143.

EISMEER W WAS the last station before Jungfraujoch, and like Eigerwand the train stopped while the passengers got out to take pictures and ooh and aah from the cutouts in the rock. But the view from Eismeer was different from Eigerwand and everything else they had passed. Instead of rolling meadows and lakes and deep green forests bathed in lazy autumn sunshine, here was a white, frozen landscape. Vast rivers of snow and glacial ice ran from view or stopped hard against jagged rock cliffs. In the distance, driven snow on a topmost peak was blushed rose red by a dying sun, while overhead hung a thin and endless sky broken only by the smallest wisps of cloud. In the morning, or at midday, it might have looked different. But now, in the last hour before dark, it seemed cold and ominous: a vast and foreign place where man did not belong. The feeling seemed a natural warning: that if, by some accident or design, he were to wander out there, away from people, away from the trains, he should understand that this place was not his. He would be on his own. And God would not protect him. the last station before Jungfraujoch, and like Eigerwand the train stopped while the passengers got out to take pictures and ooh and aah from the cutouts in the rock. But the view from Eismeer was different from Eigerwand and everything else they had passed. Instead of rolling meadows and lakes and deep green forests bathed in lazy autumn sunshine, here was a white, frozen landscape. Vast rivers of snow and glacial ice ran from view or stopped hard against jagged rock cliffs. In the distance, driven snow on a topmost peak was blushed rose red by a dying sun, while overhead hung a thin and endless sky broken only by the smallest wisps of cloud. In the morning, or at midday, it might have looked different. But now, in the last hour before dark, it seemed cold and ominous: a vast and foreign place where man did not belong. The feeling seemed a natural warning: that if, by some accident or design, he were to wander out there, away from people, away from the trains, he should understand that this place was not his. He would be on his own. And God would not protect him.

The whistle sounded for reboarding and the passengers turned back toward the train. Osborn looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to five. It would be just five when they arrived in Jungfraujoch and the last train down left at six. By then it would be pitch dark. At most he would have an hour to find Von Holden and Vera and do his business with them. And, if he lived, to catch the last train down.

Osborn was the last to board. Immediately the door closed behind him, there was a lurch and he felt the cog gears catch on the rail beneath him. Leaning back, he took a deep breath, and then absently glanced around the car.

Connie was sitting near the rear, talking to her railroaders, not so much as looking at him. That was good, he thought, one less thing to deal with. Then, strangely and quite surprisingly, he found himself wishing for her company. He thought that maybe, if he sat down, with an open seat next to him, she might get up and join him. Walking back toward the railroaders, he found a vacant double seat and sat down facing her. If she saw him she didn't acknowledge it, just kept on talking. He watched her gesture, with her hands and wondered why she wore those long fake red nails. Or bleached her hair that awful blond. It was then he realized he was frightened to death. Remmer had clearly warned him to stay away from Von Holden. Noble had told him that after his encounter with him in the Tiergarten he was extremely lucky to still be alive. The man was a thoroughly schooled assassin who, in the last twenty or so hours, had sharpened his skills by murdering a nineteen year old-woman cabdriver and three German policemen. He knew who Osborn was and that he was following him. And having come this far, would Von Holden be so simple to think he was now blithely chugging his way toward Lucerne? Not likely. Since Von Holden had been on neither train coming down, it meant he was still at Jungfraujoch. And at Jungfraujoch there was no place but but Jungfraujoch. Jungfraujoch.

In less than five minutes, he thought, he was going to be delivered straight into a hell of his own creation. A stream of unfinished business spewed through him like an uncontrolled printout. Patients-house-car payments-life insurance-who arranges to get my body home? Who gets my things? After the last divorce I never made another will. He almost laughed. It was a comedy. Life's loose ends. He had come to Europe to give a speech. He had fallen in love. And after that it was straight downhill. "La descente infernale," "La descente infernale," he could hear Vera say in French. The ride to hell. he could hear Vera say in French. The ride to hell.

Vera-he was hearing her as he remembered her, not as who she was. Time and again she had come forward in his thoughts, time and again he'd forced her out. What was was and the way it stood. When the time came and he finally faced her, that's when he would deal with the reality of it, but for now it was Von Holden who had to stay centered in his mind- He felt the train slow. A sign passed by the window.

Jungfraujoch.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. Instinctively his hand touched the butt of the revolver. At least he still had that.

