The Day After Tomorrow

122

9:15 P.M.

THE ROOM was hushed. Every eye in it followed Elton Lybarger as he walked alone down the beribboned center aisle of Georg Wenzeslaus von Knobelsdorff’s grand rococo creation, the green-marbled, gold-gilded, mesmerizing Golden Gallery. One foot place sturdily before the other. No longer reliant on cane or nurse. Smashingly resplendent in dress, he was aloof, practiced, self-assured. A symbolic monarch of the future passing in exhibition for those who had helped bring him here.

A wave of adoration rose in the chests of Eric and Edward as they sat on the dais and watched him make his way toward the podium. Beside them, Frau Dortmund wept openly, unable to control the emotion that washed over her. Then, in a gesture that swept the room, Uta Baur stood and began to applaud. Across the room, Matthias Noll followed. Then Gertrude Biermann. Hilmar Grunel Henryk Steiner and Konrad Peiper. Margarete Peiper stood to join her husband. Next came Hans Dabritz. And then Gustav Dortmund. And then the rest of the one hundred were on their feet making the tribute unanimous. Lybarger’s eyes swept left to right, smiling, acknowledging as the thunder of their applause shook the room, rising in force as each step brought him closer to the podium in front of them. The pinnacle of achievement was at hand and the ovation for it deafened.

Salettl looked at his watch.

9:19.

That Scholl was not yet back was inexcusable. Looking up, he saw Lybarger reach the podium steps and begin to mount them. As he gained the top and looked out, the acclaim soared, rising in a crescendo that pounded the walls and shook the ceiling. This was the prelude to “Übermorgen.” The beginning of “The Day After Tomorrow.”

Outside, Remmer and Schneider crossed the stone pavement of Charlottenburg’s courtyard. They walked quickly, saying nothing. Ahead of them, a black Mercedes turned in at the gate and was waved through. Stepping aside, they saw the driver stop at the entryway and go inside. Remmer’s first thought was that Scholl was leaving and he hesitated, but then nothing happened. The Mercedes stayed where it was. It could be there for an hour, he thought. Pulling his radio from his jacket, Remmer spoke into it. Then they moved on. Passing the gate, Remmer made deliberate eye contact with the security guards on duty. Both men looked away, and he and Schneider passed unchallenged. As quickly, a dark blue BMW squealed out of traffic and slid to a stop at the curb beside them. The two got in and the car drove off.

If Remmer or Schneider or either of the two BKA detectives in the BMW with them had looked back, they would have seen the palace’s main door open and the driver of the black Mercedes emerge, accompanied not by Scholl or any of the prestigious guests but by Joanna.

Helping her into the rear seat, the driver closed the door and got behind the wheel. Pulling on his seat belt, he started the engine and drove off, circling the courtyard and then turning left on Spandauer Damm, the opposite direction from the way Remmer’s BMW had gone. A moment later the driver saw a silver Volkswagen sedan pull from the curb, make a quick U-turn across traffic, and settle into the lane behind him. So he was being followed. He smiled. He was merely taking her to a hotel. There was no law against that.

Alone in the backseat, Joanna pulled her coat around her and tried not to cry. She didn’t know what had happened, only that Salettl, at the last moment, had sent he away without even giving her a chance to say goodbye to Elton Lybarger. The doctor had entered Lybarger’s room and taken her aside only moments after the police left.

“Your relationship with Mr. Lybarger has ended, Salettl had commanded. He seemed nervous and very jittery. Then in an abrupt turn of character, he became almost kindly. “It’s best for both of you if you think no more about it.” Then he handed her a tiny package that had been wrapped as a gift. “This is for you,” he said “Promise me you won’t open it until you get home.”

Shocked and confused by his abruptness, she vaguely remembered agreeing and thanking him, then absently putting his present in her purse. Her mind had been on Lybarger. They had been together for a long time, and shared a great deal, not all of it entirely pleasant. The least Salettl could have let her do was to wish him well and say goodbye. Gift or not, what he had done had been curt, even rude. But what came next was even worse.

“—I know you expected to spend this last evening with Von Holden,” Salettl said. “Don’t act as if it’s a surprise that I know. Unfortunately, Von Holden will be occupied with duties for Mr. Scholl and will be leaving with him for South America immediately after the dinner.”

“I won’t see him?” She suddenly felt heartsick.

“No.”

She didn’t understand. She was to have spent the night at a Berlin hotel, then fly out to Los Angeles in the morning. Von Holden had said nothing about leaving with Scholl. He was to have come to her after the ceremony at Charlottenburg. The night was to have been theirs together.

“Your things have been packed. A car is waiting downstairs for you. Goodbye, Miss Marsh.”

And that had been that. A security guard had taken her downstairs. And then she was in the car and gone. Turning to look back, she could just see the palace. Barely visible in the thick fog, it slowly faded from sight. It was as if it, and everything she had done leading up to it, Von Holden included, had been a dream. A dream that, like Charlottenburg, simply vanished.

“Hubschrauber” helicopter, Remmer said, cradling the radio against his broken hand. The BMW sped past the Charlottenburg Hospital complex and then, a half mile later, turned abruptly into the dark expanse of Ruhwald park. Two-thirds of the way across it, the BKA detective at the wheel turned out the yellow fog lamps, then abruptly pulled over and stopped. Almost immediately the bright spotlight of a police helicopter illuminated the ground fifty feet away, and with a deafening roar settled down onto the grass. The pilot cut his engine and Schneider got out of the car and ran toward the machine. Ducking under the rotor blades, he opened the door and climbed inside. There was a roar of engine, followed by a storm of blowing grass and dust as the helicopter lifted off. Clearing the tree line, it spun a hundred and eighty degrees to the left and vanished into the night.

From his seat next to the pilot, Schneider could just make out the fog lamps of the BMW as it circled out of the field and turned left toward Charlottenburg Palace. Leaning back, he tightened his shoulder harness, then unbuttoned his coat and lifted out the handkerchief-covered prize he was taking to the fingerprint laboratory at Bad Godesberg: the water glass Elton Lybarger had used to swallow his vitamin pills.