The old man returned her inquisitive stare. "Because exposing Geneva would be only half the story. As soon as we did, we'd be killed; but that's inconsequential. It's the rest."
"The rest?"
"The second half. Who are the Sonnenkinder? What are then- names? Where are they? A master list was made thirty years ago; your brother must have it. It's huge — hundreds of pages — and has to be hidden somewhere. Von Tiebolt would die in fire before revealing its whereabouts. But there has to be another list! A short one — a few pages, perhaps. It's either on his person or near
him. The identities of all those receiving funds. These will be the trusted manipulators of Wolfsschanze. This is the list that can and must be found. You must tell the soldiers of Har Sha'alav to find it. Stop the money and find the list. It's our only hope."
"I'll tell them," said Helden. "They'll find it" She looked away, lost in another thought. "Wolfsschanze. Even the letter written to Noel Holcroft more than thirty years ago — pleading with him, threatening him — was part of it."
"They appealed and threatened in the name of eagles, but their commitment was to animals."
"He couldn't know that."
"No, he couldn't The name 'Wolfsschanze' is awesome, a symbol of bravery. That was the only Wolfsschanze Holcroft could relate to. He had no knowledge of the other Wolfsschanze, the filth. No one did. Save one."
"Herr Oberst?"
"Falkenheim, yes."
"How did he escape?"
"By the most basic of coincidences. A confusion of identities." Gerhardt walked to the fireplace and prodded the logs with a poker. "Among the giants of Wolfsschanze was the commander of the Belgian sector, Alexander von Falkenhausen. Falkenhausen, Falkenheim. Klaus Falkenheim had left East Prussia for a meeting in Berlin. When the assassination attempt failed, Falkenhausen somehow managed to reach Falkenheim by radio to tell him of the disaster. He begged Klaus to stay away. He would be the 'falcon' who was caught The other 'falcon' was loyal to Hitler; he would make that clear. Klaus objected, but understood. He had work to do. Someone had to survive."
"Where is Noel's mother?" Helden asked. "What has she learned?"
"She knows everything now. Let's hope she hasn't panicked. We lost her in Mexico; we think she's trying to reach her son in Geneva. She'll fail. The instant she's spotted, she's a dead woman."
"WeVe got to find her."
"Not at the expense of the other priorities," said the old man. "Remember, there is only one Wolfsschanze now. Crippling it is all that matters." Gerhardt put the poker down. "You'll see Dr. Litvak tonight. His house is near the clinic, above it, on a hill two kilometers north. The
hill is quite steep; the radio functions well there. I'll give you — "
A sharp humming sound filled the room. It echoed off the walls so loudly that Helden felt the vibrations going through her and jumped to her feet. Gerhardt turned from the fireplace and stared up at a narrow window high in the left wall. He seemed to be studying the panes of glass that were too far above him to see through.
"There's a night mirror that picks up images in the black light," he said, watching intently. "It's a man. I recognize him, but I don't know him." He walked to the desk, took out a small pistol, and handed it to Helden.
"What should I do?" she asked.
"Hide it under your skirt."
"You don't know who it is?" Helden lifted her skirt and sat down in a chair facing the door, the weapon hidden.
"No. He arrived yesterday; I saw him in the square. He may be one of us; he may not. I don't know."
Helden could hear footsteps outside the door. They stopped; there was a moment of silence, then rapid knocking.
"Herr Gerhardt?"
The old man answered, his voice now high pitched and in the singsong cadence he had used in the square. "Good heavens, who is it? It's very late; I'm in the middle of my prayers."
"I bring you news from Har Sha'alav."
The old man exhaled in relief, and nodded to Helden. "He's one of us," he said, unlatching the bolt. "No one but us knows about Har Sha'alav."
The door opened. For the briefest instant Helden froze, then spun out of the chair and lunged for the floor. The figure in the doorway held a large-barreled gun in his hand; its explosion was thunderous. Gerhardt arched backward, blown off his feet, his body a contorted bloody mass, suspended in the air before it fell into the desk.
