The Day After Tomorrow

Osborn turned the corner at the end of the block and parked behind a white Alfa Romeo. Unbuttoning his suit coat, McVey slid out the .38 and flipped open the chamber to make sure it was loaded. “I don’t like being lied to,” he said. McVey had said nothing of Osborn’s confession since he’d identified Von Holden during the screening of the Hauptstrasse house video. He was saying it now because he wanted to remind Osborn who was in control of the situation.

“It wasn’t your father who was murdered,” Osborn said, looking at him. There was no apology, no backing away. He was still angry at the way McVey had used him to try to get Vera to make a mistake and say something he could catch her on. And he was still angry as hell at the way she’d been treated by the police. The whole thing with Vera—the emotional rush of seeing her, of holding her—had played against his doubt of who or what she s might really be, had slammed him once more with the emotional roller coaster his life had been. Seeing her like that had simplified things for him because it focused his priorities. He had to have an answer from Scholl before he could even begin to consider what Vera meant or who she was. That’s why there was no apology to McVey, nor would there be. At this point they were equals or nothing.

“It’s going to be a long night, Doctor, with a lot on the line. Don’t start getting big for your britches.” Holstering the revolver, McVey picked a two-way radio off the seat and clicked it on.

“Remmer?”

“I’m here, McVey.” Remmer’s voice came back sharply through the tiny speaker.

“Everybody on line?”

“Ja”

“Tell them we don’t know what this is, so everybody take it easy.”

They heard Remmer relay the message in German, then McVey clicked open the glove compartment. Reaching in, he took out the Cz automatic Osborn had carried with him in the park and handed it to him. “Keep the lights out and the doors locked.” Fixing him with a stare, McVey pushed the door open and stepped out. Cold air wafted in, then the door slammed and he was gone. Looking in the rearview mirror, Osborn could see him reach the corner and open his suit coat. Then he turned the corner and the street was empty.

The rear of the Hotel Borggreve faced a narrow alley lined with trees. On the far side, a row of apartment buildings ran the entire block. Whatever happened in the alley and the back of the Hotel Borggreve belonged to Inspectors Kellermann and Seidenberg. Kellermann was standing in the shadows beside a dumpster, binoculars trained on the window of the room second from the left on the top floor. From what he could tell, a lamp was on in the room, but that was all he could tell. Then he heard Littbarski’s voice through the earphone of his two-way radio.

“Kellermann, we’re going inside. Anything?”

“Nein.” He spoke softly into the tiny microphone on his lapel. Across the alley he could see Seidenberg’s bulky form silhouetted against an oak tree. He was holding a shotgun and watching the hotel’s back door.

“Nothing here, either,” Seidenberg said.

Salettl stood in a large bedroom on the second floor of the house on Hauptstrasse watching as Edward and Eric playfully helped each other knot the bow ties at the throats of their formal shirts. If they weren’t twin brothers, he thought, they might well be youthful homosexual lovers.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Well,” Eric said, turning quickly and very nearly coming to attention.

“And I, the same,” Edward echoed.

Salettl stood a moment longer, then left.

Downstairs, he crossed an ornate, oak-paneled hallway land entered an equally ornate den where Scholl, resplendent in white tie, stood in front of a crackling fire, a snifter of cognac in his hand. Uta Baur, in one of her all-black creations, sat in a chair beside him, smoking a Turkish cigarette held in a cigarette holder.

“Von Holden is with Mr. Lybarger,” Salettl said.

“I know,” Scholl said.

“It was unfortunate that the policeman involved the cardinal—”

“Nothing should concern you but Eric and Edward and Mr. Lybarger.” Scholl smiled coldly. “This night is ours, good doctor. All of ours.” Suddenly he looked off. “Not just the living, but those now dead who had the vision and courage and the dedication to begin it. Tonight is for them. For them, we will experience and savor and touch the future.” Scholl’s eyes came back to Salettl. “And nothing, good Doctor,” he said quietly, “will take that from us.”

114

I WOULD like the key to room 412, please,” Remmer said pin German to a gray-haired woman behind the desk. She wore thick glasses and had a brownish shawl pulled up over her shoulders.

“That room is taken,” she said indignantly, then looked up to McVey, who stood behind him to the left of the elevator.

“What is your name?”

“Why should I answer that question? Who the hell do you think you are?” ?

“BKA,” Remmer said, flashing his I.D.

“My name is Anna Schubart,” she said quickly. “What; do you want?”

McVey and-Noble stood halfway between the front door and a stairway covered by a worn burgundy carpet. The lobby itself was small, painted the color of dark mustard. A wood-framed velvet couch sat at an angle to the desk, while behind it, two faded and unmatched over I stuffed chairs faced a fireplace where a small fire was burning. An elderly man dozed in one of them, an open’ newspaper across his lap.

“The stairway goes all the way to the top floor?”

“Yes.”

“That and the elevator are the only ways in and out?”

“Yes.”

“The old man sleeping, is he a guest?”

“He’s my father. What’s going on?”

“You keep quarters here?”

“Back there.” Anna Schubart tossed her head, indicating a closed door behind the desk.

“Take your father and go inside. I’ll tell you when to come out.”

The woman’s face turned red and she was about to tell him to go to hell, when the front door opened and Littbarski and Holt came in. Littbarski carried a shotgun. An Uzi submachine gun dangled at Holt’s side.

That was enough for Anna Schubart’s pride. Reaching to a wall box behind her, she took out the key to room 412 and gave it to Remmer. Then, walking quickly to the old man, she shook him awake. “Komm, Vater” she said. Helping him up, she walked him, blinking and staring, around the desk and into the back room. With a sharp glance back at the police, she closed the door.

“Tell Holt to stay here,” McVey said to Remmer “You and Littbarski take the stairs. The old men’ll take the elevator. We’ll wait for you at the top.”

Crossing to the elevator, McVey punched the button and the door opened immediately and he and Noble stepped inside. The door slid closed, and Remmer and Littbarski went up the stairs.

Outside, in the back alley, Kellermann thought he saw a light brighten in the room next to Cadoux’s, but even with the binoculars it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, it seemed too insignificant to report.

The elevator banged to a stop on the top floor and the door opened. Thirty-eight in hand, McVey looked out. The hallway was dimly lit and empty. Putting the elevator on “lock,” he stepped out. Noble followed, carrying a matte black .44 Magnum automatic.

They’d gone about twenty feet when McVey pulled up and nodded to a closed door across from them.

Room 412.