The Lie (19 page)

“I’ll be wanting my grandfather along too,” he said.

Nicko considered the old man. “I see no problem in that. But what about your start-up plans? Do you have any precise schedule
to follow?”

“My grandfather and I will pick up our automatics and detonator from the men’s room right before Chancellor Eisner goes into
his opening address. After that, we’ll allow an hour or so while the world watches and we choose our primary hostages.”

“How will you choose?”

“Mostly by opportunity. If possible, I’d like to include Chancellor Eisner and the U.S. secretary of state for the extra leverage
they give us. If all goes smoothly, though, we should end up with whatever hostages we want.”

“Meaning what?” asked Nicko.

“If there’s any hitch, any refusal to fall into line, I threaten to press one of the little red buttons on my remote.”

“You can’t just ‘threaten.’”

“I know that.”

“You’re prepared to sacrifice lives if necessary?”

“You know I am, Dr. Vorelli.”

“Even your own?”

“If I wasn’t ready for that, I would never have started the whole thing.”

“You can still change your mind.”

“And give up my one chance to do something really worthwhile?”

Nicko looked at the old man. “What about you, Major? Are you ready to die along with your suicidal grandson?”

“I’ve been ready for fifty years.”

“Well,
I’m
not,” said Nicko. “Dying plays absolutely no part in what I want from Wannsee.”

Klaus stared evenly at Nicko. “To be truthful, Doctor, I still wonder what you really
are
after from this meeting.”

“All the same sanctified things that you and your grandfather are after—except, of course, for the one very important item
I haven’t mentioned yet.”

“What’s that?”

“Fifty million German marks.”

Klaus Logefeld frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not complicated. Just a simple business transaction.” Nicko’s smile was warm, open. “Call it my finder’s fee if you
will.”

“Your finder’s fee for
what
?”

“For getting you and your grandfather into Wannsee to begin with. For giving your blessed epiphany its one chance to fly.”

Klaus could only stare at Nicko.

“Why are you having such a problem with this?” asked Nicko. “Compared with the devious, labyrinthine lengths you went to entrap
Kate and me, what I’m talking about is practically at kindergarten level.”

“Exactly where would your fifty million marks be coming from?” Klaus asked.

“It would simply be included in your overall hostage settlement.”

“I never thought about our hostages in terms of money.”

“Then start thinking about it now.”

Klaus felt himself sweating. “Why are you doing this? Why are you cheapening everything?”

“I wouldn’t call fifty million marks cheap.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, Professor. But this happens to be
my
decision and
my
personal need. So you’re just going to have to live with it.”

Klaus swallowed something cold and bitter.

“Are you telling me you have a sudden personal need for fifty million German marks?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Nicko Vorelli. “You see, we all have our problems, Professor. My own current problem stems from the
recent collapse of that huge land development deal in Marbella, which not only wiped me clean but left me millions in debt.
You probably read about Arturo Mendotti blowing his brains out before they could arrest him for embezzlement. I just wish
he’d have given me the pleasure of pulling the trigger. I’ve worked too long and hard for my way of life to abandon it now.
So with a little prodding here and there, I’m counting on you to help me maintain it.”

“You mean you had everything planned from the beginning?”

“No. Not until I found out what you really were up to. Then I figured why the devil not? Why not do myself some good while
bettering our less than joyous human condition? With all the billions and trillions in unlimited currencies bubbling out of
the communal pot, with all the bottomless waste and destruction of our unending tribal wars, my paltry fifty million marks
are less than fly specks.”

Klaus looked up to find Nicko smiling at him.

“It’s not all that bad, Professor Mainz. Before we’re through,” said Nicko, “you’re going to be very happy I’ve made myself
part of this.”

“Why?”

“Because in one way or another, I’m the one who’ll be keeping you and your grandfather from falling on your own bloody swords.”

This time Nicholas Vorelli’s smile was for the old man.

