Masvidal held the gun but didn’t point it. “Go on.”
“You’re here to attempt to expose what’s going in South America at the hunger conference, aren’t you?”
Masvidal made no response.
“You’ll probably try to do it through diplomats you trust. You’ll set up meetings, tell them everything you know in the hope they will bring these horrible injustices to the conference floor. So to expose the Committee you first have to expose yourself, and that’s when they’ll strike, possibly through the very diplomats you feel you can trust. They’ll strike before you have the opportunity to resort to a more active form of disruption. The reach of the Committee extends everywhere. It’s the way they work.”
“So basically you’re asking me to trust you instead of these diplomats I was planning to utilize,” Masvidal concluded.
“I didn’t give you my gun out of bravery,” the American told him. “I did it out of fear. I’ve escaped them several times myself but my luck won’t hold out much longer. If I don’t get them, they’ll get me. But to get them, I need you … and your people.”
“You already said we’re no match for them.”
“Not on their terms. We must make the terms our own.”
“By raiding their headquarters? Terms that include suicide aren’t acceptable.”
“They won’t be expecting an assault, nor will they be prepared for it. We’ve got to find out the details of the operation they’re about to initiate. I don’t think we can stop it altogether in Austria, but we can at least learn where and when it’s going to start … and why San Sebastian is still important to them.”
“San Sebastian doesn’t exist anymore.”
“There were armed guards down there two days ago, and I need your help in Austria to find out why. It might take an army to defeat them before we’re through.” Dogan paused. “Your army.”
“You’re mad, Grendel.”
“So are they. We start out even.”
Masvidal moved forward and handed Dogan back his gun. His features were softer, more reflective, but equally determined.
“I’ve been fighting this war for years,” he said distantly, “even before the Committee, for as long as I can remember. We started as children, throwing rocks through the windows of capitalist invaders. When armed guards came to scare us off, we attacked them with sticks. Others have always wanted our land for themselves. They deny us an identity. We exist only to serve them. I grew up hating these men for their manipulations but I never feared them.” Again the color drained from Masvidal’s face, flashing only in his long scar. “The Committee frightens me, chills my very soul. They deny us not only identity but also our very lives. They stand against everything I have fought for these long years. I have seen evidence of their work for years but never do they leave more than a shadow for us to pursue. If you can turn that shadow into substance, I will help you any way I can.”
Dogan breathed easier. “How long before you can call up your people?”
“For a trip to Austria, an hour. I have enough to suit our needs right here in Geneva.”
Dogan started for the phone. “Let’s hope we’ve got a target.” He dialed the Du Rhone and asked for Vaslov’s room, dreading the possibility that the Russian’s computers had turned up nothing.
“How nice to hear from you, comrade. I was beginning to think Masvidal had gotten the better of you.”
“We’ve reached a mutual understanding.”
“With good cause, I can now safely say.”
“You found it!”
“Kreuzenstein Castle, comrade. Did you ever doubt me?”
When Locke awoke that morning, Nikki had already showered and dressed.
“We’ve got to get moving,” she told him. “Austria’s a long way away.”
Locke stretched. “Have you made the arrangements?”
She nodded. “We have reservations on a nonstop excursion flight. It should be jam-packed, so it will be easy to hide ourselves.”
“And then?”
“From Vienna, we’ll drive to the castle. Then everything will be made clear for you.”
Locke didn’t press her further. He would let Nikki lead him because he was sick of making the decisions for himself and so far they had got him nowhere. This was her world he had entered. She knew its territory and laws far better than he did. In the dim light of their room with the shades still drawn, she looked suddenly familiar to him. He knew her face, yet he didn’t know it. The spell faded. It was time to get ready to leave.
They ate a quick breakfast and made the long drive to Heathrow, arriving at a peak late-morning time. Their flight was overbooked and delayed, and the gate was much too small to accommodate all the frantic passengers waiting to board. Chris had become quite frantic himself when he remembered his lack of a passport but Nikki swiftly produced one with a different name but his picture. He would have asked her how she managed it if the answer had mattered at all.
They were the last two people to receive seats and had to sit separately, he in the front and she in the back of the plane. That vantage point allowed her to watch for any people watching them. Chris had a seat next to an older man wearing a green porkpie hat who passed the flight doing crossword puzzles. Locke was grateful for his silence. The last thing he felt like was talking.
The plane landed in Vienna over an hour late. Locke rose from his seat, exchanged smiles with his crossword-playing neighbor, and headed out into the aisle after him. Waiting for Nikki inside the plane would make them stand out too much. Just because they had made it safely out of London did not mean Mandala would not have men waiting for them in Vienna.
She passed him as they moved into the terminal and smiled, as if at a stranger. Chris got the message and fell in comfortably behind her. He stayed always within sight as they passed through Customs, and finally caught up outside, crossing into one of several parking lots.
“You’re getting rather good at this,” Nikki said as she led him toward a dark-brown Mercedes. She inspected it very thoroughly to insure it had not been tampered with and, satisfied, she jammed her key in the door.
“How far to the castle?” Locke asked, climbing in.
“Twenty minutes,” Nikki replied. “Far enough.”
When they swept into the semicircular drive before Kreuzenstein, her hands tensed on the wheel.
“The guards,” she uttered breathlessly. “Where are the guards?”
“Maybe they’re—”
The crunching sound of tires spitting gravel buried Locke’s words as Nikki jammed the brake pedal down. She screeched to a halt before a pair of huge doors and sprinted up the heavy granite steps. Chris kept up as best he could, feeling out of place and unwelcome. The doors swung open just before Nikki reached them.
“What happened?” she asked a butler standing just inside.
“It’s bad, miss, very bad,” he reported grimly. “She’s waiting for you. She wouldn’t let the doctor sedate her until she spoke with you.”
Then Nikki was sprinting up the wide, carpeted stairway. Locke followed. He could feel the tension and despair in the air mixing with the ancient rustic-ness of Kreuzenstein itself. They had reached the third floor when Nikki veered to her left down a corridor and entered what looked to be the master bedroom. Chris heard her muttering to herself as she approached a bed containing an old woman propped up on several pillows. A man was moving a stethoscope over her chest.
“You’re just in time,” the doctor reported softly.
“Is he here?” the old woman asked Nikki, grasping blindly for her hand.