Too many questions, Oaken thought. He’d yet to find anything he could use to narrow the possibilities—that piece of the puzzle that would give him a glimpse of the whole. There had to be something.
Oaken raked his fingers through his hair, then stood up, walked to the windows and stared into the darkness. Below, the inlet was shrouded in mist. From the Chesapeake a foghorn groaned, then faded.
His computer beeped. He walked back to his desk and studied the message on the monitor. He smiled. “Is that you?” he murmured. He reached for the phone.
Innsbruck
Once certain Amelia Root was not hurt, Tanner helped her out of the closet, wrapped her in a blanket, and walked her onto the porch as Cahil sprinted down the road to retrieve the van. He returned a few minutes later, pulled to a stop beside the Audi, then marched Grebo, still bound and gagged, into the cabin while Tanner settled Mrs. Root into the van’s passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel.
Cahil came out with an SL8 in each hand and climbed in the back. “Done,” he said.
Mrs. Root spoke up. “That other one … he was one of them.”
Tanner nodded. “We know.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
On this Tanner was partially torn. Grebo had lied at least once to them, and part of Briggs wanted to know if he’d led them astray elsewhere. On the other hand, the sooner they could reunite the Roots, collect Kestrel and get it to safety, the better. They’d managed to keep Kestrel out of Svetic’s hands. Beyond that, little else mattered. More importantly, Briggs was anxious to return to Trieste and Susanna.
Tanner said, “We’ll give the Bundespolizei a call in a few hours; he can explain why he’s sitting in a room full of dead men. Meanwhile, we’ll be out of the country.”
Mrs. Root closed her eyes with relief and nodded. “I’d like that.”
They returned to the Goloene Krone just before dawn. Tanner entered first, to find Jonathan Root pacing in the center of the room, McBride and Oliver seated behind him sipping coffee. Root whispered, “Did you …?”
Tanner nodded, then stepped aside to reveal Amelia. Root stopped pacing, stared at her for a moment, then rushed forward and swept her into his arms. Amelia began weeping. Root sat her down on the edge of the bed and held her for several minutes.
Fearing it would sidetrack him, until this point Tanner hadn’t allowed himself to feel—truly feel—the depth of love the Roots had for one another, but seeing them together now brought tears to his eyes. Jonathan and Amelia cherished one another as much today as they had on the day they were married. McBride had been right: Losing Amelia would have destroyed the DCI.
And now they’re back together, Briggs thought. One more job and they can go home.
Root looked up at Tanner, then in turn at Cahil, Oliver, and McBride. “I don’t know what to say. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for us.”
McBride said, “Go home and be happy. That’s enough for me.”
“Here, here,” said Cahil, and Oliver nodded along.
Tanner glanced at his watch. “We’ve got two hours before the bank opens. We need to move. Jonathan, Amelia, are you ready?”
They both nodded.
With Cahil trailing in the Mercedes and McBride leading in the Opel, Tanner stopped in front of the Goldene Krone, waited for Oliver to slip in the back with the Roots, then pulled away. In convoy they drove to the outskirts of Innsbruck and checked into the Austrotel Innsbruck, their third hotel since arriving. The measure was perhaps unnecessary, but this close to the end Tanner preferred to err on the side of prudence. If anything went wrong, he didn’t want the cause to be something they’d overlooked.
Once they were settled into the room and Root had Amelia sleeping, the four of them gathered around the table. Keeping it as simple as possible, Tanner laid out the skeleton of the plan, talked “what ifs,” then had Root, Oliver, and McBride repeat it back to him several times. As this was not his forte, McBride would remain at the hotel and watch over Amelia.
“Bear, you and Oliver will each have an SL8. I’ll take the Sauer,” Tanner said. “If we get company at the bank, no shooting unless I start. Ram them with the cars if you have to, but remember: One shot and we’ll find ourselves neck deep in Bundespolizei. Questions?”
There were none.
