The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [267]
Whatever it was, it was now in the black rucksack and still in Von Holden’s possession. But that didn’t help in trying to understand where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there.
Then he realized that the whole time he’d been thinking, he’d been absently scanning the pages of the Swiss guidebook he’d bought in Bern. He realized it because something in it had caught his eye. It wasn’t a picture. It was a word.
Berghaus.
He read the entire piece. “From the trainside of the Jungfraujoch station—the highest in Europe—a rocky corridor used to lead to the Berghaus, Europe’s highest hotel and restaurant. This burned down in 1972, but it has been replaced by the fine Inn-Above-the-Clouds restaurant and cafeteria.”
“Berghaus.” This time he said it out loud and it chilled him. Berghaus had been the name of the group sponsoring the celebration for Elton Lybarger at Charlottenburg.
Quickly he opened the map of Switzerland and ran his finger over it. Jungfraujoch was near the summit of the Jungfrau, one of the highest peaks in the Alps, sister mountain to Monch and Eiger. Looking back to his guidebook he found it was served by Europe’s highest railroad, the Jungfrau Railway. Suddenly he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. The starting point for the trip to the Jungfrau was Interlaken.
139
* * *
MCVEY WANTED Remmer and he got him. Finally. At, 1:45 in the afternoon.
“Where the hell is Osborn?”
Remmer was in Strasbourg and there was static on the line. “I don’t know,” his voice crackled through.
“Remmer!—The son of a bitch has my badge, my Interpol letter and my gun! Now where the hell is he?”
The static got louder, then suddenly there was a loud crackle, three bars of Beethoven, and a dial tone. Burning, McVey hung up.
“Goddammit!”
Sunlight cut across the platform at a sharp angle as the Bern train came slowly into Interlaken station. Steel screeched on steel and the train stopped. A ticket collector came down the steps of the first car, followed by three girls in parochial school uniforms. A half-dozen nondescript people came down from the second car, crossed the platform and went into the station. Then twenty or so American railroad enthusiasts noisily exited the third car and moved off in a group. After that everything was still, with the train left sitting there against the distant Alps like an abandoned toy.
Then, on the far side of it, away from the station, a foot touched down on the gravel alongside the track. For a moment it hesitated, then a second foot came down and Osborn turned and walked quickly along the length of the train to the end of it. Easing carefully around the last car, he looked out. The station platform was empty. So were the tracks in front of it. Once again he felt for the pistol in his-waistband. There was no doubt Von Holden had recognized him on the platform in Bern. Nor would Von Holden have any doubt that Osborn would be on the next train. In retrospect he wished he had never taken the ticket collector’s advice and had Von Holden paged in Bern. Its only effect had been to tell him he had been followed. And did he think the man would have been so foolish as to answer a page in the first place? It had been a mistake, the same as running toward the Interlaken train on the platform, letting himself be recognized. Another mistake like that could cost him his life.
In the distance he heard a train whistle. Then the train for Jungfraujoch was announced over the P.A. system. If he missed it, it would be thirty minutes before the next train. That would put him an hour behind Von Holden. Twice the. time he was behind him now. That was unless Von Holden was here, somewhere, waiting for him.
Again came the announcement for Jungfraujoch. If he were going to make the train, he would have to cross from where he was and walk the length of the station to reach it. Von Holden would know that too. If he was still here, lying in wait, Osborn’s only ally would be that it was the middle of the afternoon, broad daylight in a small public railway