The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [128]
“Who is this Doctor Klass?” Noble asked.
“Beyond who he appears? I don’t know.”
“I’m going to contact M16. Perhaps we can find out a little about Doctor Klass ourselves.”
Noble clicked off and McVey stared at the wall, angered that he couldn’t get some definitive grasp on what was going on. It was as if he’d suddenly become professionally impotent. Immediately there was a knock at the door and a uniformed policeman stuck his head in to tell him in English that the concierge from his hotel was on the phone. “Line two.”
“Merci.” The man left and McVey turned from the “secure phone” to lift the receiver on Lebrun’s desk phone. “This is McVey.”
“Dave Gifford, Hotel Vieux,” a male voice said.
As he’d left his hotel earlier McVey had slipped the concierge, an expatriate American, a two-hundred-franc tip and asked to be informed of any calls or transmissions that came for him.
“I get a fax from L.A.?”
“No, sir.”
What the hell was Hernandez doing with the Osborn information, hand-delivering it to Paris? Sitting down, McVey flipped open a notebook and picked up a pencil. He had two calls from Detective Barras, an hour apart. One from a plumber in Los Angeles confirming his automatic lawn sprinklers had been installed and were working. But wanted McVey to call back and let him know what days and length of watering time he wanted them set for.
“Jesus,” McVey said under his breath.
Lastly there was a call the concierge felt was a crank. In fact the caller had rung back three times, wanting to speak to McVey personally. Each time he’d left no message, but each time he’d sounded a little more desperate.
He’d given his name as Tommy Lasorda.
66
* * *
JOANNA FELT as if she had been drugged and lived through a nightmare.
After her marathon sexual regatta with Von Holden in the mirrored pool room, Von Holden had invited her to come with him into Zurich. Her first reaction had been to smile and beg off. She was exhausted. She’d spent seven hours earlier that day with Mr. Lybarger, working him hard, and often against his will, to make him confident enough to walk without his cane. Trying to make Salettl’s crazy Friday deadline. By 3:30 she’d seen he had done as much as he could do and had taken him to his quarters to rest. She’d expected he’d nap, have a light dinner in his room and probably go to bed very early. But, there he’d been, formally dressed at dinner, bright and alert and with enough reserve to listen to Uta Baur’s never-ending chatter and then, afterward, walk to the second floor to attend the piano recital by Eric and Edward.
If Mr. Lybarger could do it, Von Holden teased, Joanna could certainly drive into Zurich for some infamous Swiss chocolat? Besides it was barely ten o’clock.
Their first stop had been at one of James Joyce’s favorite restaurants on Ramistrasse, where they had chocolat and coffee. Then Von Holden had taken her to a crazy café on Munzplatz, just off the Bahnhofstrasse, to see the nightlife. After that they’d gone to the Champagne Bar at the Hotel Central Plaza and then to a pub on Pelikanstrasse. Finally they walked down to watch the moon over the Zurichsee.
“Want to see my apartment?” Von Holden smiled mischievously as he leaned on the railing and tossed a coin into the water for good luck.
“You’re kidding!” Joanna thought she could never walk again.
“Not kidding at all.” Von Holden reached out and touched her hair.
Joanna was amazed at her arousal. Even giggled out loud at it.
“What’s funny?” Von Holden said.
“Nothing—”
“Come, then.”
Joanna stared at him. “You are a bastard.”
“Can’t help it.” He smiled.
They had cognac on his terrace overlooking the Old Town and he told her stories of his boyhood and growing up on a huge cattle ranch in Argentina. After that he’d taken her to his bed and they’d made love.
How many times has it been tonight? Joanna remembered thinking. Then remembered him standing over her, his penis still enormous, even in repose, and, smiling and embarrassed, asking her if she would very much mind if he tied her wrists and ankles to