The Charlemagne Pursuit: A Novel (Cotton Malone)
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As a child, former Justice Department agent Cotton Malone was told that his father died in a submarine disaster in the North Atlantic. But what he now learns stuns him: His father’s sub was a secret nuclear vessel lost on a highly classified mission beneath the ice shelves of Antarctica.
Twin sisters Dorothea Lindauer and Christl Falk are also determined to find out what became of their father, who died on the same submarine–and they know something Malone doesn’t: Inspired by strange clues discovered in Charlemagne’s tomb, the Nazis explored Antarctica before the Americans. Now Malone discovers that cryptic journals penned in “the language of heaven,” conundrums posed by an ancient historian, and his father’s ill-fated voyage are all tied to a revelation of immense consequence for humankind. As Malone embarks on a dangerous quest with the sisters, he will finally confront the shocking truth of his father’s death and the distinct possibility of his own.
haven’t told me how you knew that.” “I have sources within the navy. They told me your former boss, Stephanie Nelle, obtained the report and was sending it to you.” “Still doesn’t explain how you knew I’d be on that mountain today.” “How about we leave that a mystery for the moment.” “You sent those two to steal it?” She nodded. He didn’t like her attitude but, dammit, he was intrigued. He was beneath a Bavarian abbey, surrounded by an array of ancient stones with strange markings, and
darkness. “I assume this resolves all doubts you might have about your Admiral Ramsey and his intentions?” she asked. He nodded. “From now on we’ll do this your way.” NINETEEN Malone shook his head. Twins? He closed the door. “I JUST met your sister. I wondered why she let me go so easily. You two just couldn’t speak to me together?” Christl Falk shook her head. “We don’t speak much.” Now he was puzzled. “Yet you’re obviously working together.” “No, we’re not.” Her English, unlike her
Winter had only minimally thinned the underbrush. She advanced the hundred yards back toward the house slowly, a heavy layer of pine needles silencing her steps. She’d seen the hanger moving. No doubt. But was it a mistake by her, or by the person she’d sensed inside? She repeatedly told her agents to trust their instincts. Nothing worked better than common sense. Cotton Malone had been a master of that. She wondered what he was doing right now. He hadn’t called back concerning the information
He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind. —PROVERBS 11:29 THE CHARLEMAGNE PURSUIT PROLOGUE NOVEMBER 1971 The alarm sounded and Forrest Malone came alert. “Depth?” he called out. “Six hundred feet.” “What’s beneath us?” “Another two thousand feet of cold water.” His gaze raked the active dials, gauges, and thermometers. In the tiny conn the helmsman sat to his right, the planesman squeezed in on the left. Both men kept their hands locked on control sticks. Power
father promptly admitted his paternity and made proper amends. For his piety Bertrand eventually acquired a label—the Brightness of God. He supposedly shunned the description but allowed it to be applied to the monastery, apparently remembered by Einhard, decades later, as he drew up his last will and testament. Malone left the columns and passed into the cloister, an irregular-roofed trapezoid lined with arches, columns, and capitals. Roof timbers, which appeared to be new, seemed to have been