“Mix in the still picture of Scholl’s director of security made from the videotape taken outside the house on Hauptstrasse,” he said from his hospital room. “Don’t make a point of it. Just put it in with the others.”
Twenty minutes later, Bad Godesberg called back with an affirmative. That meant a member of what Dr. Salettl had called the “Organization” had escaped the Charlottenburg fire and was at large. Instantly an all-points bulletin was issued, and Remmer requested an international arrest warrant for a murder suspect known as Pascal Von Holden, an Argentine national carrying a Swiss passport.
Within the hour a judge in Bad Godesberg issued the warrant. Moments later, Von Holden’s photograph was electronically circulated to all police agencies in Europe, the United Kingdom and North and South America. The circulation was a code “Red”—arrest and detain. Subheading: should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.
“How do you feel?” It was after two when Remmer came into Osborn’s room.
“I’m all right.” Osborn had drifted off but woke as Remmer came in. “How’s your wrist?”
Remmer held up his left arm. “Temporary cast.”
“McVey?”
“Sleeping.”
Remmer came closer, and Osborn could see the intensity in his eyes.
“You’ve found Lybarger’s nurse!”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“Noble’s Spetsnaz soldier, the same man you encountered in the Tiergarten, escaped the fire.”
Osborn started. Another thread still dangling. “Von Holden?”
“A man matching his description was seen boarding the 10:48 train to Frankfurt. We’re not certain it’s him, but I’m going there anyway. It’s too foggy to fly. There are no trains. I’m going to drive.”
“I’m going with you.”
Remmer grinned. “I know.”
Ten minutes later, a dark gray Mercedes left Berlin on the autobahn. The car was a six-liter V-8 police model. Its top speed was classified, but it was rumored to be nearly two hundred miles per hour on a straightaway.
“I have to know if you get carsick,” Remmer looked at Osborn purposefully.
“Why?”
“The Berlin train gets in at four minutes past seven. It’s now a little after two. A fast driver on the autobahn can make Berlin to Frankfurt in five and half hours. I’m a fast driver. I’m also a cop.”
“What’s the record?”
“There is no record.”
Osborn smiled. “Make one.”
130
VON HOLDEN sat back in the dark and listened to the sound of the train as it skipped over the rails beneath him. A small town flashed by in the darkness, then shortly after, another. Little by little the disaster of Berlin was being left behind, letting him more fully concentrate on what lay ahead. Glancing across, he saw her staring at him from the bunk.
“Please go to sleep,” he said.
“Yes . . . ,” Vera said, then rolled over and tried to do as she’d been told.
It had been after ten when they’d come for her. Taking her from her cell, they’d led her to another room and told her to get dressed, giving her back the clothes she’d been wearing when she was arrested. Then they’d taken her up in an elevator and out to a car where this man waited. He was a
Moments later they were handcuffed together, crossing a platform and boarding a train at Bahnhof Zoo.
“Where are you taking me?” she’d asked guardedly as he closed the door to a private compartment and locked it.
For a moment he’d said nothing, only slipped a large case from his shoulder and set it on the floor. Then he’d leaned forward and removed the handcuffs.
“To Paul Osborn,” he’d said.
“He’s been taken to Switzerland.”
“Is he all right?” Her mind raced. Switzerland! Why? My God, what’s happened?
“I have no information. Only orders,” Von Holden had said, then he had shown her to the bunk and taken a chair opposite. Shortly afterward the train left the station and within moments Von Holden had turned off the light.
“Goodnight,” he’d said.
“Where in Switzerland?”
“Goodnight.”
Von Holden smiled in the dark. Vera’s reaction had been spontaneous, grave concern followed almost instantly by hope. As frightened and exhausted as she had to be, her main focus remained on Osborn. It meant she would be no trouble as long as she believed she was being taken to him. That she was ostensibly in the custody of a BKA
Von Holden had been notified of her arrest by Berlin sector operatives inside the prison earlier that day. At the time the information had been incidental, but in the turn of things it had become highly significant. Within a half hour of his directive, Berlin sector had arranged for her release. In that time Von Holden had changed clothes, secured the box inside a special black nylon case that could either be carried over the shoulder or worn like a knapsack, and been provided with BKA identification.
By arresting Vera, McVey had ironically and unwittingly provided Von Holden the complication he needed. He was no longer one man traveling alone, but one sharing a private first-class compartment with an extremely handsome woman. More important, she served another, more exacting, purpose: she gave him a hostage of prime importance to the police.
Von Holden looked at his watch. In little more than five hours they would be in Frankfurt, He would give himself four hours’ sleep, then decide what to do.
131
VON HOLDEN woke precisely at six. Across from him, Vera still slept. Getting up, he went into the small bathroom and closed the door.
Washing his face, he shaved with the toiletries provided. As he did, his thoughts went to Charlottenburg. And the ‘more he considered what had happened, the more he believed the betrayal had to have come from someone, maybe several, within the Organization. Thinking back, he remembered Salettl’s ghastly appearance outside the mausoleum. How nervous he’d been when he’d told Von Holden the police were there with a warrant for Scholl. How deliberate he’d seemed when he’d ordered him to take the box and wait in the Royal Apartments, thereby putting him in a situation where he would have died had he not seized the initiative and left.
Yet the idea that Salettl-could have been the one seemed absurd. The doctor had been with
