The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [219]
“This was taken from a laundry truck while the driver made a delivery to the house across the street,” Remmer said, as broadcast-quality color video rolled on the screen. “We only have short pieces shot from different vehicles. That’s the reason there’s only one fly-over take. We don’t want to create suspicion they are under surveillance.
Now the hidden camera pushed in toward the house. A Mercedes limousine was parked in the driveway and a gardener was at work on the lawn. Nothing else seemed to be happening. The camera held, then started to pull back.
“What’s that?” McVey said abruptly. “A movement in the upstairs window, second from the right.”
Remmer stopped the machine, backed it up. Then played it forward again in slow motion.
“Someone’s standing in the window,” Noble said.
Again Remmer replayed it. This time in extreme slow motion and using a special zoom lens on the playback to move in on the window. “It’s a woman. Can’t see much of her.”
“Get it enhanced, will you?” Noble said.
“Right.” Touching the intercom and asking for a technician, Remmer took out the cassette, put it aside and inserted another. Basically it was the same shot of the house but from a slightly different angle. A small movement in the upstairs window suggested McVey was right, that someone was standing there looking out. Suddenly a gray BMW pulled in off the street and stopped at the guard house. A moment later the gate opened and the car drove in. Pulling up at the main entrance, a tall man got out and went inside.
“Any idea who he is?” McVey asked. Remmer shook his head.
“This will be unmitigated joy,” Noble said flatly as he opened an alphabetized file of photographs. So far, Bad Godesberg had sent them photos of sixty-three of the one hundred invited guests. Most were driver’s license Polaroids, but others Were copies of publicity, corporate or news photographs. “I’ll take A through F, the rest of you can fight over what remains of the alphabet.”
“Let’s put him on the zoom.” Remmer punched rewind, then hit the slow-mo play button. This time the car entered in slow motion and Remmer moved in on it with the zoom. As it reached the front of the house, the car stopped and the man got out—
“Jesus Christ—” Osborn said.
McVey’s head came around like a bullwhip. “You know that guy?” Remmer backed up the tape and froze the picture as Von Holden was just stepping out of the car.
“He followed me into the park.” Osborn pulled away from the screen to look directly at McVey.
“What park? What the hell are you talking abou—”
“The night I went put. I ditched Schneider on purpose.” Osborn was pumped up. His lie had come back on him but he didn’t care. “I was walking through the Tiergarten, on my way to Scholl’s hotel. Suddenly I realized I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. That I might blow the whole thing. I was turning back when this guy—that guy there”— he looked back at Von Holden on the screen— “is coming up behind me. I had the gun in my pocket. I freaked, I guess. I pulled it on him. He had a friend, hiding in the bushes—I told them to leave me alone. Then I ran like hell.”
“You sure it’s him?”
“Yes.”
“That means they’re watching the hotel,” Remmer said.
Noble looked at Remmer. “Could we see him walk into the house? At normal speed, please.”
Remmer hit “play,” and Von Holden’s image unfroze. Closing the door to the BMW, he crossed the driveway and moved quickly up a short flight of steps, someone opened the front door and he entered.
Noble sat back. “Once more, please.” Remmer repeated the action, stopping the tape once Von Holden had gone inside.
“One hundred to one he was trained as a Spetsnaz soldier,” Noble said. “A saboteur and terrorist, schooled in special reconnaissance units of the old Soviet army. It takes a bit of experience to recognize it. They may not even know they do it,