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 This burned down in 1972, but it has been replaced by the fine Inn-Above-the-Clouds restaurant and cafeteria."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 W WANTED Remmer and he got him. Finally. At, 1:45 in the afternoon. 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 station. It would take a daring move on Von Holden's part to try something so bold and expect to get away with it. But then, wasn't that exactly what had happened to his father?

Scanning the station again, Osborn stepped from behind the train, crossed the platform and walked toward the far end of the station. He moved quickly, his jacket open, his hand near the gun. All his senses were alert. A movement in a shadow, a footstep behind him, someone appearing suddenly from a doorway. He flashed back to Paris and the tall man dead on the Montparnasse sidewalk outside La Coupole, with McVey lifting his pant leg to reveal his artificial limbs that could let him be tall or short or somewhere in between at will. Was Von Holden filled with the same tricks? Or had he others, even more bizarre and ingenious?

Osborn stayed out in the open where he could be seen by everyone. He passed an old man walking slowly, using a cane. Osborn wondered if he'd live that long.

An old man with a cane!

Osborn whirled, his hand under his jacket, ready to jerk out the revolver and fire. But the old man was just an old man and kept going. Again the announcement train whistle, and Osborn turned back toward it. Ahead he could see the American railroad enthusiasts. They were going for the Jungfraujoch train too. If he could catch up, he could blend in with them.

"Achtung! Achtung! Doktor Osborn. Telefon, bitte!" The public address page echoed through the station. Osborn stopped in his tracks. Von Holden not only knew he was there, he knew his name. The public address page echoed through the station. Osborn stopped in his tracks. Von Holden not only knew he was there, he knew his name.

"Doctor Osborn of the United States, telephone, please!"

Osborn looked around for a telephone. He saw them at the edge of the building. A double phone booth, side by side. Both were empty. His first inclination was to ask someone where the paging operator was located, but he didn't have time. Through the open door he could see the last of the Americans boarding the train. What was Von Holden doing? Was he positioned somewhere outside with a high-powered rifle targeted on the telephones? Was some kind of high-tech explosive device connected to the phones and set to go off automatically on pickup, or be detonated by remote control like the blast at the Hotel Borggreve?

A final announcement for the Jungfraujoch train was followed immediately by the announcement of an incoming train. Then came another page for him. Outside, conductors were hurrying the last of the passengers onto the, Jungfraujoch train.

Think! Think! Osborn said to himself. You know nothing about Jungfraujoch station or what Von Holden plans to do when he gets there. If this is a trick, and you miss, the train, he'll be a full hour ahead of you. Enough time to get away completely now that he knows you're this close. But if he's still here and watching and you get on the train, all he has to do is wait for it to leave and he's home free. Takes the next train out and it's the last you ever hear of him. Maybe he was never going to Jungfraujoch in the first place. On the other hand, what if he was? Jungfraujoch is the last stop on the line. If he is going there, because of the Berghaus thing, think why! why! What's his objective? If he's carted whatever he's got in his rucksack all the way from Berlin to Interlaken-especially after escaping the fire at Charlottenburg and killing the Frankfurt policemen-whatever it is must be very important, maybe even crucial to the Organization. If so, he may be delivering it to someone at Jungfraujoch, someone even more powerful than Scholl. If that's the case, what would be more important, the mission or the lone man trying to stop it? If he kills me here, he's set. But if something goes wrong and he misses, or he's captured, then whatever he's doing ends here. What's his objective? If he's carted whatever he's got in his rucksack all the way from Berlin to Interlaken-especially after escaping the fire at Charlottenburg and killing the Frankfurt policemen-whatever it is must be very important, maybe even crucial to the Organization. If so, he may be delivering it to someone at Jungfraujoch, someone even more powerful than Scholl. If that's the case, what would be more important, the mission or the lone man trying to stop it? If he kills me here, he's set. But if something goes wrong and he misses, or he's captured, then whatever he's doing ends here.

"Attention, Doctor Osborn. Telephone, please!"

No! Don't fall for it! He's having you paged but it's a trick! He's already on the train ahead of this one! Suddenly Osborn moved. In two steps he was out the door and running for the train. A moment later he reached out, grasped the rear handrail and swung on board. Almost immediately the train started off. Behind him, the colorful hotels and chalets of Interlaken, their planter boxes of geraniums still in bright bloom, slowly slid from view. Then he felt the train begin to climb and he saw the rich reds and yellows of autumn leaves and beyond, as the grade became steeper, the deep blue expanse of Lake Thun.

140.

