“We’re less than three kilometers away,” said Estermann.
“Youdoremember what will happen if you try to warn him?”
“You’ll drop me down a deep hole.”
Gabriel returned Estermann’s phone. “Place the call in speaker mode.”
Estermann dialed. The phone rang unanswered. “He’s not picking up.”
“I have a suggestion.”
“What’s that?”
“Call him again.”
45
Obersalzberg, Bavaria
Jonas Wolf was not a regular watcher of television. He regarded it as the true opiate of the masses and the source of the West’s drift into hedonism, secularism, and moral relativism. On that morning, however, he had switched on the news in his comfortable study at eleven fifteen, expecting to see the first reports of a major terrorist attack at Cologne’s historic cathedral. Instead, he had learned that a truck bomb had been discovered at a remote compound in western Germany and that a former Austrian police officer with known ties to the extreme right had been taken into custody.Die Welthad linked the man to the bombings in Berlin and Hamburg and, more ominously, to Axel Brünner and the National Democratic Party. The attacks were purportedly part of a ruthless operation by Brünnerand the far right to inflame the German electorate on the eve of the general elections.
For now, at least, Wolf’s name had not been mentioned in the coverage of the unfolding scandal. He doubted he would escape scrutiny for long. But how had the Bundespolizei learned of the compound in Grosshau in the first place? And how had the reporter atDie Welttied the bombings to Brünner’s campaign so quickly? Wolf had but one suspect.
Gabriel Allon...
It was for that reason Wolf did not answer the first call he received from Andreas Estermann’s iPhone. Now was not the time, he thought, to be talking to an accomplice who was calling from a cellular device. But when Estermann rang a second time, Wolf lifted the receiver hesitantly to his ear.
Estermann’s voice sounded an octave higher than normal. It was the voice, thought Wolf, of a man under obvious duress. It seemed a member of the Order who still worked for the BfV had warned Estermann that he and Wolf were about to be arrested in connection with the bombings. Estermann was approaching the estate with several of his men. He wanted Wolf to be downstairs when he arrived. He had already instructed Platinum Flight Services, the fixed-base operator at Salzburg Airport, to prepare one of the Gulfstreams for departure. A flight plan had been filed for Moscow. They would be airborne in less than an hour. Wolf was to bring his passport and as much cash as he could fit in a single briefcase.
“And the gospel, Herr Wolf. Whatever you do, don’t leave it behind.”
The connection went dead. Wolf replaced the receiver andraised the volume of the television. A pack of reporters had cornered Brünner outside NDP headquarters in Berlin. His denials of involvement in the bombings had all the credibility of a murderer pleading his innocence while clutching a bloody knife in his hand.
Wolf muted the volume. Then he reached for the phone and rang Otto Kessler, the general manager of Platinum Flight Support. After an exchange of pleasantries, Wolf asked if his plane was ready for departure.
“Which plane, Herr Wolf?”
“A man from my company was supposed to have called you.”
Kessler assured Wolf that no one had contacted him. “You won’t have a problem getting a departure slot, though. There’s only one other private aircraft leaving this afternoon.”
“And who might that be?” asked Wolf indifferently.
“Martin Landesmann.”
“TheMartin Landesmann?”
“It’s his plane, but I’m not sure he’ll be on board. It was empty when it arrived.”
“Where is it going?”
“Tel Aviv, with a brief stop in Rome.”
Gabriel Allon...
“And what time is Landesmann scheduled to depart?” asked Wolf.
“Two o’clock, weather permitting. The snow is forecast to worsen later this afternoon. We’ve been told to expect a complete ground stop sometime around four.”
