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“They need more knowledge. Perhaps, if we eliminate
     the head, the body will wither before it grows more parts. I will stay close to him.
     Monitor his every move. Come to know his habits. Hamid, stay with the tall one. Ishmael,
     lease the truck. Bring it to the garage. We should wait no longer.”

3
    Few palaces could rival the stately grandeur of the Humanities and Social Sciences
     Library nestled on the east side of Bryant Park in New York City. Tom Bohannon had
     been inside the massive building a few times in the past while doing research. But
     on this Monday morning in mid-April, faithfully trailing his long-striding brother-in-law
     through the marble halls, past the many guard posts, and deep into the private and
     off-limits rooms of this national landmark, Bohannon was in overloaded awe of the
     incredible facility.
    With seventy-five miles of bookshelves in the building itself and another fourteen
     miles of stacks extending underground, it was one of the greatest institutions for
     scholarly investigation in the world. Its collection of fifty million books, manuscripts,
     maps, prints, and literary and artistic treasures grew by ten thousand items a week
     and was visited by ten million people a year. Walking through its halls, his footsteps
     echoing back to him, Bohannon was surrounded by some of the greatest works of some
     of the greatest minds in history: the first Gutenberg Bible brought to the New World,
     Thomas Jefferson’s handwritten copy of the Declaration of Independence, Shakespeare’s
     First Folio, a manuscript of George Washington’s Farewell Address, the diaries of
     Virginia Woolf . . .
    As a former journalist, Bohannon was awed by such a vast collection of information.
     As a book collector, he was a little covetous. As Joe Rodriguez’s sidekick, he was
     scuttling to keep pace as Rodriguez raced through corridors, ducked inside obscure
     doors, and darted down spiral staircases.
    Rodriguez cut to his left and stepped into a brightly lit office. “Listen, Sammy,
     I need your help.”
    Swinging away from his computer to face the two men was a muscular, compact, Mediterranean-looking
     man with a dense shock of jet black hair and thick, black-rimmed glasses. “Sammy,
     this is my brother-in-law, Tom. Tom, this is Sammy Rizzo, the best mind in this whole
     mausoleum.”
    Sammy Rizzo hopped off his chair, and Bohannon scrambled to cover his surprise. Rizzo
     was short, the top of his head barely reaching to Bohannon’s belt buckle. Rizzo came
     toward Bohannon, a sly grin on his face, offering a small, pudgy hand.
    “Hi, Tom, glad to meet you,” said Sammy, a smile spreading under his hooked nose.
     “Yeah, I’m a dwarf. But hey, get over it. I have. So, Joe, what can I do for you?”
     Sammy turned away from the speechless Bohannon.
    “Sammy, first, I’ve got to tell you that this is for me, not for the library,” said
     Rodriguez.
    “Well, let’s sit down. This might be a lengthy conversation.” Rizzo motioned for Joe
     and Tom to sit at a small, round, meeting table just off the center of the room.
    Rizzo’s office was small but exquisitely customized. In the corner farthest from the
     door was a horseshoe-shaped desk that reminded Bohannon of the “slot” desks designed
     for editors at a newspaper. But instead of having a news editor inside the curve of
     the horseshoe and other deskmen arranged around the outside, Rizzo’s desk was shallow
     enough for him to access the entire surface. One flat-screen computer sat at the apex
     of the horseshoe, where Rizzo had been sitting when they entered, and another flat-screen
     computer was located on the left wing of the horseshoe. The surface of the right wing
     was elevated from the rear, like a drafting table, with two huge lamps overhanging
     it. Across from the desk, flanking the door, was a floor-to-ceiling window that let
     in much of the light and helped this subterranean room feel less claustrophobic.
    Bohannon