“Mr. Root, once Bear’s checked the bank and has given the all-clear, you’ll go inside and collect Kestrel. Page us when you’re thirty seconds from the door. If I’m not sitting at the curb when you step out, turn around and walk back inside. Don’t look around and don’t hesitate—just go back in. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Find the nearest security guard and strike up a conversation. If it’s okay to move again, I’ll page you and we’ll try again. If it falls through a second time, walk back inside, redeposit the case, and wait until one of us or the police come to get you.”
According to Root, the case in which he’d sealed Kestrel was a specially made Zero Halliburton model with a brushed stainless-steel exterior, Lexan-lined interior, and a molded insert of visco-elastic foam into which the Kestrel canisters were fitted. While the case sounded impressive, Tanner knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until Kestrel was destroyed or, barring that, locked in a vault in the bowels of the army’s biostorage facility on Kalama Atoll.
“And if we make it outside without any trouble?” Oliver asked.
“We drive in convoy to the hotel, pick up Amelia and Joe, then get on the autobahn and head toward Salzburg. Halfway there is a town called Oberndorf. A security team from the Vienna embassy will meet us there. The security team will take everyone but Bear and I to the Salzburg airport, where an Air Force transport will be waiting. From there, with a few midair refuelings, it’s straight back to the U.S.”
Root said, “What about you two? Why aren’t you coming?”
“We still have business in Trieste,” Cahil said.
“Such as?” Root asked, then offered a smile. “I don’t like the idea of leaving my team behind.”
“We have another friend in need.”
Root nodded. “Then I’d say he or she’s in good hands.”
Let’s hope, Briggs thought.
The Bank of Tirol sat in a square dominated by a central fountain and ringed by small shops and boutiques. If not for the small brass plaque beside the entrance steps, the bank was indistinguishable from its neighbors, just another quaint Bavarian-esque building fronted by a modest awning and set against the backdrop of towering, snow-capped Alpine peaks.
Thirty minutes before opening time, everyone was in position, with Cahil and Oliver covering the square’s west and south entrances respectively and Tanner and Root in the Hyundai at the north. The east entrance, which was not only the widest, but also the most direct to the autobahn, they left open. Tanner was under no illusions, however: Autobahn or not, if they had to run they wouldn’t get far. Every cop between here and Salzburg would swoop down on them—which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Briggs knew. They’d be in jail, but Kestrel would be safe from Svetic.
Tanner sat in the driver’s seat, Root laying in the back on the floor, as the minutes ticked by. The square was quiet, with only a few shop owners and early morning customers milling about. Hissing softly, a fan of water arced upward from the fountain and splashed into the catch basin, sending up a plume of mist.
The square’s clock ticked over to 8:00 and began gong-ing. As if on cue, the Bank of Tirol’s doors opened. A short, bald man stepped out, looked up and down the square, then went back inside.
At the west entrance, Cahil climbed out of the Mercedes, walked across the square, trotted up the bank steps, and disappeared inside. Ten minutes later he emerged with a handful of what Briggs assumed were brochures. He paused at the base of the steps, stooped to tie his left shoe, then continued on to the Mercedes.
“We’ve got the all clear,” Tanner said to Root. “You’re on.�
��
“Right. You know, I’ve got to admit, I’m nervous.”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t. We’re almost done. Another two hours and it’s over.”
Root slid open the back door, stepped down, and started across the square. Tanner took the Sauer from under his seat and flipped off the safety. He began scanning the square, looking for loiterers, a turned face, movements out of sync with the crowds … At their posts, Cahil and Oliver would be doing the same.
Root passed the fountain, climbed the bank’s steps, and slipped through the door. Tanner glanced at his watch. He started his countdown. Based on his earlier visits, Root had estimated eight minutes from entrance to exit.
Six minutes passed. Then seven.
Tanner’s pager buzzed. He checked it: Root was on his way.
