Стив Берри - The Kaiser's Web--A Novel

And that sad realization seethed inside her.

Like a virus, the legacy of Hitler and his promised Thousand-Year Reich still coursed through Germany’s veins. Ridding the nation of that infection seemed impossible. Her personal efforts at a cure, through sixteen years in office, might end over the next few days. The press would brand her a hypocrite and her message would thereafter fall on deaf ears.

Damn him. Damn Hitler.

Damn them all.

She stood from a table where her staff earlier had laid out a map of Germany. They had been planning the next few days’ events, deciding on the quickest route from town to town.

She stared down at her homeland.

Hildesheim was located only a few kilometers from the northeast corner of the neighboring state of Hesse. Löwenberg, Pohl’s fortress home, sat just over the border. Her finger traced the highway route, and she estimated the driving time to be less than an hour.

There was no choice. She had to act.

Besides, what did she have to lose that was not already lost?

Her career was over.

She stepped to the door and told her security man that she needed a car brought to the rear of the hotel immediately. She did not want to alert the press or her staff.

“Are you leaving?” the man asked.

“That’s not your concern. Just arrange the car.”

Cassiopeia jogged up the stairs two at a time toward the hotel’s third floor. One of the agents stationed downstairs had alerted her that Eisenhuth wanted a car brought to a rear entrance. The two security guards remained positioned outside the chancellor’s room, and both indicated that she was still inside, readying herself to leave.

Cassiopeia entered the room without knocking.

“You’re slow,” Eisenhuth said, stepping from the bathroom. “I told them not to tell you, but I assumed the instruction would be ignored.”

The older woman wore a pair of light trousers and a black turtleneck shirt. “Where are you going?”

“To see Theodor Pohl.”

“That’s insane.”

“Probably. But since I most likely will not be in charge of this country past tomorrow, I’m going anyway.”

“What could possibly be gained? The man just attempted to have you killed.”

“What’s he going to do? Kill me in his own home? I don’t think so. He has a serious political problem, too.”

“This is foolishness. Would there not be political repercussions if the press learned of your visit?”

The older woman’s face hardened. “Those money transfers to my father’s company will end my career, regardless of Pohl’s parentage. I’m sick to death of political repercussions. This I’m doing for me.”

“I’m going with you.”

“It’s not your fight,” Eisenhuth said.

“Maybe not, but I doubt those men outside are going to allow you to go alone.”

The chancellor shrugged. “I know. I only ask that you stay out of my way once we’re there.”

Pohl switched off the television. Over the past couple of hours he’d watched the news reports in earnest. Marie Eisenhuth was apparently safe in Hildesheim, the suicide bomber dead, a full investigation under way.

He checked his watch. Nearly 11:00 P.M.

He’d issued a statement over an hour ago condemning the attack and professing his relief that the chancellor was unharmed. He decried the sad state of affairs when violence seemed the answer to everything, calling on the German people to act decisively in the coming election and send a message to terrorists. All in all an effective spin on a pathetic situation.

But what happened?

Engle had assured him the Chinese wanted to help, reiterating to them privately that his new government would pursue a more cooperative policy. But the assassin had not been Middle Eastern, or even foreign, as he’d expected. Instead the man was clearly German, and that presented a dire problem. Surely an investigation would reveal some connection with the new right. Cities, towns, and villages were filled with thousands of similarly angry young men. To some their radical ideas were popular, but they frightened many others. He worried that he could become involved by association, since he’d yet to openly denounce any of the extremist organizations. He couldn’t—they formed a large part of his support. He might actually be forced to take a stance that could alienate his political base, and no amount of spin by his consultants could unring that bell.

He shook his head.

What a truly horrible situation.

How had his position deteriorated to this? Two months ago he was riding high. Just a few days ago, after Eisenhuth’s Dachau fiasco, his poll numbers were climbing. Now everything seemed in jeopardy.

The door to the room opened and Josef Engle entered.

“What in God’s name happened?” he asked his associate, trying to remain calm.

Engle sat in the chair across from him. “Apparently the Chinese used the opportunity we gave them to take down both you and Eisenhuth. I can only assume because of our reluctance to initially recruit their support, they made a better deal with one of the other parties. With both you and the chancellor crippled, a third option now might seem more attractive to the electorate. I’ve just learned that the assassin was a member of the Conservative Aryan Party.”

He winced at the mention. Definitely domestic. And a problem. The group had been linked to several unsolved bombings. “I thought the Chinese wanted a friend in the German government?”

“They do. Just not you or her. They have apparently decided to turn elsewhere.”

He shook his head. “And you suspected none of that when you made arrangements with them?”

“They seemed quite enthusiastic to help. How was I to know they were lying.”

“You don’t get it, do you? That dead bastard lying at the foot of the altar in Hildesheim is not an immigrant. He’s a German.”

“It was you who ordered an immediate move. I would have waited. Speed lacks careful thought and generates too much risk. There was no time to ferret out any deception from the Chinese.”

“I should have shot you yesterday.”

Engle said nothing, and his silence was irritating.

“Tomorrow, I’ll attack her with the money from Hitler’s Bounty, but that won’t be enough to counter the sympathy. Attacking her further might even spur more popular sentiment her way. She could spin the money transfers as a fake plot from the right. More of their attacks on her, combined with the assassination attempt. The Chinese may not have wanted her to keep the chancellorship, but they may have just handed it to her. What about Austria? Were Schüb and the American there? Are they dead?”

“I have received no report.”

He canted forward in the chair. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I have heard nothing.”

He forced himself to breathe deeply, controlling his rage. Anger was not going to be productive.

The house phone on the far table interrupted the silence.

Engle stepped over and answered, speaking in a hushed tone. His associate hung up and said, “Kurt Eisenhuth is downstairs.”

He shook his head. “Just what I need.”

“What do you want me to do?”

An idea formed in his head. It came quick and made immediate sense.

He faced Engle.

“Go get the fool.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Cotton shifted in the seat and tapped the helicopter pilot on the shoulder. They were somewhere over southeastern Germany vectoring northwest toward Theodor Pohl’s Hessian castle.

“Patch him through,” he said into the headset.

Danny Daniels was on the radio with a direct feed.

He glanced at his watch: 11:20 P.M.

From his call nearly two hours ago, Danny had arranged for the Austrian Air Force to dispatch a chopper and transport them wherever they wanted to go. They’d had little time to talk, other than to make the arrangements, and he knew Daniels would now want details.