COMRADE S SENIOR Lieutenant they'd called him in the Spetsnaz. Who and what was Von Holden now? Still Lieutenant they'd called him in the Spetsnaz. Who and what was Von Holden now? Still Leiter der Sicherheit, Leiter der Sicherheit, head of security, or a last, lone soldier on the most critical assignment of his life? Both, he thought. Both. head of security, or a last, lone soldier on the most critical assignment of his life? Both, he thought. Both.

Beside him, Vera stared out at passing countryside, content, he guessed, simply to pass the time. Von Holden shifted in his seat and looked out. Moments before they had " changed trains at Grindelwald, and now he heard the grind of the cogs as they took hold of the center rail and the train pushed steeply upward through a forest of lush alpine meadows dappled with wildflowers and grazing dairy cattle.

In another twenty minutes they'd reach Kleine Scheidegg where the meadows would abruptly end against the base of the Alps. There they would change once more, this time to the brown-and-cream-colored train of the Jungfrau Railway that would take them up into the marrow of the Alps, past the stops of Eigerwand and Eismeer, and finally into Jungfraujoch station. To Von Holden's left was the Eiger, and beyond it the snow-covered summit of the Monch. Beyond them, not yet in view, but as familiar as the lines in his hand, was the Jungfrau. Its summit at thirteen and a half thousand feet was nearly half a mile higher than rail's end at Jungfraujoch station. Looking back, he studied the Eiger's harrowing north face, a sheer limestone cliff rising fifty-four hundred feet straight from the Eiger meadows to the top, and thought of the fifty or more true professionals who had died trying to climb it. It was a risk, like anything else. You prepared, you did your best, and then something unforeseen happened and you fell. Death, all around you, simply closed in.

Thun had been the first logical place the police would have intercepted the train. That they hadn't left only Interlaken. But there had been no police there either, and that meant however Osborn had managed to catch up, he'd done it alone. How many trains per day passed through Interlaken, Von Holden didn't know. What he did know was that a train for Lucerne had left ten minutes after his train had arrived from Bern. Lucerne was a major connecting point for destinations as disparate as Amsterdam, Belgium, Austria, Luxembourg and Italy. Jungfraujoch was a side trek, an interlude for tourists, Alpine hikers or serious mountaineers. Von Holden was a man on the run from the law and would hardly be expected to take a leisurely afternoon's excursion into the mountains, especially where the destination was a dead end. No, he would be trying to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers as possible. And if, in doing that, he could cross the border into a different country, so much the better.

Von Holden had abandoned the idea of killing Osborn at Interlaken as too risky. Instead, he'd turned Osborn's trick against him and had him paged, with the intention of both throwing him off and frightening him. Muddle whatever cunning and instinct that had brought him this far and in the process send him scurrying, none too coherently, after the only thing left. Logic. After arriving from Bern, there were only two ways out of Interlaken, the train up into the mountains or the narrow-gauge train to Lucerne. And a train for Lucerne, Osborn would learn, had left Interlaken only minutes after Von Holden had arrived from Bern. Von Holden would have no choice but to be on it. Accepting that, Osborn would rush onto the next train after it in pursuit of a shadow.

Osborn jumped from the train at Grindelwald station and quickly crossed to the waiting cars of the train that would connect with one at Kleine Scheidegg and take him the final leg to Jungfraujoch. This time there was no hesitation. He was certain Von Holden would be on the train ahead of him, not lying in wait here. Von Holden was arrogant enough to think he'd thrown him off at Interlaken and believe he was either still there, frightened and wondering what to do, or, better yet, had done the most obvious and followed the train Von Holden should have been On to Lucerne.

Jungfraujoch station, he'd learned in a brief conversation with one of the American railroad buffs on board, consisted of a tiny post office and souvenir shop, a tourist exhibit called the Ice Palace with ice sculptures literally cut into glacier walls on which the station was built, a small, automated weather station, and the Inn-Above-the-Clouds restaurant. Most of these were on different levels and served by elevators. Other than that there was nothing but the mountain and the desolate expanse of the great Aletsch glacier that lay before it. If Von Holden was meeting someone to transfer the contents of the rucksack, it would be within the confines of the station. Who that Would be, or where it might take place, he had no idea. But there was nothing he could do until he got there.

With a sharp, grate of engine cogs, the train leaned into a curve, and for the first time Osborn saw the full expanse of the mountains above him, their peaks stark white against the late afternoon sky. Closest was the Eiger, and even at this distance he could see wind-driven snow devils dance just below its summit.