"Think of your father!" he told himself. "Hear the sound of Merriman's knife hit him in the stomach! See the look on his face! See his eyes come to you, asking you what happened. See his knees buckle as he collapses on the sidewalk. Somebody screams! He's scared. He knows he's going to die. See his hand reach up to you. For you to take, to help him through it. See that, Paul Osborn. See that and do not fear what is ahead."

There was a shriek of brakes, then a bump, and the train slowed more. There were two tracks and light at the far end, and they were almost there. The station was inside the tunnel like Eigerwand and Eismeer, Connie had told him. Only here the tracks did not continue through, they stopped at the end. The only way out was the way they were coming in. Back through the tunnel.

144.

"A FIRE in the weather station, sir. It happened last night. No one was hurt but the station is beyond repair," a railroad worker had said of the pile of charred debris stacked against the side of the tunnel. in the weather station, sir. It happened last night. No one was hurt but the station is beyond repair," a railroad worker had said of the pile of charred debris stacked against the side of the tunnel.

Fire! Last night. The same as Charlottenburg. The same as der Garten. der Garten. Von Holden had been increasingly apprehensive as they'd neared the Jungfraujoch station and he was fearful the attacks would come again. The source of his concern, he'd thought, was not so much Osborn as Vera. For the last part of the trip she'd been quiet, almost detached, and his sense had been that she'd caught on and was trying to make up her mind what to do. He'd countered that quickly by moving her out of the train and toward the elevator the moment they'd arrived. They were no more than three minutes from the weather station, four at most. Once there, everything would be all right because very shortly afterward she would be dead. It was then he'd seen the debris and been told of the fire. The destruction of the weather station was something he'd never considered. Von Holden had been increasingly apprehensive as they'd neared the Jungfraujoch station and he was fearful the attacks would come again. The source of his concern, he'd thought, was not so much Osborn as Vera. For the last part of the trip she'd been quiet, almost detached, and his sense had been that she'd caught on and was trying to make up her mind what to do. He'd countered that quickly by moving her out of the train and toward the elevator the moment they'd arrived. They were no more than three minutes from the weather station, four at most. Once there, everything would be all right because very shortly afterward she would be dead. It was then he'd seen the debris and been told of the fire. The destruction of the weather station was something he'd never considered.

"That's where Paul was, up there-" "

"Yes," Von Holden said. They were outside in the growing twilight, climbing a long series of steps toward the burned-out shell of what had been the weather station. Behind them was the brightly lit massive cement and steel structure that housed the restaurant and Ice Palace. On their right, falling away beneath them, was the ten-mile-long Aletsch glacier, a frozen, twisted, now darkening sea of ice and snow. Above them rose the nearly fourteen thousand-foot Jungfrau peak, its snowy crest blood red with the setting sun.

"Why are there no rescue workers? No firemen? No heavy equipment?" Vera was angry, afraid, incredulous, and Von Holden was grateful for it. It told him that no matter what else she might have been thinking, her main concern was still Osborn. That, in itself, would keep her off guard if he couldn't reach the inner passageways he hoped had survived the fire and they had to go back outside.

"There is no rescue attempt because no one knows they are here. The weather station is automated. No one goes there except an occasional technician. Our levels are belowground. Emergency generators automatically seal each floor in case of fire."

Then they were at the top and Von Holden tore aside a heavy sheet of plywood covering the entrance and they pushed past a frame of charred timbers. Inside it was dark, heavy with the acrid smell of smoke and molten steel. The fire had been extremely hot. Hotter than any fire started by accident. A melted steel door in the back of an instrument closet attested to it. Finding a crowbar left by the demolition crew, Von Holden tried to pry it open but it was impossible.

"Salettl, you bastard," he said under his breath. In disgust he threw the bar aside. There was no need even to attempt to open it; he knew what he would find inside. A ceramic-lined, six-foot-high titanium tunnel, melted into an impassable mass.

"Come on," he said, "there is another entrance." If the lower levels had been sealed off from the fire as they should have been, everything would still be all right.

