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So Edwin Davis might have to be eliminated.
Just like Millicent.
WILKERSON TRUDGED THROUGH THE SNOW TO WHERE DOROTHEA Lindauer had parked her car. His vehicle was still smoldering. Dorothea seemed unconcerned with the lodge's destruction, even though, as she'd told him weeks ago, the house had been owned by her family since the mid-nineteenth century.
They'd left the bodies among the rubble. "We'll deal with them later," Dorothea had said. Other matters demanded their immediate attention.
He was carrying the last box brought from Fussen and loaded it into the trunk. He was sick of cold and snow. He liked the sun and heat. He would have made a much better Roman than Viking.
He opened the car door and worked his tired limbs in behind the wheel. Dorothea already sat in the passenger seat.
"Do it," she said to him.
He glanced at his luminous watch and calculated the time difference. He didn't want to make the call. "Later."
"No. He has to know."
"Why?"
"Men like that have to be kept off balance. He'll make mistakes that way."
He was torn between confusion and fear. "I just escaped getting killed. I'm not in the mood for this."
She touched his arm. "Sterling, listen to me. This is in motion. There's no stopping. Tell him."
He could barely make out her face in the darkness, but easily visualized in his mind her intense beauty. She was one of the most striking women he'd ever known. Smart, too. She'd correctly predicted that Langford Ramsey was a snake.
And she'd also just saved his life.
So he found his phone and punched in the number. He provided the operator on the other end his security code and the day's password, then told her what he wanted.
Two minutes later Langford Ramsey came on the line.
"It's mighty late where you are," the admiral said, his tone amicable.
"You sorry SOB. You're a lying piece of shit."
A moment of silence, then, "I assume there's a reason you're speaking to a superior officer this way."
"I survived."
"What is it you survived?"
The quizzical tone confused him. But why wouldn't Ramsey lie? "You sent a team to take me out."
"I assure you, Captain, if I wanted you dead you would be. You should be more concerned with who it is that seems to want you dead. Perhaps Frau Lindauer? I sent you to make contact, to get to know her, to find out what I needed to know."
"And I did exactly what you instructed. I wanted that damn star."
"And you'll have it, as promised. But have you accomplished anything?"
In the quiet of the car Dorothea had heard Ramsey. She grabbed the phone and said, "You're a liar, Admiral. It's you who wants him dead. And I'd say he's accomplished a lot."
"Frau Lindauer, so good to finally speak to you," he heard Ramsey say through the phone.
"Tell me, Admiral, why do I interest you?"
"You don't. But your family does."
"You know about my father, don't you?"
"I'm acquainted with the situation."
"You know why he was on that submarine."
"The question is, why are you so interested? Your family has been cultivating sources within the navy for years. Did you think I didn't know that? I simply sent you one."
"We've known there was more," she said.
"Unfortunately, Frau Lindauer, you'll never know the answer."
"Don't count on that."
"Such bravado. I'll be anxious to see if you can make good on that boast."
"How about you answer one question?"
Ramsey chuckled. "Okay, one question."
"Is there anything there to find?"
Wilkerson was baffled by the inquiry. Anything where to find?
"You can't imagine," Ramsey said.
And the line clicked off.
She handed him the phone and he asked her, "What did you mean? Anything there to find."
She sat back in the seat. Snow coated the car's exterior.
"I was afraid of this," she muttered. "Unfortunately, the answers are all in Antarctica."
"What are you searching for?"
"I need to read what's in the trunk before I can tell you that. I'm still not sure."
"Dorothea, I'm tossing my whole career, my whole life away for this. You heard Ramsey. He may not have been after me."
She sat rigid, never moving. "You'd be dead right now if it weren't for me." Her head turned his way. "Your life is locked to mine."
"And I'll say it again. You have a husband."
"Werner and I are through. We have been for a long time. It's you and me now."
She was right and he knew it. Which both bothered and excited him.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"A great deal for us both, I hope."
TWENTY-FIVE
BAVARIA
MALONE SURVEYED THE CASTLE THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD, THE ponderous edifice clinging to a sharply rising slope. Mullioned, dormer, and graceful oriel windows shone to the night. Arc lights cast the exterior walls with a mellow medieval beauty. Something Luther once said about another German citadel flashed through his mind. A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing.
He was driving his rental car, Christl Falk in the passenger seat. They'd left Ettal Monastery in a hurry and plunged deep into the frozen Bavarian woods, following a forlorn highway devoid of traffic. Finally, after a forty-minute ride, the castle appeared and he drove them inside, parking in a courtyard. Above, dotting an ink-blue sky, shone a brilliance of sparkling stars.
"This is our home," Christl said as they exited. "The Oberhauser estate. Reichshoffen."
"Hope and empire," he translated. "Interesting name."
"Our family motto. We've occupied this hilltop for over seven hundred years."
He surveyed the scene of order, meticulous in arrangement, neutral in color, broken only by stains of snow that oozed from the ancient stone.
She turned away and he caught her wrist. Beautiful women were difficult, and this stranger was indeed beautiful. Even worse, she was playing him and he knew it.
"Why is your name Falk and not Oberhauser?" he asked, trying to throw her off balance.
Her eyes dropped to her arm. He released his grip.
"A marriage that was a mistake."
"Your sister. Lindauer. Still married?"
"She is, though I can't say it's much of one. Werner likes her money and she likes being married. Gives her an excuse for why her lovers can never be more."
"You going to tell me why you two don't get along?"
She smiled, which only magnified her allure. "That depends on whether you agree to help."
"You know why I'm here."
"Your father. It's why I'm here, too."
He doubted that but decided to quit stalling. "Then let's see what's so important."
They entered through an arched doorway. His attention was drawn to a huge tapestry that draped the far wall. Another odd drawing, this one stitched in gold upon a deep maroon-and-navy background.
She noticed his interest. "Our family crest."
He studied the image. A crown poised over an iconic drawing of an animal-perhaps a dog or cat, hard to say-gripping what looked like a rodent in its mouth. "What does it mean?"
"I've never received a good explanation. But one of our ancestors liked it, so he had the tapestry sewn and hung there."
Outside he heard the unmuffled roar of an engine gunning into the courtyard. He stared out through the open doorway and saw a man emerge from a Mercedes coupe with an automatic weapon.
He recognized the face.
The same one from his room, earlier, at the Posthotel.
What the hell?
The man leveled the gun.
He yanked Christl back as high-velocity rounds whizzed through the doorway and obliterated a table abutting the far wall. Glass shattered from an adjacent floor clock. They rushed forward, Christ
l leading the way. More bullets strafed the wall behind him.
He gripped the gun from the cable car as they turned a corner and bolted down a short corridor that emptied into a grand hall.
