The Day After Tomorrow

152

FOR NO reason Von Holden was thinking of Scholl and why he’d had the terrible, even murderous, fear of being seen unclothed. There had been rumors—that Scholl had no penis, that it had been severed in some kind of accident during his youth. That he was a true hermaphrodite and had female uterus and breasts as well as a penis, and therefore thought of himself as a freak—

It was Von Holden’s contention that Scholl refused to be seen unclothed because he had a revulsion of any human warmth and that included the human body. The mind and the power of the mind were all that mattered, therefore physical and emotional needs disgusted him even though they remained as much a part of him as of anyone else. Abruptly Von Holden’s reverie passed and he became aware of the trail in front of him and the glacier stretching out for miles to his left.

Looking up, he saw the moon hovering between clouds. Then he saw a shadow move on the cliff above him. Osborn was climbing along the face of the rock! Directly beneath him was a wide ledge. If he saw that and reached it, it would be only moments before he found Von Holden’s tracks in the fresh snow.

Then clouds passed in front of the moon and it became dark again. Looking up, he thought he saw Osborn let go : ‘and drop to the ledge. He still had fifty or more yards to : the air shaft entrance and Osborn, as close as he was, could easily follow his trail. Enough, Von Holden thought. Kill him now and you can take his body into the shaft. No one. will ever find it.

Osborn’s fall to the ledge had knocked the wind out of him, and it took him a long moment to get his senses back. When he did, he came up on one knee and looked down toward where he’d last seen Von Holden. He could just make out the trial along the cliff face but Von Holden was gone. Standing, he was suddenly afraid he’d lost McVey’s gun. But no, it was still there in his waistband. Taking it out, he opened the chamber and turned it so that the hammer and firing pin sat on a live round. Then, with one hand against the rock wall, the gun in the other, he started forward along the ledge.

Von Holden slid the pack from his shoulders and moved into a position where he could clearly see the trail coming down behind him. Then he pulled up the nine-millimeter automatic pistol, eased back and waited.

As Osborn reached the main trail, the ledge suddenly narrowed. As it did, the moon slid out from behind the clouds once more. It was as if someone had put a spotlight on him. Instinctively he dropped to the ground just as a quick burst from some kind of automatic weapon exploded the rock wall where he had been standing. Pieces of rock and ice showered him. Then the moon went away and darkness and silence rushed in with the wind. He had no idea where the shots had come from. Nor had he heard the gun. Which meant Von Holden’s weapon probably had both a silencer and flame suppressor. If Von Holden was above him, or working toward that position, Osborn was wide open. Easing forward on his stomach, he reached the edge and peered over the side. Five feet below him was a rock outcropping. It wasn’t much but it was better protection than he had. Using the darkness for cover, he suddenly stood up, ran, and dove. As he did, he felt something hard slap against his shoulder. If flung him sideways and backward. At the same time he heard a tremendous boom. Then he felt the snow hit him hard in the back, and for an instant everything went black. When he opened his eyes all he could see was the top of the cliff. He smelled gunpowder and realized that his own gun must have gone off. Putting out a hand, he was starting to ease himself up when a shadow stepped into his circle of vision.

It was Von Holden. The rucksack was on his back and an odd-looking pistol was in his hand.

“In the Spetsnaz we were taught to smile at the executioner,” Von Holden said quietly. “It will make you immortal.”

Suddenly Osborn realized he was going to die. And everything that had brought him this far would all end, now, within a matter of seconds. The sad, tragic thing was that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Yet he was still alive and there was the chance Von Holden would give him something before he shot him.

“Why was my father murdered?” he said. “For the scalpel he invented? For the surgery on Elton Lybarger?— Tell me. Please.”

Von Holden smiled arrogantly. “Für Übermorgen,” he said triumphantly. “For the day after tomorrow!”

Suddenly Von Holden looked up as a thundering roar spilled out of the darkness above them. It was like an enormous wind that groaned and screamed as if the earth were literally being torn from itself. The roar became deafening and there was a spray of rock and shale. Then the front wall of the avalanche hit, and both he and Osborn were hurled backward, tossed like dolls over the, trail’s edge. Down they plunged, head over heels, into a narrow and very steep couloir. Once, in midair, as he was turning, Osborn caught sight of Von Holden, his expression unnerved and disbelieving, frozen in some untold horror. Then he was gone. Swept away in a bellowing tide of ice and snow and debris.