“I’m sorry, Major. But any personal dying you may have been counting on is going to have to be done on your own time.”

A
T ELEVEN-THIRTY
on the night of September 10, Daniel Archer drove through the narrow, nearly deserted streets of one of the older sections
of Brussels.

He drove very slowly, watching for an opening in the solid wall of buildings on his right. He had been here before over the
years, but the tiny alley he was looking for was still easy to miss in the dark. When he did finally see it, he turned in
and parked behind a waiting Peugeot.

Moments later, Archer was inside the other car, gripping the hand of a uniformed lieutenant of police.

“How goes it, Charles?” he said in fairly good French.

“Improving. Now that
you’re
here bearing your usual generous gifts.” The lieutenant grinned. “So what do I call you
this
trip?”

“Anything you want. But my passport says George Lucas.”

“Christ, you’ve got the life. Travel, money, excitement, hot women.”

“Sure. And always a good chance of an equally hot bullet in the head.”

Charles offered a philosophical shrug. “Everybody dies, Danny. At least you’re living great till you do.”

“You’re doing pretty well yourself.”

“Not on my stinking cop’s pay. The garbagemen earn more.”

Daniel Archer took out a thick envelope and handed it to the officer. “Well, this should help.”

“It sure as hell will,” said Charles, and he gave Archer a folded sheet of paper in return.

“Check it out,” said Daniel Archer. “There’s a little bonus this time.”

The lieutenant opened the envelope, counted the bills, and stared at Archer. “Jesus. This one must be very important.”

The amount was supposed to be ten thousand dollars. Twice that much was there.

“They’re all very important, Charles. Any trouble getting it?”

“Hell, I just opened a safe, copied a sheet of paper, and put back the original.” The lieutenant’s smile was weak. “Now all
I have to do is try to live with it.”

Daniel Archer studied the paper under a map light. A neatly typed paragraph detailed the exact route of President Dunster’s
motorcade from the Brussels airport to his hotel. A second paragraph described Dunster’s projected return to the airport the
following morning. The two routes were totally different.

“Everything there?” asked the lieutenant.

Daniel Archer nodded. “What are the chances of a last-minute change?”

“Emergencies can happen. But they’re rare.”

Charles lit a cigarette and looked at Archer in the flare of the match. “Good luck.” He was silent for a moment. “To both
of us.”

Less than an hour later, Daniel Archer sat in Abu Mustafa’s Saab in another part of Brussels. He was watching the Palestinian
examine the two proposed presidential routes with the aid of a flashlight and an enlarged street map of the city.

“Let’s drive through them,” Mustafa said.

They started from the Chanteclaire Hotel, where the president would be staying. Daniel Archer drove while Abu
Mustafa read off street names and instructions and made notes of key points along the route to the airport.

It was well past midnight and there was little traffic moving, but they drove cautiously. From time to time the Palestinian
had Archer pull over to the curb while he studied a particular street, building, or stretch of road. When they reached the
outskirts of the city and the spaces began to open up, they stopped more often.

At the airport, they circled the main terminal area and started back to Brussels using the other route.

They finished at close to three o’clock in the morning.

“Well?” said Archer.

“I’ve got two locations that look good. They’re both on the return route to the airport.”

“When will you decide?”

“Tomorrow morning,” said Abu Mustafa. “After we’ve made a final run to see what the traffic will be like at the exact time
the motorcade will be going by.”

K
ATE WAS WITH
N
ICKO
V
ORELLI
on his yacht, cruising the Bay of Naples. The sun sparkled on quiet water and Vesuvius was a gray ghost in the distance.

They sat under an awning on the stern deck, enjoying a lunch prepared and served with near reverence. That was pretty much
how Nicko Vorelli approached most things that had to do with his personal pleasure. Yet to Kate, something exceptional was
afoot today.

When they were alone and sipping their espresso, Nicko Vorelli finally said, “I have a few things I’d like to go over with
you.”

“About what?”

