Two out, one to go. Even Wulfram couldn’t know that Flicka was with Dieter, not if one of theWelfenlegionmight be a turncoat and kill Wulf on Pierre’s orders in revenge for helping Flicka escape him.
Wulfram said to Dieter, “If she’s alive, we have to find her before Pierre does.”
Wulf had spoken in Alemannic, a Swiss dialect of German. The Monegasques probably wouldn’t be able to understand it if they were listening now or in surveillance footage, later. Germans generally couldn’t understand Alemannic, though the two languages were closely related.
Wulfram asked him, “Do you think he killed her?”
Dieter knew he had to lie again.
Telling Wulfram that terrible lie, that Pierre had probably killed Flicka, would devastate him. Dieter couldn’t imagine the pain of losing his baby daughter, Alina.
But if Dieter did tell him exactly that, if he drove a metaphorical knife through Wulfram’s ribs and sliced through his heart, Wulfram would act as if he thought Flicka were missing and probably dead.
If there was a traitor in theWelfenlegion, that lie might save Wulfram’s life.
And his wife’s.
And his unborn child’s.
But Jesus, thinking that he had lost Flicka would destroy him.
Dieter sighed. “I don’t know,Durchlaucht.You saw the damage to his face.”
Wulfram nodded. “She fought hard.”
“Yeah, she did.” Dieter should have stayed with her the night before. He shouldn’t have let her confront Pierre alone. Guilt drowned him. “I want to look around. Maybe something could tell us where she is.”
Wulfram nodded. “What should we look for?”
“Anything out of place. Anythingwrong.Maybe something is missing that would show us her frame of mind. Like, did she take her passport? Or a credit card? Or her phone charger? If she didn’t take anything like that, then she was fleeing and has nothing with her, in which case we should look in the park near the lake or on the streets around the hotel.”
Wulf nodded. “Let’s look around.”
Dieter stood. “I’ll take the bedroom.”
He strode toward the bedroom, trying to get a few paces ahead of Wulfram.
The door to the bedroom was closed. Dieter shoved it open.
Inside, half the bedclothes were thrown on the floor, and Dieter hesitated as he surveyed the crime scene.
His lighter weighed in his pocket. The impulse seized him to spray lighter fluid on the bed and watch it burn.
But he was already halfway across the room toward the safe, and his hand reached toward the keypad.
Twelve.Enter.
Zero, nine.Enter.
Zero, seven.Enter.
The safe whirred and popped open.
Nothing lay inside.
The strongbox was bare. Nothing but damned dust.
He slammed the steel door.
