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“He is . . . oh, how do you say . . . schwarz?” She rubbed the skin of her arm and pointed at a black stapler.
“He has dark skin?” Juan said.
Greta nodded. “Ja. Very dark.”
Bazin. He had anticipated their move yet again despite all of Juan’s precautions. If he got the thesis and destroyed it, they might lose their last link between Gunther Lutzen and Lawrence Kensit.
“Where did they go?”
“To the archives on this level,” she said, confused at Juan’s sudden urgency. “It’s there.” She pointed toward the other end of the building.
Juan and Eric took off running down the hall. When they were alone, Juan stopped and pulled up his pant leg to access the hidden panel in his combat leg. He drew the .45 ACP Colt Defender and closed the leg back up. He hid the gun under his jacket. Eric wasn’t armed, but he didn’t have much use for a weapon since he wasn’t trained for combat. Juan considered sending Eric for library security, but they would be unarmed. The police would be better, but this would be over by the time they arrived.
Still, Eric couldn’t come with him empty-handed. Juan removed the C-4 pack, detonator cap, and activation switch and shoved them into Eric’s hands.
“What should I do with these?” Eric asked.
“Not sure. You’ll think of something. Stay behind me.”
They continued on to a door marked “Archiv.” Juan eased it open, the oiled hinges making no sound. He crouched and pushed his way inside with his eye on the Colt’s iron sight. He swept the long room, which was filled with stacks of bound theses and rare books.
He crept along the row of shelves until he reached the end while Eric went the other direction. Juan swiveled around and saw Bazin behind a tall, thin man who had to be Schmidt. Juan would have had no compunction about shooting a murderer like Bazin without warning, but he was almost completely hidden by Schmidt, who had his back to Juan with his arms raised.
Bazin had a gun on Schmidt. The thesis was in Bazin’s other hand.
Juan didn’t have time to get a different angle on him.
“Let him go, Bazin!” he yelled, his pistol ready to fire.
Bazin pressed his gun to the bespectacled man’s temple, making sure to keep the terrified librarian between him and Juan. Bazin’s face was completely obscured behind Schmidt’s head. Even with the Colt’s Crimson Trace laser sight, Juan had no shot. The elbow of Bazin’s arm made a motion that looked like he was tucking the thesis in his coat.
No one else seemed to be in the archives with them.
“You’re quicker to get here than I expected, Cabrillo,” Bazin said with a French accent as he edged toward a door on the opposite side of the room.
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?” Bazin inched closer to the door.
“You couldn’t have tapped our communications to find out.”
“It’s definitely a puzzle. That was clever with the glasses, to get my identity.”
Juan kept his aim on Bazin, ready for any mistake by him. Eric was poised in the next row with the C-4 and detonator, but Juan subtly shook his head to back off.
“You must realize you’ll never make it out of Germany,” Juan said.
“I’m not worried.”
“What does worry you?”
Bazin was next to the door. “Nothing much, when you have the advantages I have.”
“I know you work for Lawrence Kensit.”
“And without this thesis, that’s all you will know.”
There was a polished metal plate beside the door with the name of the department in the next room. Juan could make out Bazin’s face in the reflection. “Bazin, I see you.”
