Marten was there because Hap had asked him to be—because he had been with the president all the way from Barcelona and in that time he might have glimpsed a face in passing he would recognize here. Maybe one of Foxx's people from Montserrat or someone he had seen with Foxx or Beck or Demi in Malta or even on the television monitors inside the church at Aragon. It was a reach at best but it was better than nothing.
"Damn it," Hap snapped as the photos whirred by, "we have no idea who the hell we're looking for."
"I hope I'm wrong about the whole thing," Marten said. "I hope nothing comes up."
"Hap," Bill Strait said suddenly. "Everyone admitted to the grounds will have had a background check, otherwise they wouldn't have been given security credentials. Ninety percent were invited to the original summit in Warsaw which means the security checks on them would have been extensive. The remaining ten percent are here mainly because of the last minute change of location. Background checks on them would be less thorough simply because of the time factor."
"You're right. Let's isolate those sixty, seventy-odd people. Go over them in particular."
• 12:20 P.M.
Victor moved readily past a row of old stone buildings and toward a stand of budding trees that partially concealed a long run of what looked like original death camp concrete-post-and-barbed-wire security fence.
• 12:30 P.M.
Photograph after photograph whirred past Hap, Marten, and Bill Strait. So far they had seen no one who would give them pause, no one at all who seemed questionable or whom they might have seen before. Still, they had no choice but to keep on. In thirty minutes the president would step to the podium. If someone was out there, they had to find him.
• 12:35 P.M.
Victor moved through high grass toward a small pond twenty yards away.
"Testing. One, two. Testing. One, two."
In the distance he could hear the voice of a technical engineer testing the podium's sound system.
"Testing. One, two. Testing. One, two."
Victor smiled as he reached the edge of the pond and skirted around behind it. For some reason he had felt no emotion until now. He'd been calm all the way from Warsaw. Calm through the security check. Calm as he'd walked past the satellite trucks on the way to retrieve the tripod case with the M14 inside. Calm, even when he'd been challenged by a guard dog team; readily showing his ID, even patting one of the dogs on the head. Calm as he picked up the tripod moments later and walked away with it toward the woods. It was only now as he heard them testing the sound system that he felt his adrenaline come up. It was why he had smiled. This was not only dangerous, it was fun.
171
• UNITED STATES EMBASSY, LONDON, 11:45 A.M.
(12.45 P.M. in AUSCHWITZ)
Three large black SUVs, their windows tinted, turned off Park Lane onto Grosvenor Street and a moment later turned onto the embassy grounds on Grosvenor Square.
Immediately they were surrounded by an armed squad of United States Marines in dress uniform. A moment later the doors to the lead and tail cars opened and a half dozen special agents of the United States Secret Service stepped out. In a heartbeat they opened the doors to the third SUV. Special Agent Roland Sandoval stepped out first, followed immediately and in silence by Vice President Hamilton Rogers; Secretary of Defense Terrence Langdon; Secretary of State David Chaplin; Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Chester Keaton; and lastly by presidential Chief of Staff Tom Curran.
Surrounded by Marines and Secret Service agents the group entered the embassy building, the doors closed behind them and the SUVs drove off. The entire operation took less than a minute, beginning to end.
• AUSCHWITZ, U.S. SECRET SERVICE COMMAND POST. 12:47 P.M.
"This man here," Bill Strait suddenly snapped out loud.
Both Hap and Marten turned to look at Strait's computer screen. On it he had the photograph and AP Press credentials of VICTOR YOUNG. "He was in the Ritz in Madrid the night the president vanished," Strait said. "He tried to get up to the fourth floor. It seemed to be a mistake, he said he was just a tourist waiting for friends. We had him on security cameras and studied him later and decided he was no risk."
"You sure it's him?" Hap said.
"Not exactly but pretty damn close."
"I've seen him too," Marten was staring at the screen. "He passed me in a car in Washington the night Dr. Stephenson shot herself."
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Get this photo to every security team!" Hap snapped at a special agent standing behind him. "We're going out, now!"
• 12:48 P.M.
Unnoticed by the invited guests or the media, two hundred Secret Service agents from Poland, the U.S., Germany, and France fanned out as unobtrusively as possible searching for one Victor Young, a possible phantom sniper carrying an M14.
• 12:50 P.M.
President Harris, German Chancellor Bohlen, French President Géroux and Polish President Roman Janicki huddled with the leaders of the other twenty-three NATO countries in the large tent from which they would make their public entrance in less than seven minutes.
"Mr. President," Hap came in fast, "May I see you for a moment please?"
The president excused himself and stepped away.
"Mr. President, we have a security breach. A lone man. We think he's a sniper. I want to postpone the event."
"Sniper?"
"Yes, sir."
"But you're not sure."
"A hundred percent, no."