Helden lurched behind the leather armchair, reaching for the pistol under her skirt.
There was another gunshot as thunderous as the first. The leather back of the chair exploded out of its shell. Another, and she felt an icelike pain in her leg. Blood spread over her stocking.
She raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger repeatedly, aiming — and not aiming — at the huge figure in shadows by the door.
She heard the man scream. In panic, she crashed into the wall, a cornered insect, trapped, about to lose its insignificant life. Tears streamed down her face as she aimed again and pulled the trigger until the firing stopped, replaced by the sickening clicks of the empty gun. She screamed in terror; there were no bullets left. She hoped to God her death would come quickly.
She heard her screams — she heard them — as if she were floating in the sky, looking below at chaos and smoke.
There -was smoke. Everywhere. It filled the room, the acrid fumes stinging her eyes, blinding her. She did not understand; nothing happened.
Then she heard faint, whispered words.
"My child...."
It was Gerhardt! Sobbing, she pressed her hand against the wall and pushed herself away. Dragging her bloodied leg, she crawled toward the source of the whisper.
The smoke was beginning to clear. She could see the figure of the killer. He was lying on his back, small red circles in his throat and forehead. He was dead.
Gerhardt was dying. She crept to him and put her face on his face, her tears falling on his flesh.
"My child ... get to Litvak. Cable Har Sha'alav. Stay away from Geneva."
"Stay away? ..."
"You, child. They know you came to me. Wolfsschanze has seen you. . . . You're all that's left. Nach richt — "
"What?"
"You are. .. Nachrichtendienst"
Gerhardt's head slipped away from her face. He was gone.
39
The red-bearded pilot walked rapidly down the rue des Granges toward the parked car. Inside, Althene saw him approaching. She was alarmed. Why hadn't the pilot brought her son with him? And why was he hurrying so?
The pilot climbed in behind the wheel, pausing for a moment to catch his breath.
"There's great confusion at the d'Accord, madame. A killing."
Althene gasped. "Noel? Is it my son?"
"No. An Englishman."
"Who was it?"
"A man named Ellis. A William Ellis."
"Dear God!" Althene gripped her purse. "Noel had a friend in London named Ellis. He talked about him frequently. I've got to reach my son!"
"Not in there, madame. Not if there's a connection between your son and the Englishman. The police are everywhere, and there's an alert out for you."
"Get to a telephone."
"I'll make the call. It may be the last thing I do for you, madame. I have no wish to be associated with killing; that's not part of any agreement between us."
They drove for nearly fifteen minutes before the pilot was satisfied no one had followed them.
"Why should anyone follow us?" Althene asked. "Nobody saw me; you didn't mention my name. Or Noel's."
"Not you, madame. Me. I don't make it a point to fraternize with the Geneva police. I have run into a few now and then, off and on. We don't get along very well."
They entered the lakefront district, the pilot scanning the streets for an out-of-the-way telephone. He found one, swerved the car to the curb, and dashed outside to the booth. Althene watched him make the call.
Then he returned, got behind the wheel more slowly than he had left it, a
nd sat for a moment, scowling.
"For heaven's sake, what happened?"
"I don't like it," he said. "They expected a call from you."
"Of course. My son arranged it."
"But it was not you on the phone. It was me."
"What difference does it make? I had someone call for me. What did they say?"
"Not they. He. And what he said was far too specific. In this city, one is not that free with information. Specifics are exchanged when ears recognize voices, or when certain words are used that mean the caller has a right to know."
"What was the information," asked Althene, irritated.
"A rendezvous. As soon as possible. Ten kilometers north, on the road to Vesenaz. It's on the east side of the lake. He said your son would be there."
"Then we'll go."
" 'We,' madame?"
"I'd like to negotiate further with you."
She offered him five hundred American dollars. "You're crazy," he said.
"We have an agreement, then?"
