10:00 PM
MALONE REENTERED THE POSTHOTEL. HE'D LEFT THE MONASTERY and driven straight back to Garmisch, his stomach twisted in knots. He kept visualizing the crew of NR-1A, trapped on the bottom of a frozen ocean, hoping somebody would save them.
But nobody had.
Stephanie had not called back and he was tempted to contact her, but realized that she'd call when there was something to say.
The woman, Dorothea Lindauer, was a problem. Could her father really have been aboard NR-1A? If not, how would she have known the man's name from the report? Though the crew manifest had been part of the official press release issued after the sinking, he recalled no mention of a Dietz Oberhauser. The German's presence aboard the sub was apparently not for public consumption, regardless of the countless other lies that had been told.
What was happening here?
Nothing about this Bavarian sojourn seemed good.
He trudged up the wooden staircase. Some sleep would be welcomed. Tomorrow he'd sort things through. He glanced down the hall. The door to his room hung ajar. Hopes of any respite vanished.
He gripped the gun in his pocket and stepped lightly down the colorful runner that lined the hardwood flooring, trying to minimize squeaks that kept announcing his presence.
The room's geography flashed through his mind.
The door opened into an alcove that led straight ahead into a spacious bath. To the right was the main section that accommodated a queen-sized bed, a desk, a few side tables, a television, and two chairs.
Perhaps the innkeepers had simply failed to close the door? Possible, but after today he wasn't taking any chances. He stopped and, with the gun, nudged the door inward, noticing that the lamps were switched on.
'It's okay, Mr. Malone,' a female voice said.
He peered around the doorway.
A woman, tall and shapely, with shoulder-length ash-blond hair, stood on the other side of the bed. Her unlined face, smooth as a pat of butter, sheathed fine-boned features, sculpted to near perfection.
He'd seen her before.
Dorothea Lindauer?
No.
Not quite.
'I'm Christl Falk,' she said.
STEPHANIE SAT IN THE WINDOW SEAT, EDWIN DAVIS ON THE AISLE beside her, as the Delta flight from Atlanta began its final approach into Jacksonville International Airport. Below spanned the eastern reaches of the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, the blackwater swamp's vegetation clothed in a wintry brown veneer. She'd left Davis alone with his thoughts during the fifty-minute flight, but enough was enough.
'Edwin, why don't you tell me the truth?'
His head lay on the headrest, eyes closed. 'I know. I didn't have a brother on that sub.'
'Why'd you lie to Daniels?'
He raised up. 'I had to.'
'That's not like you.'
He faced her. 'Really? We hardly know each other.'
'Then why am I here?'
'Because you're honest. Naive as hell, sometimes. Bullheaded. But always honest. There's something to be said for that.'
She wondered about his cynicism.
'The system is corrupt, Stephanie. Right down to the core. Everywhere you turn, there's poison in government.'
She was baffled by where this was headed.
'What do you know of Langford Ramsey?' he asked.
'I don't like him. He thinks everyone is an idiot and that the intelligence business couldn't survive without him.'
'He's served nine years as head of naval intelligence. That's unheard of. But each time he's come up for rotation, they've allowed him to stay.'
'That a problem?'
'Damn right it is. Ramsey has ambitions.'
'You sound like you know him.'
'More than I ever wanted to.'
'Edwin, stop,' Millicent said.
He was holding the phone, punching the numbers for the local police. She slipped the handset from his grasp and laid it in the cradle.
'Leave it be,' she said.
He stared into her dark eyes. Her gorgeous long brown hair hung tousled. Her face seemed as delicate as ever, but troubled. In so many ways they were alike. Smart, dedicated, loyal. Only in race were they different-she a beautiful example of African genes, he the quintessential white Anglo-Saxon Protestant. He'd been attracted to her within days of being assigned as Captain Langford Ramsey's State Department liaison, working out of NATO headquarters in Brussels.
He gently caressed the fresh bruise on her thigh. 'He struck you.' He fought the next word. 'Again.'
'It's his way.'
She was a lieutenant, born of a navy family, fourth generation, and Langford Ramsey's aide for the past two years. Ramsey's lover for one of those.
'Is he worth it?' he asked.
She retreated from the phone, clutching her bathrobe tight. She'd called half an hour ago and asked him to come to her apartment. Ramsey had just left. He didn't know why he always came when she called.
'He doesn't mean to do it,' she said. 'His temper gets the best of him. He doesn't like to be refused.'
His gut hurt at the thought of them together, but he listened, knowing she had to relieve herself of false guilt. 'He needs to be reported.'
'It would solve nothing. He's a man on the rise, Edwin. A man with friends. No one would care what I have to say.'
'I care.'
She appraised him with anxious eyes. 'He told me that he would never do it again.'
'He said that last time.'
'It was my fault. I pushed him. I shouldn't have, but I did.'
She sat on the sofa and motioned for him to sit beside her. When he did, she laid her head on his shoulder and, within a few minutes, drifted off to sleep.
'She died six months later,' Davis said in a distant voice.
Stephanie kept silent.
'Her heart stopped. The authorities in Brussels said it was probably genetic.' Davis paused. 'Ramsey had beaten her again, three days before. No marks. Just a few well-placed punches.' He went quiet. 'I asked to be transferred after that.'
'Did Ramsey know how you felt about her?'
Davis shrugged. 'I'm not sure how I felt. But I doubt he'd care. I was thirty-eight years old, working my way up in the State Department. The foreign service is a lot like the military. You take the assignments as they come. But like I said earlier, about the fake brother, I told myself if I ever was in a position to stick it up Ramsey's ass, I would.'
'What does Ramsey have to do with this?'
Davis laid his head back.
