The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [191]
As of five o’clock that afternoon, Berlin sector had established that McVey, Osborn and the others had arrived in the city and were headquartered at the Hotel Palace where they were under the protection of the federal police. It was exactly as Scholl had predicted, and he was no doubt right as well when he’d said they had come to Berlin to see him. Lybarger was not on their agenda, nor was the ceremony at Charlottenburg.
Find them, watch them, Scholl had said. At some point they will try and get in touch, to arrange a time and place where we can meet. That will be our opportunity to isolate them. And then you and Viktor will do as is appropriate.
Yes, Von Holden thought, as he walked on—we shall do as is appropriate. As quickly and resourcefully as possible.
Still, Von Holden was uncomfortable. He knew Scholl was underestimating them, McVey in particular. They were smart and experienced and they had also been very lucky. It was not a good combination, and it meant what-ever plan he came up with would have to be exceptionally resourceful, one in which experience and luck would play , as little a hand as possible. His real preference was to take the initiative and get it done quickly, before they had the chance to implement their own plans. But getting to four men, at least three of whom would be armed, guarded by police in a hotel that was part of a complex as huge as the Europa-Center, was all but impossible. It would require significant overt action. It would be too bloody, too loud and nothing would be guaranteed. Besides, if something went wrong and anyone were caught, it chanced compromising the entire Organization at the worst possible time.
So, unless they made an unthinkable mistake and some how left themselves open, he would stay with Scholl’s orders and wait for them to make the first move. From his own experience he knew there was little question that whatever? countermeasure he devised would be successful as long as he was there to command the operation personally. He also knew his energy was better spent on the logistics of a working plan than worrying about his adversaries. But they were a troubling presence and he was uncomfortable almost to the point of requesting Scholl postpone the celebration at Charlottenburg until they had been taken care of. But that was not possible. Scholl had said so from the beginning.
Turning a corner, he walked a half block, then went up the steps to a quiet apartment building at number 37 Sophie-Charlottenstrasse and pressed the bell.
“Ja?” a voice challenged through the intercom.
“Von Holden,” he said. There was a sharp buzz as the door lock released and he climbed the flight of stairs to the large second-floor apartment that had been taken over as security headquarters for the Lybarger party. A uniformed I guard opened the door and he walked down a hallway past a bank of desks where several secretaries were still working.
“Guten Abend.” Good evening, he said quietly and opened the door to a small but serviceable office. The problem was, his thought train continued, the longer they stayed in the hotel without contacting Scholl, the less time he had to formulate a plan of action and the more time they would have to work out a blueprint of their own. But that was something he had already begun to turn in his favor. Time went both ways, and the longer they were there, the longer he had to set the forces in motion that would tell him how much they knew and what they were plotting.
97
* * *
“GUSTAV DORTMUND, Hans Dabritz, Rudolf Kaes, Hilmar Grunel—” Remmer put down the faxed description sheet and looked across to where McVey sat reading the same five-page copy of the Charlottenburg guest list. “Herr Lybarger has some very wealthy and influential friends.”
“And some not so wealthy, but just