"On the condition that until you and your son are together, you do exactly as I say," he replied. "I don't accept such money for failure. However, if he's not there, that's no concern of mine. I get paid."
"You'll be paid. Let's go."
"Very well." The pilot started the car.
"Why are you suspicious? It all seems quite logical to me," said Althene.
"I told you. This city has its own code of behavior. In Geneva, the telephone is the courier. A second number should have been given, so that you yourself could talk with your son. When I suggested it, I was told there wasn't time."
"All quite possible."
"Perhaps, but I don't like it The switchboard said they were connecting me to the front desk, but the man I talked with was no clerk."
"How do you know that?"
"Desk clerks can be arrogant and often are, but
they aren't demanding. The man I spoke with was. And he wasn't from Geneva. He had an accent I couldn't place. You'll do exactly as I say, madame."
Von Tiebolt replaced the phone and smiled in satisfaction. "We have her," he said simply, walking to the couch where Hans Kessler lay holding an ice pack to his right cheek, his face bruised where it had not been stitched by the first deputy's personal physician.
"I'll go with you," said Hans, bis voice strained in anger and pain.
"I don't think so," interjected his brother from a nearby armchair.
"You can't be seen," added Von Tiebolt. "We'll tell Holcroft you were delayed."
"No!" roared the doctor, slamming his fist on the coffee table. "Tell Holcroft anything you like, but I'm going with you tonight. That bitch is responsible for this!"
"I'd say you were," said Von Tiebolt "There was a job to do and you wanted to do it You were most anxious. You always are in such matters; you're a very physical man."
"He wouldn't die! That faggot wouldn't die!" Hans yelled. "He had the strength of five lions. Look at my stomach!" He ripped the shut below his face, revealing a curving pattern of crisscrossed black threads. "He tore it with his hands! With his hands!"
Erich Kessler turned his eyes from his brother's wound. "You were lucky to get away without being seen. And now we must get you out of this hotel. The police are questioning everyone."
"They won't come here," countered Hans angrily. "Our deputy's taken care of that."
"Nevertheless, one curious policeman walking through the door could lead to complications," Von Tie bolt said, looking at Erich. "Hans must go. Dark glasses, a muffler, his hat. The deputy's in the lobby." The blond man shifted his gaze to the wounded brother. "If you can move, you'll have your chance at the Holcroft woman. That may make you feel better."
"I can move," said Hans, his face contorted in pain.
Johann turned back to the older Kessler. "You'll stay here, Erich. Holcroft will start calling soon, but he won't identify himself until he recognizes your voice. Be solidtous; be concerned. Say I reached you in Berlin and asked you to get here early, that I tried to call him in Paris, but he'd gone. Then tell him that we're both shocked at what happened here this afternoon. The man who was killed had been asking about him; we're both concerned for his safety. He must not be seen at the d'Accord."
"I could say that someone fitting his description was seen leaving by the service entrance," added the scholar. "He was in a state of shock; he'll accept that It will add to his panic."
"Excellent. Meet him and take him to the Excelsior. Register under the name of — the blond man thought for a moment — "under the name of Fresca. If he has any lingering doubts, that will convince him. He never used the name with you; he'll know we've met and talked."
"Fine," said Erich. "And at the Excelsior, I'll explain that because of everything that's happened, you reached the bank's directors and set up the conference for tomorrow morning. The quicker it's over, the quicker we can get to Zurich and set up proper security measures."
"Excellent again, Herr Professor. Come, Hans," Von Tiebolt said, "I'll help you."
"It's not necessary," said the bull of Munich's district soccer, his expression belying his words. "Just get my bag."
"Of course." Von Tiebolt picked up the physician's leather case. "I'm fascinated. You must tell me what you intend to inject. Remember, we want a death, but not a killing."
"Don't worry," Hans said. "Everything's clearly coded. There'll be no mistakes."
"After our meeting with the Holcroft woman," said Von Tiebolt, draping an overcoat over Hans's shoulders, "we'll decide where Hans should stay tonight Perhaps at the deputy's house."
