The Lincoln Myth by Steve Berry

door.
    They fled the store, heading down a quiet backstreet toward busy Kongens Nytorv, the city’s busiest public square. Roads clogged with night traffic encircled a statue of Christian V. The royal theater was lit brightly, as was the Hotel d’Angleterre. Nyhavn’s cafés, on the square’s far side abutting the waterfront, were still alive with people. He’d delayed the two Danites back in Højbro Plads, but only for so long. If Kirk was right and they were tracking him, he had to move fast. His eyes raked the crowded scene, settling on the perfect solution.
    They crossed the street and trotted for the bus stop.
    Copenhagen had a terrific public transportation system and he’d often hopped onto buses from here. They came and went every few minutes all day and one was now easing to a stop, riders streaming on and off.
    “The phone,” he said to Luke, who produced it.
    He casually laid it inside the rear bumper.
    The doors closed and the bus lumbered away, heading north toward the royal palace.
    “That should keep whoever is coming occupied,” he said.
    “You think he was tellin’ the truth about any of it?”
    He nodded. “He took a chance showing his hand. But he thought he was in control and could handle things.”
    “Yeah. Big mistake. He didn’t know he was dealing with a friggin’ wild cowboy.”
    “We have to go see about where he mentioned, even though the whole thing smells like a trap.” He pointed south. “I have a car stored a few blocks over. Where is Salazar’s estate?”
    “Kalundborg.”

THIRTEEN

    K ALUNDBORG , D ENMARK
    11:00 P.M .
    S ALAZAR WAS ENJOYING DINNER, THRILLED THAT C ASSIOPEIA had, after all these years, returned to his life. Her calls a few months ago had been as welcome as they were unexpected. He’d missed her. She’d been his first love as a young man, the woman he’d come to believe might be his wife.
    But sadly, their relationship ended.
    “This is not going to work,” she said to him .
    “I love you. You know that.”
    “And I have deep feelings for you, but we have … differences.”
    “Faith should not keep us apart.”
    “But it does,” she said. “You’re a true believer. The Book of Mormon is sacred for you. The Words of Wisdom are a guide for your life. I respect that. But you have to respect that they are not the same for me.”
    “Our parents believed, as I do.”
    “And I didn’t agree with them, either.”
    “So you’re willing to ignore your heart?”
    “Before I grow to resent you, I think it’s better that we part friends.”
    She was right on one count. His faith was important. No success can compensate for a failure in the home . That’s what David O. McKay taught. Only husbands and wives, acting together, can achieve eternallife in heaven. If either be proven unrighteous, both would be denied salvation. Marriage was an eternal bond—between a man and a woman—the family here a reflection of the family in heaven. Both had to be absolutely committed.
    “I was so sorry to hear about your wife,” she said to him.
    He’d married less than a year after he and Cassiopeia ended their relationship. A lovely woman from Madrid, born to the faith, devout in her following of the prophets. They’d tried to have children, but with no success, the doctors saying that the problem was most likely with her. He’d deemed it God’s will and accepted the prohibition. Then, four years ago, she was killed in a car accident. That, too, he’d accepted as God’s will. A sign, perhaps, for a change of direction. Now this vibrant, beautiful woman from his past had reappeared. Another sign?
    “It had to be awful,” she said, and he appreciated her sentiment.
    “I try to remember her carefully. The pain of her loss is still there. I can’t deny that. I suppose it’s why I have not sought another wife.” He hesitated a moment. “But I should be asking you this question. Did you ever marry?”
    She shook her head. “Kind of sad, wouldn’t you