Leading the way outside, Von Holden let Vera go down the steps ahead of him. As she did, the last rays of the sun touched her hair, bathing her in soft vermilion. For the briefest moment Von Holden wondered what it would be like to be an ordinary man. And in that he thought of Joanna, and the truth of what he had said to her in Berlin, that he didn't know if he was capable of love and she had replied, "You are-" It was a thought out of time and it led to another: that however simple and plain she was, at heart she was truly beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman he'd ever known and he was astonished to think that maybe she was right, that he was capable of love and the love he held was for her.

Then his eyes were drawn to a large clock on the wall at the bottom of the steps. Its minute hand stood straight up. It was exactly five o'clock. At the same moment came the announcement of an arriving train. As quickly his dream vanished and something else stood in its place.

Osborn.

145.

OSBORN S STOOD back from the door, letting the other passengers go out first. Absently, he wiped perspiration from his upper lip. If he was trembling, he didn't notice. back from the door, letting the other passengers go out first. Absently, he wiped perspiration from his upper lip. If he was trembling, he didn't notice.

"Good luck, darlin'." Connie touched his arm on the way out and then she was gone, following the last of the railroaders toward an open elevator at the far end of the tracks. Osborn looked around. The car was empty and he was alone. Lifting out the .38, he flipped open the chamber. Six shots. McVey had left it fully loaded.

Closing the chamber, he stuck the gun in his waistband and he let his jacket slide across it. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped sharply from the train. Immediately he felt the cold. It was the kind of mountain cold you felt on ski trips when you stepped from a heated gondola and out into the half-open barn where the gondolas stopped.

He was surprised to see a second train in the station and he had to think that since the last train left at six, the second train must be for the help who would go down later, after they'd closed up.

Crossing the platform, Osborn joined several British tourists and took the same elevator Connie and the railroaders had taken. The car went one stop and the door opened, revealing a large room with a cafeteria and souvenir shop.

The Brits stepped out and Osborn went with them. Dropping back, he stopped at the souvenir shop and absently looked over an assortment of Jungfraujoch T-shirts, postcards and candy while at the same time trying to study the faces of the people crowding the cafeteria farther down the room. Almost immediately a short, chubby boy of maybe ten walked up with his parents. The family was American and both the father and boy wore identical Chicago Bulls jackets. In that one single instant Osborn felt more alone than at any time in his life. He wasn't quite sure why was it that he had so distanced himself from the rest of the world that death, if it came at Von Holden's hands or even Vera's, would go wholly unnoticed, that no one would care that he had ever been? Or had the vision of the boy and his father only magnified the bitterness of what had been taken from him? Or was it that other thing, the thing that had eluded him his entire life, a family of his own?

Pulling himself from the depths of his own emotion, Osborn studied the room once more. If Von Holden or Vera were there, he didn't see them. Leaving the souvenir area, he crossed to the elevator. Almost immediately the door opened and an elderly couple walked out. Scanning the room a last time, Osborn went into the elevator and pressed the button for the next floor. The door closed and he started upward. Several seconds later the elevator stopped, the door slid open, and he looked out at a world of blue ice. This was the Ice Palace, a long semicircular tunnel cut into glacial ice and filled with caverns holding ice sculptures. Ahead of him, he could see the last of the railroaders, Connie among them, as they walked along enchanted by the sculptures-of people, of animals, of a full-size car, a replica of a bar, complemented with chairs and tables and an old-fashioned whiskey barrel.

Osborn hesitated, then stepped out and started down the corridor, trying to blend in, to look like anybody else. As he walked, he searched the faces of tourists coming toward him. Maybe he'd made a mistake not staying with the, railroaders. Reaching out, he ran his fingers delicately along the side of the corridor, as if he doubted it was ice and might instead be some manufactured product. But it was ice. The same as on the ceiling and floor. The surrounding of ice intensified the thought that this place could have been the site of the experimental surgeries done at extreme cold.

But where? Jungfraujoch was small. Surgeries, especially surgeries as delicate as these would be, required space. Equipment rooms, prep room and surgery rooms, intensive-care post-op rooms. Rooms to house the staff. How could it be done here?

The only place out of bounds, Connie had told him, was the weather station. Fifteen feet away a Swiss guide stood by as teenagers posed for a photograph in the ice tunnel. Crossing to her, Osborn asked directions to the weather station. It was upstairs, she said. Near the restaurant and the outside terrace. But it was closed because of a fire.

"Fire?"

"Yes, sir."

"When did it happen?"

"Last night, sir."

Last night. The same as Charlottenburg.