Tanner started the engine, shifted into drive, and started forward. As he passed Cahil, he heard the Mercedes’s engine rumble to life. A battered green Renault swung in front of Tanner, cutting him off. Briggs swung right, punched the accelerator, and drew even with the car. He glanced over. The driver, an old woman with thick glasses sat hunched behind the wheel. He accelerated the Hyundai again, passed her, and aimed for an empty spot in front of the bank.
He slipped into it, shifted into park, leaned back and slid open the rear door, then shifted into drive again. To his right, the bank door open. Root stepped out. In his left hand he carried a shining steel case.
Tanner glanced in his side mirrors, then the rearview. Two car lengths behind and to his left, Cahil’s Mercedes was pulling to a stop, blocking the road. Horns began honking. Ahead, Oliver had taken up station at the square’s east entrance. His hand dangled out the window, his fingers in an upside-down peace sign: All clear.
Root climbed into the car, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
“Lay down,” Tanner told him.
“Trouble?” Root asked.
“Not so far. Don’t get up until I tell you.”
Tanner waited for a gap in the traffic. Cahil pulled forward, blocking for him. Briggs swung out, accelerated toward Oliver’s Opel, and fell in behind his bumper as he, too, accelerated and turned the comer. With Cahil trailing, they headed toward the autobahn.
As planned, they drove in convoy around Innsbruck, on a tour that was designed not only to check for tails, but also to ensure they were never more than a few minutes from the nearest police station. Once certain they were clear, Tanner headed toward the Austrotel Innsbruck. One more stop and they were gone.
“You can get up,” Briggs said.
With a groan, Root straightened himself off the floor. He laid the case in his lap and draped his arms over it. “You’re sure?”
“Unless Svetic’s got a couple dozen men we don’t know about, there’s no way he’s been following us. We’re okay.”
“Thank God. I can’t believe it.”
Tanner heard the snick-snick of the case’s latches being opened. He glanced back. “What’re you doing?”
“Briggs, relax. If the canisters had leaked, we would’ve known by now. There wouldn’t be an Innsbruck.”
Or a Europe, Tanner thought. Or worse. “Good point.”
“And if they just started leaking, we’re already dead,” Root added.
“Thanks for that. You really know how to brighten—”
“Oh, Jesus,” Root murmured. “Oh, God, no….”
Tanner felt a punch of panic in his belly. “What?” he said. “What is it?”
“That stupid son of a bitch!”
Tanner flashed his headlights to get Oliver’s attention, then pulled over. Behind them, Cahil did the same. Tanner shifted into park and turned in his seat.
Root was sitting with the case in his lap, the lid open. He stared, ashen-faced, at its interior.
“Jonathan, what is it?” Tanner said. ‘Talk to me!”
In response, Root swiveled the case in his lap so Tanner could see. Inside were the six cylindrical slots cut into the foam for the canisters. Of these, only four were occupied.
Two canisters were missing.
39
Tanner didn’t reply. He signaled Oliver and Cahil, Emergency, tighten up, then pulled out and started driving. His mind was spinning. They were in trouble, serious trouble. The whys, wheres, and hows were unknown. They needed to get to safety and regroup.
They arrived at the Austrotel five minutes later. Once they were locked in the room, Tanner told the group about the missing canisters. Everyone began talking at once, questions overlapping one another. Briggs held up his hand for silence, then turned to Root: “Explain.”
“I didn’t think he would do it. I thought I’d talked him out of it. He said he agreed—”
“Stop,” Tanner said. “Slow down, start from the beginning. Who’s ‘he’?”
“Istvan. Until ten years ago, he and I were the only ones left from the group. He was Frenec’s grandson. You remember, the Hungarian partisan from my grandfather’s team?”
“I remember. Go on.”
