The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [244]
Scholl turned back. “You carry impudence beyond good manners.”
Goetz pulled open the door and Scholl was almost through it when Osborn spoke.
“Why did you have Elton Lybarger’s head surgically attached to another man’s body?”
Scholl froze where he was. So did Goetz. Then slowly, Scholl turned back. He looked—exposed. As if suddenly his clothes had been torn from him and he’d been sexually violated. For the briefest instant he seemed ready to crack. Instead, what seemed to be a self-willed mask descended over his face, from top to bottom. Exposure gave way to contempt and contempt to rage. And then, quickly, icily, terrifyingly, he brought it back to where he could control it. “I suggest you both turn to writing books of fiction.”
“It’s not fiction,” Osborn said.
Suddenly a door at the far end of the room opened and Salettl entered.
“Where is Von Holden?” Scholl commanded as Salettl approached.
Salettl’s shoes echoed on the marble floor as he walked toward them. “Von Holden is upstairs, waiting in the Royal Apartments.” The jumpiness, the deep intensity of earlier, was gone. In its place was a manner that was almost calm.
“Get him and bring him here now.”
Salettl smiled. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. The Royal Apartments and the Golden Gallery are no longer accessible.”
“What are you talking about?”
McVey and Osborn exchanged glances. Something was going on but they had no idea what. Scholl didn’t like it either.
“I asked you a question.”
“It would have been more fitting if you had been upstairs.” Salettl had crossed the room and was within a few feet of Scholl and Goetz.
“Get Von Holden!” Scholl snapped at Goetz.
Goetz nodded and was shifting his weight toward the door when there was a sharp report. Goetz jumped as if he’d been slapped. Grabbing at his neck, he pulled his hand away and looked at it. It was covered with blood. Wide-eyed, he looked at Salettl. Then his gaze ran down to his hand. A small automatic was clutched in it.
“You shot me, you fuck!” Goetz screamed at him. Then he shuddered and slumped back against the door.
“DROP THE GUN, NOW!” McVey’s .38 was in his right hand, he was using his left to ease Osborn out of the line of fire.
Salettl looked to McVey. “Of course.” Turned to Scholl, he smiled. “These Americans nearly ruined everything.”
“DROP IT, NOW!”
Scholl stared in utter contempt. “Vida?”
Salettl smiled again. “She’s been living in Berlin for nearly four years.”
“How dare you?” Scholl drew himself up. He was furious. Superior. Totally insolent. “How dare you take it upon yourself to—”
Salettl’s first shot caught Scholl just over his bow tie. The second tore into his chest at the top of his heart, exploding his aorta and showering Salettl with blood. For a moment Scholl tottered on his feet, his eyes rocked with disbelief, then he simply collapsed as if his legs had been kicked out from under him.
“DROP IT! OR I’LL SHOOT YOU RIGHT THERE!” McVey bellowed, his finger closing on the trigger.
“McVey—DON’T!” he heard Osborn shout behind him. Then Salettl’s gun hand dropped to his side, and McVey’s finger eased off the trigger.
Salettl turned to face them. He was ghostly white and looked as if he’d been splattered with red paint. That he was wearing a tuxedo made it all the worse because it gave him the appearance of a grotesque, gruesome clown.
“You should not have interfered.” Salettl’s voice was resonant with anger.
“Open your fingers and let the gun fall to the floor!” McVey kept inching forward with no reservations about shooting the man dead if he had to. Osborn had yelled for fear McVey would fire and kill maybe the only remaining person who knew what was going on. In that he was right. But Salettl had just shot two men; McVey wouldn’t give him the chance at two more.
Salettl stared at them, the automatic still held loosely at his side.
“Let the gun fall to the floor,” McVey said again.
“Karolin Henniger’s real