"We're going straight up there, once we get past Kleine Scheidegg, darlin'." A smiling bleached blonde, one of the American railroaders, was talking to him, referring to the summit he was looking at. It wasn't hard to see she'd had a face-lift, nor, as she patted his knee with a ringless left hand, that she was single and making a point of it. "Right up into the wall of Eiger and a tunnel inside where you can look out and see this whole valley all the way back to Interlaken."

Osborn smiled and thanked her for the information, then looked at her blankly until she took her hand away. It wasn't that aggressive women bothered him, it was that he was thinking about something else. Wishing that besides McVey's .38, he had at least one vial of the muscle-relaxing succinylcholine he'd prepared in Paris for his attack on Albert Merriman.

141.

VON H HOLDEN, too, was watching the mountains, looking for a wisp of cloud or undue snow-devil activity that would indicate the wind was picking up and weather might be approaching. But he saw none and for a change it was a good sign. It would make things easier later on if there was a problem and he had to go out on the mountain.

Vera sat across, looking at him. He was somewhere else, lost in thought. Increasingly, something about him was troubling her. But it was vague and she couldn't put her finger on it. Yes, he was a policeman. Yes, he was taking her to Paul Osborn. It had to be true because she'd been released from jail in his custody and he knew things that were unknowable if he was not who he said he was. Still, something wasn't right and she wished she knew what it was. Glancing up, she saw his nylon rucksack riding in the luggage rack overhead. He'd been carrying it with him since Berlin and she'd never really thought about it until now-what it was, what was inside.

"Evidence," Von Holden said quietly.

The train was climbing steeply now, with rock formations, rushing mountain streams and waterfalls dropping away sharply at either side.

"Documents and other things exposing the core of the neo-Nazi movement. Names, places, financial data."

The car in which they rode had a half-dozen other passengers as did the car in front of them. The cog engine on the tiny, two-car train pushed from behind. Vera was becoming aggressive, and Von Holden didn't like it. The trauma caused by her ordeal in Berlin and capped by the killings in Frankfurt was wearing off. She was becoming aware, beginning to examine her situation, to probe, maybe even doubt. It meant he had to stay a step ahead, offer something of himself to keep her trust.

"I think it's safe to tell your our destination is Jungfraujoch station." He smiled. "They call it the Top of Europe. You can send a card from the highest post office on the continent."

"That's where Paul is."

"Yes, as well as a guarded repository for the documents."

"What happens when we get there?"

"That's not for me to say. My orders were to safely deliver you and the documents. After that"-he smiled again-"I will go home, hopefully."

Suddenly the train plunged into a tunnel and the only light was from the electric lamps inside the train.

"Twenty minutes more," Von Holden said. Vera relaxed and leaned back against the seat. For the moment she's satisfied, he thought. Once they reached Jungfraujoch station they would leave the train with the other passengers, then go immediately to the weather station. After that, what Vera thought or did would make no difference, because once inside they would vanish into its depths and no one, on earth could find them.

Abruptly the train slowed and they came into Eigerwand, a small railway station carved into the rocky tunnel inside the north face of the Eiger. The train pulled effortlessly onto a siding and stopped, leaving the main rail free so that another train could pass on the way down. The driver opened the doors and invited everyone out to enjoy the view and take photographs.

"Come." Von Holden smiled and stood up. "For the time being we're tourists like everyone else. We should relax and enjoy it."

Leaving the train, they crossed the platform with the other passengers and walked into one of several short tunnels where enormous windows had been cut into the face of the mountain. From there they could see for miles back across the sunlit valley floor toward Kleine Scheidegg and Grindelwald and Interlaken, the way they had come. Von Holden had seen it two dozen times and each time it was more impressive than the last, as if seeing the world from the mountain's point of view. Behind them the driver sounded his whistle and the other passengers started back for the train.

It was then Von Holden saw the train behind them approaching Kleine Scheidegg. Suddenly his breath caught and he felt his heart begin to palpitate. There was a pulsing behind his eyes and curtains of red and green started to come.

"Are you all right?" Vera asked.

For a brief moment Von Holden wavered, then he exhaled sharply, pulling himself out of it.

"Yes, thank you. . . ." He took her arm and they started back. "The altitude, perhaps." It was a lie. His attack had not been because of the altitude, or weariness, or anything else. It had been real. The "Vorahnung." "Vorahnung." And it meant only one thing. And it meant only one thing.

Osborn was on that train.

142.