“About you and me and your friend Klaus Logefeld. About the coming meeting at Wannsee.”

“Has something happened that I don’t know about?”

“A great deal has happened.”

Kate listened calmly as Nicko told her of his two additional meetings with Klaus Logefeld, as if even the cached weapons and
explosives at Wannsee were all perfectly ordinary items that bore absolutely no connection to either Nicko or herself. Finally
she realized that whatever potentially lethal events might still lie ahead, she would ultimately be to blame for causing them.

“My God, look what I’ve done!”

The words broke out of her, cutting Nicholas Vorelli off in midsentence.

He looked at Kate. “You haven’t done a thing. You’re one of the real victims in all this. If anything, you were done
to
.”

“No. If it were not for those pictures and tapes of
me
, you could be turning Klaus over to the police this minute.”

Nicko squinted into the sun at a passing sailboat. “You’re wrong. Those pictures and tapes aren’t what’s keeping Logefeld
out of jail. I am.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because I haven’t told you everything,” said Nicko, and he proceeded to tell Kate about his demand for fifty million
marks.

“So?” asked Nicko when he had finished. “What do you think?”

“What I think,” said Kate Dinneson slowly, “is that you’ve probably just told me one of the saddest stories I’ve ever heard.”

“Why?”

“Because as far as I can see, you’re about to throw away your life and good name for a big pile of money you can manage to
live without.”

Nicko Vorelli laughed. “If that’s what I was about to do, it wouldn’t be sad. It would be just plain stupid.”

A white-coated steward appeared from below with fresh espresso, and they waited in silence until he had served them and left
the deck.

“Please understand this,” said Nicko. “I have absolutely no intention of risking my life and good name for this big pile of
money you claim I can live without. Whatever I do at Wannsee will be set up to leave me safe and seemingly uninvolved. As
for my being able to live without those fifty million marks, that just wouldn’t be my idea of living.”

Considering each other, they sat with their separate thoughts. A breeze came up and ruffled the sea, causing the big yacht
to roll slightly. Vesuvius had faded into a growing mist and was no longer visible. Still, the water remained a pure, stainless
blue.

Nicko took a card from his wallet and handed it to Kate.

“This is for you,” he said.

She saw that it was an official press pass to Wannsee. With the media presence cut way back and limited to mostly pool coverage
by the major networks, Kate knew the kind of pressure Nicko must have applied to get this for her.

“Don’t you want it?” Nicko asked.

“Of course I want it. What journalist wouldn’t? But I can’t help feeling this pass isn’t entirely for me.”

“Your name is on it. Who else would it be for?”

“You.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do, Nicko. What are you going to want from me at Wannsee?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll do whatever you ask,” said Kate. “Only please stop playing with me and tell me what it is.”

“Am I really that transparent?”

“No, I guess you’ve let me hang around you a little too long. What’s going to happen at Wannsee, Nicko?”

“There are a lot of variables so I can’t be sure yet. But I admit I may need you at some point.”

Nicko studied the planking on the deck as if important secrets lay hidden there. “I’m sorry, Kate. I may be putting you in
harm’s way with all this. If you say no, I’ll understand.”

“How could I say no? You’ve put yourself in this position only because you were trying to help
me
.”

“It may have started out that way,” said Nicko, “but things changed.”

Nicko sat there brooding, showing real pain. Kate had never seen him so exposed. Even worse, he appeared diminished. And he
knew it.

“You shame me,” he said.

I
N THE EARLY MORNING QUIET
, Paul Walters climbed the stairs leading to Kate’s apartment. Reaching the third floor, he knocked on Kate’s door and waited.
When he was about to knock again, the door opened and Kate was there in a terry robe with a towel covering her still dripping
hair.

“Sorry to get you out of the shower,” Paulie said.

Her face flushed a deep pink, Kate stood studying him. “I’m glad to see you.”

They were polite to the point of suffocation.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Kate suggested.

Paulie settled into a large sectional couch.