"Thank you." Osborn continued on. Unless it was some great coincidence, what happened there, happened here. Meaning whatever had been destroyed there had been destroyed here, too. But Von Holden wouldn't have known that or he wouldn't have come, unless it was to meet someone. Suddenly something made Osborn look up. Vera and Von Holden stood at the end of the corridor bathed in the eerie blue light created by the ice. They looked at him a half second more, then abruptly turned down the corridor and vanished.

Osborn's heart felt as if it was trying to pound through his ears. Gathering himself, he turned to the guide.

"Down there," he pointed to where the two had stood. "Where does that lead?"

"Outside to the ski school and the dogsled area. But of course they are closed now for the day."

"Thank you." Osborn's voice was barely a whisper. His feet were like stone, as if they had frozen to the ice beneath them. His hand slid into his jacket and took hold of the .38. The ice walls glistened cobalt blue and he could see his breath. Grasping the hand rail he moved cautiously ahead until he reached the turn in the tunnel where Von Holden and Vera had vanished.

The corridor ahead was empty, and at the end was a door. A sign for the ski school pointed toward it. There was another for dogsled rides.

You want me to follow you, don't you? Osborn's mind raced. That's the idea. Through that door. Outside. Away from other people. Go out there! You do that, he's got you. You won't come in again. Von Holden will take what's left of you and throw you over the side someplace. Into some deep crevasse. They won't find you till spring. They may never find you.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" Vera and Von Holden entered a small, claustrophobic room of ice in a passageway off the main corridor. He had held her arm going down the passage and stopped her the moment they'd seen Osborn. Purposely he waited until he felt her about to call out, then he'd pulled her around and they'd gone quickly back, turning into a side tunnel and then into the room.

"The fire was set. They are here, waiting for us. For you, for the documents I have."

"Paul-"

"Perhaps he is one of them as well."

"No. Never! He escaped somehow-"

"Did he?"

"He had to have-" Suddenly Vera flashed on the men posing as Frankfurt police moments before Von Holden shot them. "Where is the female officer? The policewoman?" they had asked.

"There is none," Von Holden answered. "There was no time."

It hadn't been another fugitive that concerned them, it had been procedure! procedure! A male detective would not transport a-female prisoner alone in a closed compartment without the accompaniment of a policewoman! A male detective would not transport a-female prisoner alone in a closed compartment without the accompaniment of a policewoman!

"We have to find out about Osborn, or neither of us will leave here alive." Von Holden's breath hung in the air and he smiled gently as he came toward her. The nylon rucksack was over his left shoulder, his right hand at his waist. His manner was easy, relaxed, the same as it had been when he faced the men on the train. The same as Avril Rocard's had been when she gunned down the French Secret Service agents at the Nancy farmhouse.

In that instant Vera understood-the thing that had troubled her since they'd left Interlaken, the thing she'd been too emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted to grasp beforehand, the thing that had been there all along. Yes, Von Holden had had all the right answers, but it was for a different reason. The men on the train had had been police, it was not they who were Nazi killers, it was been police, it was not they who were Nazi killers, it was Von Holden. Von Holden.

146.

OSBORN W WALKED quickly back the way he had come. Now he saw the railroaders loading into the elevator at the far end of the Ice Palace. Walking even faster, he caught up with them just as the door was closing. Stopping it with his hand, he squeezed in among them. quickly back the way he had come. Now he saw the railroaders loading into the elevator at the far end of the Ice Palace. Walking even faster, he caught up with them just as the door was closing. Stopping it with his hand, he squeezed in among them.

"Sorry . . . ," he lied, smiling.

The door closed and the elevator rose. What to do now? Osborn could feel the pump of blood through his carotid arteries. The thud! thud! thud! thud! thud! thud! of it felt like a jackhammer. Abruptly the elevator stopped and the door opened out into a large self-service restaurant. Osborn had to step out first. Then he held back and tried to stay with the crowd. Outside it was almost dark. Through a bank of windows he could just make out the peaks at the far end of the sloping Aletsch glacier. Beyond them, in the eerie twilight, he could see weather clouds moving in. of it felt like a jackhammer. Abruptly the elevator stopped and the door opened out into a large self-service restaurant. Osborn had to step out first. Then he held back and tried to stay with the crowd. Outside it was almost dark. Through a bank of windows he could just make out the peaks at the far end of the sloping Aletsch glacier. Beyond them, in the eerie twilight, he could see weather clouds moving in.

