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The Charlemagne Pursuit

ISBN: , SKU: , AUTHOR: Berry, Steve, PUBLISHER: Hodder & Stoughton General Division, ONE Garmisch, Germany Tuesday, December 11, The Present 1:40 pm Cotton Malone hated enclosed spaces. His current unease was amplified by a packed cable car. Most of the passengers were on vacation, dressed in colorful garb, shouldering poles and skis. He sensed a variety of nationalities. Some Italians, a few Swiss, a handful of French, but mainly Germans. He'd been one of the first to climb aboard and, to relieve his discomfort, he'd made his way close to one of the frosty windows. Ten thousand feet above and closing, the Zugspitze stood silhouetted against a steel- blue sky, the imposing gray summit draped in a late- autumn snow. Not smart, agreeing to this location. The car continued its giddy ascent, passing one of several steel tres-tles that rose from the rocky crags. He was unnerved, and not simply from the crowded surroundings. Ghosts awaited him atop Germany's highest peak. He'd avoided this rendezvous for nearly four decades. People like him, who buried their past so determinedly, should not help it from the grave so easily. Yet here he was, doing exactly that. Vibrations slowed as the car entered, then stopped at the summit station. Skiers flooded off toward another lift that would take them down to a high- altitude corrie, where a chalet and slopes waited. He didn't ski, never had, never wanted to. He made his way through the visitor center, identified by a yellow placard as MYncher Haus. A restaurant dominated one half of the building, the rest housed a theater, a snack bar, an observatory, souvenir shops, and a weather station. He pushed through thick glass doors and stepped out onto a railed terrace. Bracing Alpine air stung his lips. According to Stephanie Nelle his contact should be waiting on the observation deck. One thing was obvious. Ten thousand feet in the high Alps certainly added a height-ened measure of privacy to their meeting. The Zugspitze lay on the border. A succession of snowy crags rose south toward Austria. To the north spanned a soup- bowl valley ringed by rock- ribbed peaks. A gauze of frosty mist shielded the German vil-lage of Garmisch and its companion, Partenkirchen. Both were sports meccas, and the region catered not only to skiing but also bobsledding, skating, and curling. More sports he'd avoided. The observation deck was deserted save for an elderly couple and a few skiers who'd apparently paused to enjoy the view. He'd come to solve a mystery, one that had preyed on his mind ever since that day when the men in uniforms came to tell his mother that her husband was dead. ""Contact was lost with the submarine forty- eight hours ago. We dispatched search and rescue ships to the North Atlantic, which have combed the last known position. Wreckage was found six hours ago. We waited to tell the families until we were sure there was no chance of survivors." " His mother had never cried. Not her way. But that didn't mean she wasn't devas

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