Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [116]
“You can’t change her mind. But you might be able to protect her.”
“From what?” asked Younger.
“From this Gruber. From a decision she’ll regret the rest of her life.”
Younger, back at the Hotel Bristol, found a note waiting for him:
Dear Stratham:
I’m running to catch a train. I didn’t go to the Radium Institute. I went to the prison, and they told me that Hans had left Vienna and gone to Braunau am Inn. I think it’s his hometown. There’s only one train a day for Braunau, and it leaves in half an hour. I expect to be back tomorrow. Luc is upstairs in my room. Please look after him. Some day I hope you’ll understand.
Yours,
Colette
Younger stared at the note a long time. He ran his hands through his hair. Then he had a messenger sent for Oktavian Kinsky, the aristocratic carriage driver.
An hour later, Younger and Luc were waiting in the hotel lobby when Oktavian appeared, nattily dressed in the leather jacket and crisp cap customarily worn by chauffeurs of open-air automobiles. “I know you wanted a motorcar, Monsieur,” said Oktavian, “but this was the best I could do on short notice. Quite sufficient, however. I’ll have you in Braunau in six hours.”
He pointed outside, where, in front of the hotel, stood a gleaming motorcycle with polished chrome trim and an attached wood-paneled sidecar.
“No good,” said Younger.
Oktavian saw the problem: Luc was dressed for travel as well, and the sidecar would hold only one passenger. “Is the young fellow coming? I didn’t realize.”
Younger walked outside. Oktavian and Luc followed him. “The boy and I will go ourselves,” said Younger.
“But the vehicle isn’t mine,” Oktavian replied. “I don’t think—”
“You’ll have it back tomorrow. I guarantee it. I’ll take this too, if you don’t mind.” Younger relieved Oktavian of his leather jacket. “And the cap.”
“Oh, dear,” said Oktavian.
The top of the sidecar had a hole in it for the passenger’s torso. It opened into two leaves, revealing a cushioned seat and a small storage compartment. Younger fitted the leather jacket onto Luc, pulled the cap down over his ears, deposited him onto the seat, and closed the two leaves, locking them into place. Not long after, they were on the open road.
As he drove, Younger taught Luc how to lean into the curves to increase their speed. The jacket and cap were comically oversized on the boy, but they kept him warm. Younger said nothing about the purpose behind their mission, and Luc didn’t ask. All in all, it wasn’t bad riding—until the rains came.
The first crack of lightning split the sky in front of them without warning. A thunderclap rent the air immediately afterward, like a howitzer exploding directly over their heads. Luc seized Younger’s arm in alarm. Younger momentarily lost control of the handlebar, the motorcycle swerving and nearly spinning out beneath him. When he’d straightened them out, Younger barked at the boy roughly. “When you’re scared,” he added, “move slower, not faster.”
The walled village of Braunau, on the river Inn, was quaint and utterly German in character, a mere stone’s throw from Bavaria. Colorful pointed-roof houses adjoined one another in picturesque little town squares, all presided over by a high-steepled church. There was no railway station—just a platform and ticket booth.
Younger pulled his motorcycle up to that platform in the gathering darkness. He wiped the grit from his eyes and the water from his forehead, wishing he’d had goggles. The trip hadn’t taken six hours. It had taken ten—a combination of the rain slowing them down, the necessity of feeding Luc, and their getting lost on three different occasions. Younger opened the top of the sidecar and pulled Luc out; the interior was drenched, as was the boy.
Younger asked the ticket agent if there were any blankets on hand. There were. Younger threw them to Luc, ordering him to take off his wet clothes and dry himself. “The train from Vienna,” Younger said to the man. “Has it come?”
“Yes—two hours ago,” answered the agent.
“Did you happen to see