"What're you doin' now?" Connie was walking beside him. Osborn looked at her and then started as a sudden gust of wind rattled across the windows.

"Doing?" Osborn's eyes nervously swept the room as they followed the others toward the food service line. "I thought maybe I'd have a-cup of coffee."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Why would anything be the matter?"

"You in trouble or something? The police after you?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Then why're you so nervous? You're skitty as a newborn colt."

Now they were at the food counter. Osborn looked back at the room. Some of the railroaders were already sitting down, pulling up chairs between two tables nearby. The family he'd seen at the souvenir shop was at another table, with the father pointing off toward the restrooms and the young boy in the Chicago Bulls jacket heading toward it. Two young men sat at a table near the door, smoking cigarettes and chatting earnestly.

"Sit over here with me and drink this." They were already through the cashier and Connie was leading him to a table away from the railroaders.

"What is it?" Osborn looked at the glass Connie had set In front of him.

"Coffee with cognac. Now be a good guy and drink it."

Osborn looked at her, then picked up the cup and drank. What to do? He thought. They're here, in the building or outside it. I didn't go after them. Which means they'll come after me.

"Are you Doctor Osborn?"

Osborn looked up. The boy in the Chicago Bulls jacket was right there.

"Yes."

"A man said to tell you he's waiting outside."

"Who is?" Connie's bleached eyebrows furrowed together. is?" Connie's bleached eyebrows furrowed together.

"By the dogsled run."

"Clifford, what are you doin'? I thought you were goin' to the lavatory." The boy's father was taking him by the hand. "Sorry," he said to Osborn. "What're you doin' bothering those folks, huh?" he said to his son as they walked off.

Osborn saw his father on the sidewalk. Primal fear in his eyes. Terrified. His hand reaching up for his son to ease him into death. Suddenly he got up. Without looking at Connie, he stepped around the table and started for the door.

147.

VON H HOLDEN waited in the snow, back from the empty runs where they kept the sled dogs during the day. The box in the black backpack rested nearby. In his hands he cradled a nine-millimeter Skorpion automatic pistol mounted with a flame and sound suppressor. It was light and maneuverable and had a thirty-two-round magazine. Osborn, he was certain, would be armed, as he had been the night in the Tiergarten. There was no way to know how well trained he was, but it made little difference because this time Von Holden would give him no opportunity. waited in the snow, back from the empty runs where they kept the sled dogs during the day. The box in the black backpack rested nearby. In his hands he cradled a nine-millimeter Skorpion automatic pistol mounted with a flame and sound suppressor. It was light and maneuverable and had a thirty-two-round magazine. Osborn, he was certain, would be armed, as he had been the night in the Tiergarten. There was no way to know how well trained he was, but it made little difference because this time Von Holden would give him no opportunity.

Fifty feet away, between himself and the ski school door, Vera stood in the darkness. She was handcuffed to a safety railing that followed the icy path toward the dog runs. She could cry, scream, anything. Out here in the dark, with the restaurant closing up for the night, the only one who would hear her was Osborn when he came out. Fifty feet was close enough for her to be heard and seen by Osborn but far enough away form the building for anyone who might be inside looking out. Von Holden's purpose was to get them both away and into the darkness past the dog runs where the killing would be best. That was why he'd left Vera where he had. She was serving the purpose he had planned for her from the beginning. Except that now, instead of a hostage, she had become bait.

Forty yards beyond her the ski school door at the end of the Ice Palace tunnel opened, light spilled out, and a lone figure emerged from it. A thick stand of heavy icicles by the door glistened in the darkness, then the door closed and the figure stood silhouetted against the snow. A moment later it moved forward.

Vera watched Osborn come; he was walking in a snowmobile track that was used for the dogsled rides and looking straight ahead. She knew he was vulnerable in the darkness because his eyes would take time to adjust to the dim light. Glancing back she saw Von Holden shoulder the pack and slide backward over a small crest and out of sight. He had brought her out of the Ice Palace through an air shaft, then handcuffed her without a word and walked off. Whatever he was planning had been carefully thought out, and whatever it was, Osborn was walking right into the middle of it.

"Paul!" Vera's cry resonated across the darkness. "He's out here waiting. Go back! Telephone the police!"