugen fought the restraints that bound him to the steel chair. His efforts were less about freeing himself as escaping the body of his wife. She had been forced to her knees before him. Still, she had not begged for her life. Instead, she had stared resolutely at him, remaining silent as her throat was slit. Her blood had washed across his lap.
Afterward, his captors had thrown her body at his feet and continued ransacking his home, leaving him to keep vigil over the price of his silence.
Oh, Elli . . .
From the runnels that flowed from his shattered nose, he tasted iron on his tongue. His only solace was the angry crashing from the library around him, where two levels of books were being tossed and searched.
You bastards are too late, he silently cast out to the marauders, allowing himself this small amount of satisfaction.
Unable to bear the sight of the ruin at his feet, he cast his gaze out the library’s tall row of windows. They narrowed to gothic points at their tops, as if this space were a cathedral, one dedicated to preserving knowledge. Only this library’s true purpose was far simpler: to hide a single volume among the many. He was the Twelfth Keeper, dedicated to protecting the book from those who hunted it.
He knew he would not survive the day, not that he had many days left to him. The diagnosis had come a month ago. Pancreatic cancer, a highly aggressive adenosquamous carcinoma. At stage four, he would be lucky to make it to Christmas; certainly he’d never ring in the New Year.
Still, it would not be cancer that killed him.
He tugged again at his restraints as he stared past the windows to the beechwood forest outside. The snows had yet to come. The forest floor remained a crimson swath of fallen leaves. He and Elli had spent endless days exploring the parklands, lazing along Farris Lake, hiking the Passion Path trail.
But no more . . .
Knowing the end was near, they had reached a measure of peace, finding solace in quiet moments, grieving and laughing, all in a long, slow goodbye—never suspecting the end would come so swiftly and brutally.
Still, the two had taken the necessary steps, not just legal and financial, but also in safeguarding the treasure that had been entrusted to them.
He returned his gaze to the sprawl of his wife, to the spreading pool of blood on the stone tile. The shock had dulled, replaced with a fury that sharpened his breath and spurred a heavier flow from his broken nose.
How had the bastards known? Who had betrayed us?
Jakob had believed he had attended to all the precautions in transferring the book to the Thirteenth Keeper, a number that now struck him as ominous. Last week, he had shipped and hidden the volume in crates holding hundreds of texts. The bill of lading and provenance declared it to be the bequeathment of a dying historian, which was the truth. Once the shipment reached the United Kingdom, the Thirteenth Keeper would secure the crates. The man had already found another library in which to ensconce the book, to again bury the treasured text amongst many others.
Over the centuries, such a transfer—from one Keeper to the next—had always been a risk, a rare moment of potential exposure.
Which proved the case now.
Jakob knew what this must mean.
Someone betrayed us, possibly within our own organization.
Still, if their enemy was searching this estate, the traitor clearly remained unaware of the transfer, of its destination in England. He hung his hope upon this thinnest of threads.
They must never know where I sent it.
It must vanish into history again.
A commotion drew his attention to the mahogany doors leading into his study. A tall figure strode into the room, flanked by two others, all three enrobed and hooded in crimson, their faces hidden behind folds of black cloth.
