The Zurich Conspiracy

underestimated the distance. Or their watches weren’t synchronized.
    There’s sure to be a simple explanation. He’ll pop up any minute now, apologize a hundred times, and beam at her as he announces he’s found the second exit , Josefa told herself, packing up her rucksack.
    Monday, February 10
    J.R. left Hotel Des Anges in Crans Saturday morning five a.m. P.T. also. He spent one night there, she five. Separate rooms. P.T. registered in hotel with own car. Three dripstone caves in area. One open to public, second closed. Third only accessible to scientists. H. Meyer says she found out that P.T. went through third cave last year with Charles Favre, scientist at Lausanne Uni. Lausanne colleagues en route. Search party forming.
    Waiting for transcript of P.H. questioning in London.
    It was perfectly still. Deafeningly still. Only the spattering of drops could be heard. Then the terrifying silence again.
    Josefa sat immobilized. Just don’t make a sound. Just listen and see if you hear something. Somewhere .
    Her bones hurt. Or was it her muscles? Everything felt clammy. Clammy and cold. She tried to stand up, move around. But her body didn’t obey. She held her arms around her shivering legs. She felt cramped, all pressed together.
    How cold it is!
    She’d been waiting for Pius for two hours now. She didn’t believe there was some delay or misunderstanding anymore. She’d stopped thinking that something happened to Pius. She was too angry for that, too desperate. Pius had left her here intentionally. There was no other explanation.
    Her carbide lamp was still burning, but for how long? And her water supply was limited. She wasn’t hungry, just miserable and scared.
    The horrible feeling of being abysmally lost.
    She’d experienced it once before. Way back when—on a hike in the mountains with her father. The mountain wasn’t very high. They’d almost reached the top when the weather abruptly changed. An ice-cold wind was blowing right through their clothes. It was even more unpleasant at the top. The wind was so biting that it was a struggle just to get food out of the rucksack in spite of her hunger. Josefa was overcome by a feeling of overwhelming hopelessness. When her father asked, “Something the matter, Josefa?” she began to cry bitterly. Herbert Rehmer, clueless as ever, could only reply, “You managed to do it; now it’s downhill all the way.”
    It was exactly that feeling of absolute abandonment that was lurking in every crevice. Any moment now it would creep out and attack her. At any moment, as soon as her resistance—her last spark of confidence—was extinguished.
    Josefa had quickly rejected the thought of going back by herself. She would get hopelessly lost in this labyrinth. She would wait here until…what?
    Nobody knew where she was except Pius. She’d told Helene and Esther about this expedition to the cave, but how long before her friends would start to think something was wrong? When would they inform the police? And how would they know where to look?
    It was the darkness she feared the most, though. How long would her lamp keep burning?
    She rehearsed her last conversation with Pius again and again. She had the crazy idea that she could find a clue in their exchange of words—something that she’d missed. Maybe he’d communicated something to her that might mean her rescue. Or he’d let on that he wasn’t about to come back.
    She reached for his rucksack—at least he hadn’t taken that with him. It had a water bottle, two energy bars, and a foil emergency blanket. She wrapped the warm blanket around her.
    Had he told somebody he was going to this cave? Had he created a safety net? Had he told his friends? But who were “his friends” anyway? Who did he spend his free time with? She knew so little about him. He had his colleagues at Loyn, and he certainly had some photographer friends. And there was this scientist who showed him the cave…And Joe. Joe was an old buddy of his. Didn’t Pius say that he knew him from their training together?
    That’s odd. Was Joe a photographer once? She couldn’t even conceive of it. He’d worked as a nurse, that’s how she met him… Did Pius train as a nurse as well? She tried to visualize Pius in a white smock. Pius emptying bedpans, washing human bodies, and telling kids they didn’t have to be afraid of needles. It just didn’t fit.
    She saw her father’s syringe lying before her on the desk. Insulin that he had to inject