“Istvan and I were a lot alike. When my father passed this on to me, I decided I wanted to know everything there was to know about virology and biochemistry. I wanted to understand Kestrel. Istvan was the same way, but he took a different course. He became a doctor. Being the last two of the group, we felt a special bond. It was our job to keep Kestrel safe—or the world safe from it, to be more accurate. We became good friends.
“In November of 1993 Istvan called and asked for a meeting. We met here in December. He wanted to take some of the Kestrel samples back to Budapest. The Soviet Union had collapsed, Hungary was going through a revolution … He was buoyant—flush with freedom. He thought it was time we took Kestrel out of its box and studied it. He’d been specializing in HTV research and had convinced himself Kestrel held the secret to a cure. If we could understand its inner workings, he thought, we could cure AIDS, cancer, multiple sclerosis—any number of the autoimmune diseases.
“I was tempted to say yes, but I couldn’t. I thought the risk was too great. We debated it for days. In the end I convinced him—or so I thought. We spent a few more days catching up and sightseeing, then parted company.”
Root sighed and shook his head. “The only thing that makes sense is that he changed his mind and came back. He waited until I was gone, then went to the bank and took two of the canisters.”
“You said you were the last one,” Tanner replied. “If Istvan’s dead, who’s got the canisters and where are they?”
“You don’t understand,” Root said. “Istvan never made it back to Hungary. On his way home his train derailed in the Steiermark Alps. If he had the canisters with him, they’re sitting at the bottom of a lake called the Neumvield See.”
The room was silent for a full minute. Finally Cahil said, “Fine, that’s the bad news. The good news is, we know where they are and we can be pretty sure they’re not leaking. Otherwise … well, we’d know.”
As Cahil had been speaking, Tanner was watching Root’s face. “What, Jonathan?”
“It might be nothing.”
“Your expression says something else. What?”
“Anton Svetic’s son—the father of the Svetic we’re dealing with now—and Istvan were friends. Their families had stayed in touch after the war … visited one another on holidays …”
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying. Istvan wouldn’t have told anyone else about—”
“I don’t know.”
McBride said, “Oh, God.”
Tanner strode to Root and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Jonathan, look at me.” Root did so. “Is there any chance—any chance at all—that Istvan told anyone else what he wanted to do with Kestrel? Could Svetic’s father have known about your meeting in ‘?”
Root hesitated. “There’s a chance.”
“Christ!” Oliver blurted.
Root said, “You have to understand: Istvan didn’t see thing
s that way. He thought I was paranoid—a cynic who saw doom in everything. He knew Kestrel was dangerous, but it never occurred to him anyone would want it for anything but research. He was dedicated to helping people. In his excitement over the possibilities … who knows?”
Tanner walked to the window and stared out. My god, he thought. Could it be? Could this be the answer to where Svetic had gone? As a backup to the primary exchange, had Svetic gone after Istvan’s canisters? Abruptly Tanner realized it might already be too late. Despite all they’d gone through, Svetic might already have Kestrel.
“We have to assume the worst,” Briggs murmured. “We have to assume Svetic knows, and he’s either planning to go for them, or already has them.”
“What do we do?” Oliver asked.
“You, Joe, and the Roots go on to Oberndorf and meet the embassy people. Get on the plane and go home.”
McBride said, “Wait a second—”
“Four out of the six canisters are safe,” Tanner continued. “We have to make sure they stay that way. You and Collin will see the Roots and the case home. Bear and I will chase the other canisters.”
“How?” Root said.
“You’re going to tell me the quickest and surest way to find this lake. If Svetic hasn’t already beat us there, we’re going to head him off at the pass.”
40
Neumvield See, Austrian Alps
Tanner’s instinct was to return to Trieste for Susanna, but he quashed it. Kestrel had to come first. He’d said it himself: If it became necessary, their lives were a fair price to pay for keeping Kestrel safe. In theory, it was an easy decision; in reality, much harder. If it were his life alone, Tanner would have little trouble with the sacrifice, but this was Susanna. He’d made a promise to see her home safely.
Echo of War Page 28