on the phone to congressmen as soon as they'd heard Sylvian had died. Paying the proper respects and burying the man would come in a few days-but Sylvian's successor would be chosen in the next few hours, as slots that high on the military food chain did not stay vacant long.
He should have known Aatos Kane would be a problem. The senator had been around a long time. He knew the lay of the land. But experience came with liabilities. Men like Kane counted on the fact that opponents did not possess either the nerve or the means to exploit those liabilities.
He suffered from neither deficiency.
He grabbed a curbside parking spot just as another car was leaving. At least something had gone right today. He clicked seventy-five cents into the meter and walked through the chill until he found Capitol Maps.
An interesting store.
Nothing but maps from every corner of the globe, including an impressive travel and guidebook collection. He wasn't in the market for cartography today. Instead he needed to speak to the owner.
He entered and spotted her talking to a customer.
She caught a glimpse, but nothing in her countenance revealed any recognition. He assumed the considerable fees he'd paid her through the years for contract services had helped finance the store, but they'd never discussed the matter. One of his rules. Assets were tools, treated the same as a hammer, saw, or screwdriver. Use them. Then put them away. Most of the people he employed understood that rule. Those who didn't were never called again.
The store owner finished with her customer and casually strolled over. 'Looking for a particular map? We have a large assortment.'
He glanced around. 'That you do. Which is good, because I need a lot of help today.'
WILKERSON REALIZED THAT HE WAS BEING FOLLOWED. A MAN AND a woman lurked a hundred feet behind him, most likely alerted by his contact with Berlin. They'd made no move to close, which meant one of two things. They wanted Dorothea and were waiting for him to lead them to her, or he was being herded.
Neither prospect was pleasant.
He elbowed a path through a thick knot of midday Munich shoppers and had no idea how many other adversaries were waiting ahead. A level-three security risk? That meant they would contain with whatever force necessary-including deadly. Worse, they'd had hours to prepare. He knew the Oberhauser operation was important-more personal than professional-and Ramsey had the conscience of an executioner. If threatened, he'd react. At the moment he certainly appeared to be threatened.
He set a sharp pace.
He should call Dorothea and warn her, but he'd resented her intrusion last night during his call with Ramsey. This was his problem and he could handle things. At least she hadn't berated him about being wrong when it came to Ramsey. Instead she'd taken him to a luxurious Munich hotel and pleased them both. Calling her might also require him to explain how they'd been located, and that was a conversation he'd like to avoid.
Fifty yards ahead, the close huddle of the pedestrian-only old town ended at a busy boulevard packed with cars and lined with yellow-fronted buildings that projected a Mediterranean feel.
He glanced back.
The two following closed the gap.
He stared left and right, then across the blare and bustle. A taxi stand lined the boulevard's far curb, drivers propped outside, waiting for fares. Six lanes of chaos lay in between, the noise level as high as his heart rate. Cars began to congeal as traffic signals to his left cycled from green.
A bus approached from his right, in the middle lane.
The inside and outside lanes were slowing.
Anxiety gave way to fear. He had no choice. Ramsey wanted him dead. And since he knew what the two pursuers behind him had to offer, he'd take his chances with the boulevard.
He darted out as a driver apparently spotted him and braked.
He timed the next move perfectly and leaped across the middle lane just as the traffic signals changed to red and the bus began its stop for the intersection. He leaped the outside lane, which was luckily car-free for a few moments, and found the grassy median.
The bus ground to a halt and blocked any line of sight from the sidewalk. Honks and screeches, like geese and owls quarreling, signaled opportunity. He'd earned a precious few seconds, so he decided not to waste a single one. He raced across the three lanes ahead of him, empty thanks to the red light, and jumped into the lead taxi, ordering the driver in German, 'Go.'
The man hopped behind the wheel and Wilkerson crouched as the taxi sped away.
He glanced out the window.
The green light appeared and a phalanx of traffic rushed ahead. The man and woman wove their way across the cleared half of the boulevard, now prevented from a complete crossing thanks to the spate of vehicles speeding toward him.
His two pursuers searched all around.
He smiled.
'Where to?' the driver asked in German.
He decided to make another smart play. 'Just a few blocks, then stop.'
When the taxi wheeled to the curb, he tossed the driver ten euros and hopped out. He'd spotted a sign for the U-Bahn and hustled down the stairs, bought a ticket, and rushed to the platform.
The underground train arrived and he stepped into a nearly full car. He sat and activated his cell phone, which came with a special feature. He entered a numeric code and the screen read DELETE ALL DATA? He pressed yes. Like his second wife, who never heard him the first time, the phone asked ARE YOU SURE? He pressed yes again.
The memory was now wiped clean.
He bent over, ostensibly to stretch his socks, and laid the phone beneath the seat.
The train eased into the next station.
He exited. But the phone kept going.
That should keep Ramsey busy.
He made his way up from the station, pleased with his escape. He needed to contact Dorothea, but that had to be done carefully. If he was being watched, so was she.
He stepped out into the sunny afternoon and found his bearings. He was not far from the river, near the Deutsches Museum. Another busy street and crowded sidewalk spread out before him.
A man suddenly stopped beside him.
'Bitte, Herr Wilkerson,' he said in German. 'To that car, just down there, at the curb.'
He froze.
The man wore a long wool coat and kept both hands in his pockets.
'I don't want to,' the stranger said, 'but I will shoot you here, if need be.'
His eyes drifted to the man's coat pocket.
A sick feeling invaded his stomach. No way Ramsey's people had followed him. But he'd been so intent on them, he'd neglect to notice anyone else. 'You're not from Berlin, are you?' he asked.
'Nein. I'm something altogether different.'
THIRTY-FOUR
1:20 PM
MALONE ADMIRED ONE OF THE LAST REMNANTS OF THE CAROLINGIAN empire, known then as the Church
