Eden's Gate Read Online Free Page B

Lincoln’s driver’s seat and Baumann shut the door.
    â€œAre you in the Rover?” Frannie asked.
    â€œRight,” Lane said. He broke the connection and slipped the phone in his jacket pocket. Baumann came over and got in the passenger seat as Speyer took off.
    â€œWhat do we do now?”
    â€œWe’re going back up to Center Street where we can pick up Highway Two. That’ll take us out of town, and give us some time to figure out what you’re up to.”
    â€œWhat about the cops?”
    Baumann pressed his earpiece a little closer. “They’re still busy at the hotel.” He was receiving police frequencies in the earpiece.
    Lane started the car and pulled out. By the time they reached the highway a half-dozen blocks west of town the Lincoln was nowhere
to be seen. Traffic was very light. The sirens behind them had finally stopped.
    â€œYou were told to stay at the hotel. Why didn’t you?”
    â€œI didn’t want to get arrested.”
    â€œWhy not? You said you didn’t have a record, and Willy would have backed up your self-defense story. In a few days you’d have been in the clear.”
    â€œThe gun I’m carrying isn’t registered, and it doesn’t have a serial number, for starts.”
    â€œLet’s see it,” Baumann demanded.
    â€œNot a chance in hell,” Lane told him. “At least not until I’m someplace that I consider safe.”
    The highway went east past the fairgrounds back into town, crossing Main Street a few blocks noth of the hotel. The crowds were thick downtown, but there were no signs of the police.
    â€œYou said that you worked for South African Intelligence?”
    â€œThat’s right, until about five years ago.”
    â€œWho was your boss?”
    â€œRoger deKlerk, and he was a dumb son of a bitch.”
    Baumann’s lips pursed. “What brought you to the States?”
    â€œI had a job in Vienna, and when it was over I had a choice of going to South America or coming here. I chose here.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSeemed like the right thing to do at the time.” He took out a cigarette and lit it without offering one to Baumann. “I don’t like being crowded.” He laughed. “And this is virgin territory, isn’t it? Ripe with opportunities and all that?”
    â€œWho was the old man?” Baumann asked.
    â€œThat one will wait until I can talk to your boss. I think he’ll be interested in making a deal.”
    â€œWhy did you come to Kalispell?”
    â€œI was following … the old man.”
    â€œWhat was he doing here?”
    â€œWhat, are you dense or something? He came here to find Speyer and kill him. And he damn near succeeded.”
    They crossed the Stillwater River, a couple of fishermen on its banks, as they headed toward the airport. A Delta jetliner was just coming in for a landing.
    â€œAnd you just happened to be there in the bar, hustling the captain’s wife, when all this happens,” Baumann said. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

    â€œFor Christ’s sake, you dumb kraut, the old man was Meyer Goldstein. He used to work for the Wiesenthal Center in Vienna as a special investigator.”
    â€œSo that story about his wife and children at the Wall was a lie?”
    â€œI don’t know. But Speyer was high on Goldstein’s list because your boss helped hide some old SS officers with ties to the KGB in trade for Nazi gold left over from the war. It’s what financed your move here, I expect. The Wiesenthal Center wanted to get its hands not only on those guys, but on what they figured was a major stash that Speyer might know something about. But Goldstein got unhinged and he wanted the past buried. Most of his family was gassed in the Holocaust, and he wanted to put an end to it.”
    â€œYou said he tried to kill you.”
    Lane shrugged. “I lied. I followed Goldstein who