"Hap, we've got the world watching on television. We have the Congress in special session waiting for us. We've already changed venue because of security concerns. We postpone this now, we show the entire world how vulnerable we are even under a security blanket as tight as this. Hap, we can't do it. I'll have to trust that you'll find your man or you'll find you've made a mistake and there's no one at all." The president looked at his watch. "We go out in four minutes, Hap."
"Mr. President, let me ask you for a compromise. Live television coverage has already begun. At 12:55 let me put out the word there has been an equipment problem and there will be a short delay until it's fixed. In the meantime the TV anchors can ad-lib or play video of your earlier tour through the camp. Give us a little time, please."
"Then you do think this person is out there."
"Yes, sir, I do."
"You have your compromise."
• 12:55 P.M.
Victor moved on his stomach to edge up through the high grass at the edge of the pond, then lifted the rifle and sighted down it. Four hundred yards away through trees he saw the podium. Just as his instructions had said he would.
From them he knew too that the president of Poland would speak for three minutes and that during that time the chancellor of Germany, the president of the United States, and the president of France would line up shoulder to shoulder behind him—and in that order, which was fortunate because the chancellor was shorter than the men. From his ground angle his shot would be elevated and would strike Anna Bohlen in the lower jaw before hitting President Harris just below his right ear, and then carry through his skull and into that of the president of France.
He inched forward to make his view a little clearer, then waited. It was only minutes now—seconds, really—before they came out and took their places. One shot and he was done. Afterward he would simply leave the weapon and walk away, then rejoin the press corps in the chaos. He would linger there in the crowd, then slip out through the media gate and walk down the road past a long line of parked cars to where the taxi would be waiting.
Dogs. Why did he hear dogs?
172
• 12:57 P.M.
His heart pounding, Victor slid back in the grass. The dogs were barking, coming in his direction from the far side of the pond. Over the loudspeakers he heard someone speak in English and then Polish:
"There is a short delay because of technical problems. Please bear with us for a few moments."
> Technical problems? Oh Lord! He'd been found out!
Panicked, he looked behind him. All he saw was the old security fencing and the trees behind it. The barking got louder. In front of him was the pond; to his right, more fencing that melded into the trees and seemed to go on forever. To his left was the old crematorium. In between was a hundred yards of open land. He had no option but to go to his right. Then he remembered a secondary plan that had been in the instructions the taxi driver had given him. A quarter mile beyond the high grass on the far side of the pond were the ruins of old barracks that were now little more than a graveyard of concrete foundations and still-standing chimneys. Among those was a dilapidated stone-and-wood building where the Nazis had stored wagons to haul the dead to the crematory. Hidden in a back corner under some old planking would be food and water, a cell phone, and an automatic pistol. If all things failed, that was where he had been directed to hide and where he would be contacted.
The barking was louder and more intense—the dogs were closing. Somewhere off he heard the sound of a helicopter starting up.
"Leave the rifle. Get rid of your scent. Get rid of your clothes," he said out loud, and in a burst stood up and ran low through tall grass for the cover of the pond.
Then he was at the water's edge. A pudgy, white middle-aged man, pulling off his shoes and socks and throwing off the rest of his clothes. His AP identification and security passes went with them. In seconds he was in the water swimming for the far bank. Where was Richard? Who was Richard? It made no difference. This was the end, he knew it. He didn't have a chance.
• 1:03 P.M.
"We've got the weapon and his clothes," a special agent's voice crackled simultaneously over Secret Service headsets.
Marten was running with the other agents, a 9mm Sig Sauer that Hap had tossed him as they left the command post in his hand. Ahead they saw the pond and the barking, howling dogs stopped at the edge of it. Bill Strait was in front of him gripping a machine pistol and running flat out. Suddenly he cut right toward the far side of the pond and what looked like the ruins of old barracks some distance behind it.
Marten veered right, following Strait and away from the agents running in front of him. Strait was alone. If he got into trouble he was by himself.
Fifty yards ahead Strait jumped a small stream and kept on. Lungs on fire, Marten followed. In seconds he was at the stream and over it. For a moment he lost Strait. Didn't know where he had gone. Then he saw him, charging down an overgrown gravel path toward the ruined barracks.
Strait glanced back, then said something into his headset, and ran on with a renewed burst of speed.
Marten hit the gravel pathway still fifty yards behind him. As he did, his feet slid out from under him and he went down. As quickly he recovered and was up and running. Closing now, forty yards, thirty.
Ahead he saw Strait stop at a dilapidated stone-and-wood building. Then, machine pistol up, carefully move to a partially open door.
"Bill, wait!" Marten yelled.
Strait either didn't hear him or ignored him, because in the next instant he slipped through the door and disappeared from sight.
Two seconds, three, and Marten was there, right outside. There was an abrupt, very brief exchange of voices inside, then came the dull, sharp spit of machine-pistol fire.
"Christ," Marten breathed. Sig Sauer up, he ducked low and went in through the door.
Strait swung the machine pistol in reaction as he came in.
"Don't shoot!" Marten yelled.
