Donovan and de Waha stared out the Congo Museum window. Still, no word of Maccabee and Stahl. No sighting, no scrap of information, no wisp of hope. Each time the phone rang, Donovan stopped breathing and expected the worst.
For good reason. Stahl knew that Maccabee’s description was now in the media and with every police officer in Europe. She was a neon albatross around his neck. He had to ditch her. The question was alive or dead.
And dead was way smarter.
The phone rang. De Waha answered.
When Donovan saw de Waha’s face relax, Donovan relaxed.
De Waha hung up.
“Seven leaders are airborne. The eighth is taking off now.”
Donovan nodded. The leaders were safe and no longer his responsibility. “Any news on Stahl’s Opel?”
“Still searching.”
“I think he switched to another car in the forest.”
“Makes sense.”
Donovan stared out the window and saw the wind pushing small whitecaps across the museum’s reflecting pool. Fat black clouds looking like slabs of lead had muscled in from the west. Rain was coming. So was night. Two big advantages for Stahl.
The speakerphone crackled. “Sir, we’ve triangulated Maccabee’s cell phone to a vehicle that just turned off the E19 heading toward Nivelles. We’re minutes away from stopping he vehicle.”
Donovan’s hope rebounded. Stahl had not found the phone or removed its battery. Somehow, she’d hidden the phone from Stahl.
De Waha hung up and turned to Donovan. “You think Stahl will stick to his original escape plan?”
“Probably.”
“Let him try! Every border guard has his photo.”
“Which he doesn’t resemble now.”
“We also gave guards his latest description.”
“Which changes by the hour. The man’s a chameleon.”
De Waha nodded.
“Your airports are ready?”
“Yes. All airport personnel are checking passengers very closely. So are security officers in train and bus stations, the ferries, Hovercrafts and the Chunnel to England. We’ve tripled the officers in each departure lounge. Everyone has a description of Maccabee’s clothing. And her Palace Dinner ID photo is being e-mailed to everyone.”
“Good.”
“We’ve also started stopping vehicles and checking the passengers at our borders crossings to Holland, France and Germany.”
“But Stahl will have a new fake passport, probably one we’ve never seen before. And a disguise that matches the new passport photo.”
De Waha nodded. “At least Maccabee will have her passport.”
“No, she won’t… ”
“What?”
“She told me she locked hers in the hotel room safe.”
De Waha frowned. “Stahl may not be worried about a border crossing, since the borders are non-stop Schengen Border crossings. He assumes he will just drive through.
“But if he sees a backup at the crossing, and sees customs officers demanding to see passports, he may decide to not risk crossing, especially if Maccabee doesn’t have her passport.”
De Waha nodded.
“I think they’ll walk into Germany… or France or Holland.”
“But our military personnel and choppers will soon be patrolling the borders.”
De Waha’s phone rang and he hit the speaker button.
“Sir, we’ve just found Maccabee’s phone.”
“Is she - ?” Donovan shouted.
“She’s not here, sir. Stahl tossed her phone in the bed of a trash hauler.”
Donovan slumped back down. Back to nothing.
De Waha looked equally frustrated. His brow lines seemed deeper, his eyes tighter, and a small tic fluttered his cheek. If Stahl escaped, Jean would be criticized heavily for the escape and the explosion, and probably forced into early retirement.
Me too, Donovan thought, since the explosion happened on our watch. The fact that we tried to cancel the Congo Museum tour several times would be conveniently forgotten. Scapegoats were needed.
“Think he’s heading to Germany?” de Waha said.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“He seems to be based there. His car is registered there. The Sumerian messages came from Dusseldorf. And Herr Rutten lived in nearby Cologne.”
De Waha nodded.
“What about private aircraft?” Donovan asked.
“Grounded until we check crew and passengers.”
“Commercial trucks?”
“Being checked at the border crossings.”
“Being inspected, car-by-car, at the stations.”
“Baggage cars, too?”
“Yes.”
“Post office trains?”
“Yes.”
“Canal barges?”
De Waha froze, turned and stared at Donovan. “Merde! I forgot! Our canals take you everywhere.”
“To Germany?”
“Yes. Or the Atlantic, or France or even down to the Mediterranean.”
“But canal barges are slow… ”
“Speed limit is only about four knots-per-hour. All the more reason he may think we would not check them.”
“Can pleasure craft travel faster?”
“Only in unrestricted areas.”
“Stahl might have assumed we’d never consider a canal escape.”
“And he’d be right!” De Waha grabbed his phone and ordered all canal boats checked.
As soon as he hung up, the phone rang. He hit the speaker button.
“Sir, we’ve found the Opel Insignia.”
“Where?”
“In the Forêt de Soignes off Avenue de Tervuren. On its front seat we found a hand-sized TV and a cell phone, the probable detonator.”
“Anything else?”
Pause. “Yes sir. Bodies.”
Donovan’s heart stopped.
“Woman and man shot in the head.”
“Does the woman have dark hair?” Donovan asked.
“Dark with blood. But she’s a blonde. Blue eyes. The man, about thirty-five, had a diabetic tag around his neck. His name is Phillipe Van Halle. Vehicle Records says Van Halle drives a new red BMW Series Berline. We just put out a BOLO for the car.”
“Find that damn car fast!” De Waha said.
Donovan’s hope grew. They had a car to search for, a car that Stahl didn’t know they knew about. Still, Stahl had gained valuable time, and Donovan knew there were a slew of BMWs in the country.
“Sir… ”
“Yes… ?”
“Hang on a second… ”
They waited.
“We just found something else in the forest.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Just a moment, sir.”
They waited some more.
“Sir, it’s a woman’s scarf.”
Donovan’s heart started pounding. “What color?”
“Purple and red with white flowers.”
“It’s Maccabee’s!”
Long pause. “Sir…
“Yes… ?”
“There’s a lot of blood on it.”