Free The Alexandria Connection by Adrian D'Hagé

lightening as he contemplated the hand-written menu on the white linen tablecloth.
    ‘Clos des Goisses, 1988.’ Rachel passed Crowley a baccarat crystal flute. A fine stream of bubbles from one of the world’s truly great champagnes formed off the tiny but deliberate imperfections in the crystal.
    ‘1988 . . . one of his best,’ Crowley agreed, savouring the bouquet of yeast and vanillin.
    ‘Did you find out anything on O’Connor and Weizman?’
    Rachel nodded. ‘Our man inside Langley has given us some useful information on O’Connor.’ It was expensive, but Crowley made it a practice to ensure EVRAN maintained contacts in key government departments, and in the White House.
    ‘O’Connor’s an interesting one . . . brought up in Ireland in Ballingarry, a dirt-poor mining town in southern Ireland. His father was a drunk and used to lay into O’Connor at the slightest provocation. When the father died, O’Connor’s mother moved to Kilkenny where she supported herself with cleaning jobs and, not to put too fine a point on it, a succession of men friends after hours.’
    ‘Educated?’
    ‘O’Connor? Highly. One of his mother’s men friends paid for O’Connor to go to boarding school in Dublin, but when one of the priests tried to abuse him, O’Connor beat up the priest and escaped. He’s Mensa material, and he went on to Trinity College where he completed an honours thesis in chemistry, followed by a doctorate on lethal viruses and biological weapons.’
    ‘Is that why he finished up with the CIA?’ Crowley’s sense of danger was heightened. If O’Connor turned out to be a threat it might take some careful planning to eliminate him.
    ‘Eventually. He started out with Big Pharma, but didn’t like what they were doing, so he took a pay cut to join the CIA.’
    ‘A CIA agent with ethics . . . interesting combination.’
    ‘Maybe, but he’s arguably one of the best agents they have. O’Connor eventually ran afoul of the CIA’s last deputy director, Howard Wiley. Wiley had sent him to Vienna to assassinate Aleta Weizman, who at the time was getting up the nose of the vice president because of her exposure of the CIA’s activities with the death squads in Guatemala. When O’Connor tumbled to Wiley’s reasons for the contract on her, he jumped ship and protected her. The pair went on the run, and despite several attempts to assassinate them both, they survived . . . right through to the discovery of the Maya Codex and the Inca’s lost city of Paititi. Wiley’s now behind bars, and likely stay there for the rest of his life.’
    ‘Hmm.’ Crowley stroked his ample chin thoughtfully. ‘So O’Connor’s back with the CIA?’
    ‘They brought O’Connor’s old boss – a guy by the name of McNamara – out of retirement to replace Wiley, so O’Connor’s back on the payroll.’
    ‘Married?’
    ‘Divorced and no kids. He’s had a succession of women in his life, but it doesn’t seem like commitment is part of his lexicon. Although he and Weizman are probably entangled,’ Rachel said with a touch of wistfulness.
    ‘And what about Weizman?’ Crowley asked.
    ‘Like O’Connor, she’s divorced and doesn’t have any children. She’s an internationally renowned archaeologist, with an interest in ancient civilisations . . . taking after her equally famous archaeologist grandfather, Levi Weizman. Weizman senior was employed by Himmler and the Nazis to investigate links between the Maya and the Aryan master race, but he and his wife were murdered at Mauthausen, while Weizman’s father escaped to Guatemala as a boy. Weizman herself was brought up by Lake Atitlán, but when she was ten, her parents and siblings were murdered by General Montt’s death squads.’
    ‘Who were supported by Washington,’ Crowley observed. ‘That might explain why she’s been outspoken against the CIA.’
    ‘Exactly. Wiley was the CIA’s chief of station in Guatemala City, and he was seen in Lake