Sweating, breathing hard, Strait stared at him for the longest moment, then lowered the gun and nodded toward the rear of the building. The body of a naked middle-aged man lay against the old stone foundation. A .45 automatic was in one hand, the rest of him a bullet-riddled composite of flesh, blood, and bone.
"Victor Young," Strait said. "He the man you saw in Washington?"
Marten walked over and knelt down just as a half dozen special agents came through the door. Marten studied him for a moment, then stood and looked at Strait.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it's him."
Strait nodded, then made an adjustment on his headset. "Hap, it's Bill," he said into it. "We got him. I think it's safe to let the show go on."
173
Marten handed the Sig Sauer to Bill Strait, then moved past the other agents and went back outside. Sun had broken through the clouds here and there, painting the land and buildings with an extraordinary soft white light. It seemed a terrible thing to use the word "beautiful" to describe a place like this, but for the moment it was, and Marten had the sense that despite what had just happened, with the gathering of so many divergent people here that perhaps, and once and for all, a healing had begun.
In the distance he heard the voice of the Polish president resonate through the loudspeakers as he began his welcoming speech and then introduced President Harris.
Abruptly he pushed past a wave of Polish and U.S. Secret Service agents and walked toward the seating area in front of the podium. The president had wanted him there and close by where he could see him. He picked up his pace. Crossing near the pond, he was suddenly aware of the miles of still-standing barbed-wire fence that despite the beauty of the day seemed as ominous now as it must have been seventy years earlier. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the healing had not begun at all.
"President Janicki, Madam Chancellor, Mr. President," President Harris's amplified voice floated across the land, "my fellow NATO representatives, honored guests and members of the United States Congress in Washington, and those watching on television around the world. I have come here today as one of you, a citizen of this planet, and as such feel it my duty as both that citizen and president of the United States to share with you some facts that have come to light in the last few days and hours.
"As you know, this convening of the leaders of NATO member countries was to have taken place in Warsaw. Because of a raised security threat it was suggested the meeting be postponed entirely. After discussion with the member countries it was decided we would meet as planned. The change of location was my idea, and after further dialogue the membership concurred. The choice of Auschwitz was not made at random. It is where millions of people were brought against their will and summarily slaughtered by one of the most heinous, genocidal terrorist organizations in modern history."
Marten turned a corner to walk between aging stone buildings. Ahead he could see the president at the podium, while the NATO leaders stood on the platform behind him, the flags of their twenty-six countries fluttering in the breeze. The sniper teams were still clearly in view on the rooftops. Polish commandos wearing flak jackets and carrying automatic weapons stood guarding the area's perimeter, while inside it hundreds of plainclothes Secret Service agents circulated and watched the crowd.
"In the past week," the president continued, his voice exceedingly clear through the banks of loudspeakers, "the existence of another terrorist organization, as heinous and genocidal as the one under Adolf Hitler, has been exposed and its leadership crushed."
Marten reached the gathering and moved to stand under a tree near the front. As he did he saw the president pause and glance his way and nod ever so slightly. Marten nodded back.
"This group, which we have temporarily and simply called 'The Covenant' represents no single nation, or religion, or race, except its own. It has a membership of highly privileged criminals embedded in political, military, and economic institutions around the world, and, if allegations prove true, have been for centuries. This may sound impossible, something out of fantasy, even absurd. I assure you it is not. In the past days I have personally witnessed their terror firsthand. I have seen the results of their human experiments. I have seen bodies and body parts hidden away in secret laboratories in old mining tunnels in Spain. I have seen them take a people's deepest religious beliefs and manipulate them to serve their own ideals in the form of heinous rituals where human beings are burned alive like witches at the stake in an elaborate ceremo
ny that is the highlight of their so-called 'annual meeting.'
"Last week I was thought to have been spirited out of a hotel in Madrid and taken to an 'undisclosed location' for my own safety because of a 'very credible terrorist threat.' In a way that is true, it was a terrorist threat, but it came from members of my own inner circle. People at the highest levels of power in the American government, people I have known as my best friends and advisers for years. These people demanded I break the laws of the United States and the oath of office of the presidency. I refused to do so. I was not taken to an undisclosed location, I fled those people. I fled them not only because they threatened my life, but because they and their cohorts in Europe and elsewhere around the world were preparing to unleash a massive genocide against the Middle Eastern states, the scope of which has never before been seen in history.
"Yesterday I asked for and received the resignations of the following: Vice President of the United States Hamilton Rogers; Secretary of State David Chaplin; Secretary of Defense Terrence Langdon; Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, United States Air Force General Chester Keaton; White House Chief of Staff Tom Curran. I have been informed that in the past hour they all have been taken into federal custody at the United States embassy in London. They have been charged with suspicion of membership in a terrorist organization and with high treason against the people and government of the United States.
"Concurrently I have been informed that similar arrests are underway in Germany and France. It is too early in our investigations to say more except that we anticipate that the detention of prominent persons in other countries will follow.