Charlie Thorne and the Last Equation: Chapters 27–41

If Charlie had decided to switch to the dark side—or had been aligned with the dark side all along—she would be a very formidable enemy.

It was a massive edifice, one of the holiest sites in Christianity, as it was erected atop the Hill of Calvary, where Christ had been crucified.

Despite their disheveled state, no one regarded them suspiciously; pilgrims often came to the church looking far worse after their long, arduous journeys.

While some of the pilgrims and tourists were silent in reverence, most talked freely, and the church resounded with their voices. In the cacophony, Milana felt it was finally safe to speak.

It occurred to Milana that Charlie was so worldly and composed that it was easy to forget she was only twelve.

Milana bridled at the insult.

After doing reconnaissance on them for months? No way. The Furies picked up this new person here.

He had just finished a six-month stint in Jerusalem, nailing a rogue Hamas cell, when the call had come from Bern.

He had just come from there, after meeting with Alexei in a nondescript falafel shop.

He would have considered checking into such a decadent place simply for a decent shower and some air-conditioning to be an unnecessary luxury.

But John had spent enough of his life paying his dues, living in roach-infested hovels while he did his undercover work; he deserved a little luxury.

Of course, Alexei had been livid at the betrayal, threatening to kill him, but once John explained his plan, Alexei had quickly seen the light.

“Do you think Bendavid could be the turncoat?”

Pandora would be worth millions on the black market. Enough money to turn even the most stalwart agents.

She had been stymied by problems before, of course, but it didn’t happen often.

Perhaps, by not pushing her limits, she had let her mind grow fallow.

Even worse, Doyle’s devotion to these beliefs had made him ignore blatant physical evidence and give credence to an infamous hoax: In 1917, two girls in Cottingley, England, had taken a picture of what appeared to be fairies.

Although there had been ample evidence the fairies were merely paper dolls, Doyle had not only been duped by the photos, but had also written an article in a prominent magazine attesting to their authenticity.

He was a lover of words as well, the rare intellectual who could write for the masses, a linguist who could toss off clever bon mots such as “Two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.”

This was a man who let his hair grow into a fright wig, regaled friends with jokes, and stuck his tongue out for photographers.

Charlie considered the Sherlock Holmes mysteries again, trying to discern what would have been attractive about them to Einstein.

“Oh,” Charlie said, struck by an epiphany.
She looked at Einstein's clue once again and considered it in a new light.

“I’m working on getting us to London as fast as I can. But I’ll stay in touch. Keep me apprised of what’s going on.”

Security guards from the Israeli Department of Antiquities were posted around the dig, but they deferentially stepped aside when the Mossad arrived, as if it was common for the Mossad to use this route.

Milana lowered her eyes, chastened, then nodded agreement. “You’re right. Playing this alone was a mistake on our part. We should work together from now on.”

He was hidden somewhere up in the mess of girders and wooden beams above, and his voice was echoing off the cavern’s sides.

So he gave her a quick, perfunctory hug in return, then said, “We have to get out of here. I’m going to need you to drive.”

This area was much poorer, with ramshackle houses piled on top of one another.

The locals instantly stopped what they were doing and responded to the call, prostrating themselves on the sidewalks to pray.

The market was small, crammed into a narrow plaza, and the Muslim stall owners and shoppers were prone on the ground, answering the call to prayer.

In the months before he faked his death, he had slowly shifted most of his assets out of his true bank account into a subsidiary, doing it in a way that wouldn’t set off alarms at the CIA.

But it turned out there were other kinds of banks, far more covert ones that catered to people with large amounts of money that they wanted to keep secret. Banks that asked no questions about who was starting the account—or how they had obtained the money. These banks tended to be located in countries with lax financial laws like the Bahamas, Grand Cayman, and Macau, though Switzerland was the most famous place for them.

Once the account was established, Charlie funneled her money into it and let it accrue interest.

The woman who answered at the bank was very discreet. She didn’t ask questions about what Charlie requested, no matter how unusual it might have been. She simply checked Charlie’s account to make sure there was enough money to cover the cost, then assured her everything would be taken care of immediately.

But they were in desperate straits.

Dante watched a wealthy jerk drive up in a new SUV and mouth off to the valet, who obsequiously took the insult and parked the car in a lot on the corner.

“He must have hundreds of agents at his disposal.”

He was working through the pain, doing his penance for allowing himself to be bested.

After the great scientist had become an international celebrity, he had used his clout to support Zionism, making speeches and pressuring leaders all over the world to establish Israel.

The CIA agents caught the poor security agents by surprise, rendering them unconscious within seconds.