The Day After Tomorrow_ A Novel - Allan Folsom [280]
Von Holden started, then scrambled backward and slid behind a rock outcropping. Whatever had happened had abruptly turned against him. Even if the police were called, it would be an hour or more before they got there. He would have to forget everything else and move on.
Directly in front of him, like some ghostly sentinel, the Jungfrau rose up more than two thousand feet. A hundred yards to his right and down maybe forty feet, a rocky path led around the face of the cliff on which Jungfraujoch was built. Three-quarters of the way down that, hidden by a rock formation, was a secondary air shaft that had been opened in 1944 when the impenetrable system of tunnels and elevators had been constructed below the weather station inside the glacier. If he could reach that before the police came, he could hide. For a week, two weeks. Longer, if need be.
149
* * *
OSBORN HUNCHED a few feet to the side of the dog run and listened. But all he heard was the soft coo of the wind as little by little it increased in intensity. Before he’d gone out with McVey in Berlin he’d changed to a pair of black high-top Reeboks. Other than that he was still dressed in the shirt and business suit he’d been wearing since he got there. Not much at eleven thousand feet in the dark and snow, with the wind picking up.
In one incredible instant Osborn’s anger and distrust of Vera had vanished. It was what she’d said and what he’d seen in her eyes when she’d said it. The challenge to him of who he really was and what he really believed.
In that moment doubt disappeared and he remembered pulling her back away from the dog run and down into the snow on the far side of the cages, holding her against him, both crying, sharing the realization of what had happened, and of what he had almost let happen. Then he’d sent her back.
For a moment she’d been stunned. They’d both go back. Von Holden wouldn’t come after them in there, not with the bright lights and other people around.
“What if he does?” Osborn had said. And he was right. Von Holden was capable of anything.
“There is a blonde woman, an American,” he told her; “she’ll be waiting to take the train down. Her name is Connie. She’s a good person. Take the train with her to Kleine Scheidegg and call the Swiss police from there. Have them get in touch with a Detective Remmer of the German Federal Police at Bad Godesberg.”
He remembered her staring at him for a long time. He wasn’t staying behind only to protect her. It was why he’d come after Von Holden in the first place, why he’d done what he had to Albert Merriman in Paris, why he’d gone to Berlin with McVey. It was for himself and for his father, and there was no going back until it was finished. It was then she’d pressed her lips to his and turned to go.
As she did, he pulled her back. His eyes were alive. He was already shifting gears. Preparing for the next. Asking her deliberately if she knew what was inside the case Von Holden had carried from Berlin.
“He said they were documents exposing the neo-Nazi conspirators. But I’m sure it’s not true.”
Osborn watched her move back through the shadows and toward the safety of the main building. Seconds passed and there was a shaft of light as the door opened and she went inside, then there was darkness, as it closed behind her. Instantly his thoughts went to what Von Holden really carried in the rucksack. Without a doubt they were documents, but they would hardly be a listing of prominent neo-Nazis, instead they would be about the cryosurgery. Reports, discourses on how it was done. The procedures for freezing and thawing, software instructions for the computers, design schematics for the instruments, perhaps even his father’s scalpel. They would be one of a kind, which was why he was guarding them so carefully. For whatever evil the process had been conceived, to the world of medicine the procedure was fantastic, and no matter what happened it was imperative the notes be protected.
Suddenly Osborn realized he had