Machiavelli remained silent, unwilling to commit. He knew that this conversation could be very dangerous. His master and Dee’s were somehow opposed, but they both wanted the same thing: the return of the Dark Elders to the earth. And Machiavelli knew he must be seen to support that in every way possible. Once the Dark Elders returned, then the real power struggle for control of the planet would take place. Naturally, he was hoping that his master and his master’s followers would be triumphant, but if Dee’s masters took control, then it might be useful to have Dee as an ally. Machiavelli grinned and rubbed his hands together; his scheming reminded him of the good old days of the Borgias.

“As head of the French secret service,” Dee continued, “you must have contacts with your British counterparts.”

“Of course.” He started nodding. He suddenly knew what the Magician was about to ask. “Let me contact them,” he said quickly. “I’ll inform them that the terrorists who attacked Paris are now in London. I am sure the British authorities will move swiftly to close the airports and train stations.”

“We need roadblocks and checkpoints, too.”

“That should be possible.” Machiavelli chuckled. “I will make that call now.”

Dee coughed slightly. “I am in your debt.”

“I know that.” Machiavelli grinned.

“Let me ask a final favor, then,” Dee said. “Could you delay informing our Elders of my location? Give me this one last day to find the Alchemyst.”

Machiavelli hesitated; then he said, “I’ll not tell your Elder,” he said, “and you know me to be a man of my word.”

“I do.”

“You have one final day,” the Italian began, but Dee had already hung up. Machiavelli sat back and tapped the phone against his lips. Then he started to dial a number. He had promised the Magician that he would not inform his Elder; but Machiavelli’s own Elder master would certainly want to know.

In London, bands of orange and pink shot through with purples and blacks appeared on the horizon. The Magician stared hard at the sky, his gray eyes picking up the colors, watching them intently while his tea grew cold in his hands. He knew that if he did not find the Alchemyst and the twins, then this could be the last sunrise he would ever see.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Once the sun had set, temperatures had fallen quickly, and the breeze whipping in off San Francisco Bay was cold and salty. From her position in the watchtower over the wharf, Perenelle peered down on the island. Although she was wearing bundles of clothing and had gathered all the blankets from the cells to wrap around her, she was still freezing. Her fingers and toes were so numb she had lost all feeling in them, and she’d actually bitten down hard on a moldy blanket to keep her teeth from chattering.