OSBORN F FELT the press of gravity as the train began to move out of Kleine Scheidegg and start up the long grade toward the face of the Eiger. The bleached-blonde divorcee-her name was Connie and she was a divorcee, twice in fact-kept trying to talk to him. Finally he excused himself and went into the front car. He needed to think. In little more than forty minutes they would reach Jungfraujoch. He had to know what he was going to do, right from the moment the train came into the station and he stepped off. Once again he felt the heft of McVey's .38 in his waistband. For some reason it made him think about avalanches. More than once a gunshot had set off a thundering avalanche. Mountain teams and ski areas used recoilless rifles to start them on purpose, to clear them away before opening the snow areas to the public. But it was barely mid-October and the weather was clear. An avalanche should be the last thing on his mind. the press of gravity as the train began to move out of Kleine Scheidegg and start up the long grade toward the face of the Eiger. The bleached-blonde divorcee-her name was Connie and she was a divorcee, twice in fact-kept trying to talk to him. Finally he excused himself and went into the front car. He needed to think. In little more than forty minutes they would reach Jungfraujoch. He had to know what he was going to do, right from the moment the train came into the station and he stepped off. Once again he felt the heft of McVey's .38 in his waistband. For some reason it made him think about avalanches. More than once a gunshot had set off a thundering avalanche. Mountain teams and ski areas used recoilless rifles to start them on purpose, to clear them away before opening the snow areas to the public. But it was barely mid-October and the weather was clear. An avalanche should be the last thing on his mind.

But it wasn't.

His subconscious was working toward something. What was it? This was early October, but Von Holden was purposely going into snow country. Jungfraujoch was at an altitude of more than eleven thousand feet and built on top of or within a glacier. Inside were tourist sideshows, rooms carved out of the glacial ice.

Ice.

Cold. Deep cold. A glacier was as cold as you got in nature. Especially if you could get deep inside it. Men and animals had been found in it, perfectly preserved for centuries. Was it possible Jungfraujoch was the place where the experimental surgeries had been done? Was Jungfraujoch, seemingly a tourist attraction, really a cover for a secret medical facility deep within the glacier itself?

The grinding of the engine cogs and the click, click of the wheels over the rails became more pronounced.

Suddenly Osborn was pushing back into the other car.

"Connie," he said, sliding onto the seat next to her. "You've been to Jungfraujoch before."

"Sure have, darlin'."

"Is there any place that's off limits to tourists?"

"What you got in mind, darlin'?" Connie smiled and teasingly ran her fake ruby red nails along the top of his thigh.

Osborn was sure she was a riot after a couple of martinis, but that was something he never wanted to find out.

"Look, Connie. I'm just trying to get some information. Nothing-with a big N-else. Okay. Now, please be a good kid and try and remember."

"I like you."

"I know."

"Well, lemme think."

Osborn watched as she got up and stood looking out the window. It wasn't easy, the car was climbing the face of the Eiger and tilted at almost a forty-degree angle. Abruptly everything went dark as they entered a tunnel.

Five minutes later Osborn and Connie were looking out of the cutouts in the Eiger wall at Eigerwand station. Connie had her arm through his and was holding tight.

"I don't like to admit it, but I do get dizzy."

Osborn looked at his watch. Von Holden should be there now, or almost there anyway. Maybe he had been wrong about the medical facility. Maybe Von Holden was simply meeting someone there as he'd thought earlier. If that were the case, Von Holden could give him whatever he was carrying in the rucksack and take the next train down. The whole thing could be done in a matter of minutes.

"There's a weather station."

"What?" Connie was speaking to him and at the same time they were being called back to the train.

"A weather station, you know some kind of observatory."

Now they were crossing the platform toward the train. As they did, a train was coming down from Jungfraujoch, passing their train on the siding, slowly winding its way by on the lone track.

"Darlin', you listenin' to me or am I just talkin' to entertain myself?"

"Yes, I hear you." Osborn was straining to see inside the passing train. It was going slowly enough for him to see faces. He recognized none.

Then they were back in the train and sitting down and the train was moving into the tunnel and upward. Picking up speed.

"I'm sorry. You said something about-"

"A weather station. Did you or did you not ask if there was a place where the public couldn't go. Well, there's a weather station there. Upstairs, I think. Must be run by the government or something. 'Course there's the kitchen."

"What kitchen?"

"For the restaurant. Why do you want to know this anyway?"

"Research. I'm-writing a-book."

"Darlin'-" Connie put her hand on his thigh again and leaned so close her lips were brushing his ear. "I know you're not writin' a book," she whispered. "Because if you were you'd wait to find out what you're askin' till we get there and you could see for yourself. I also"-she blew a knot of hot air into his ear- "know you've got a gun stickin' in your belt. What're you gonna do with it, shoot somebody?" Connie sat back and smiled. "Darlin', will you promise me one thing? Yell first. I'd like to get the fuck out of the way."