"Good idea," agreed the scholar. "The doctor would be available."
"I don't need him," argued Hans, his breath escaping between clenched teeth, his walk hesitant and painful. "I could have sewn myself up; he's not very good. Auf wiedersehen, Erich."
"Auf wiedersehen."
Von Tiebolt opened the door, looked back at Erich,
and escorted the wounded Hans out into the corridor. "You say each vial is coded?"
"Yes. For the woman, the serum will accelerate her heart to the point..."
The door closed. The older Kessler shifted his bulk in the chair. It was the way of Wolfsschanze; there was no other decision. The physician who had tended Hans made it clear that there was internal bleeding; the organs had been severely damaged, as if torn by claws possessing extraordinary strength. Unless Hans were taken to the hospital, he could easily die. But his brother could not be admitted to a hospital; questions would be asked. A man had been killed that afternoon at the d'Accord; the wounded patient had been at the d'Accord. Too many questions. Besides, Hans's contributions were in the black leather case Johann carried. The Tinamou would learn everything they had to know. Hans Kessler, Sonnenkind, was no longer needed; he was a liability.
The telephone rang. Kessler picked it up.
"Erich?"
It was Holcroft.
"Yes?"
"I'm in Geneva. You got here early; I thought I'd try."
"Yes, Von Tiebolt called me this morning in Berlin; he tried to reach you in Paris. He suggested — "
"Has he arrived?" interrupted the American.
"Yes. He's out making the final arrangements for tomorrow. WeVe got a great deal to tell you."
"And I've got a great deal to tell you," said Holcroft. "Do you know what's happened?"
"Yes, it's horrible." Where was the panic? Where was the anxiety of a man stretched to the limit of his capacities? The voice on the phone was not that of someone drowning, grasping for a lifeline. "He was a friend of yours. They say he asked for you."
There was a pause. "He asked for my mother."
"I didn't understand. We know only that he used the name Holcroft."
"What does Nach . . . Nach-rich ... I can't pronounce it."
" 'Nachrichtendienst'?"
"Yes. What does it mean?"
Kessler was startled. The American was in control of himself; it was not to be expected. "What
can I tell you? It's Geneva's enemy."
"That's what Von Tiebolt found out in London?"
"Yes. Where are you, Noel? I must see you, but you can't come here."
"I know that. Listen to me. Do you have money?"
"Some."
"A thousand Swiss francs?"
"A thousand? ... Yes, I imagine so."
"Go downstairs to the front desk and talk to the desk clerk privately. Get his name and give him the money. Tell him it's for me and that I'll be calling him in a few minutes."
"But how — "
"Let me finish. After you pay and get his name, go to the pay telephones near the elevators. Stand by the one on the left toward the entrance. When it rings, pick it up. It'll be me."
"How do you know the number?"
"I paid someone to go inside and get it."
This was not a man in panic. It was a rational man with a deadly purpose. ... It was what Erich Kessler had feared. But for the arrangement of genes — and a headstrong woman — the man on the phone might be one of them. A Sonnenkind.
"What will you say to the clerk?"
"I'll tell you later; there's no time now. How long will it take you?"
"I don't know. Not long."
"Ten minutes?"
"Yes, I think so. But Noel, perhaps we should wait until Johann returns."
"When's that?"
"No more than an hour or two."
"Can't do it. I'll call you in the lobby in ten minutes. My watch says eight-forty-five. How about yours?"
"The same." Kessler did not bother to look at his watch; his mind was racing. Holcroft's spine was too dangerously firm. "I really think we should wait."
"I can't. They killed him. God! How they killed him! They want her, but they won't find her."
"Her? Your mother? ... Von Tiebolt told me."
"They won't find her," repeated Holcroft. "They'll
find me; I'm who they really want And I want them. I'm going to trap them, Erich."
"Control yourself. You don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly."
The Geneva police are in the hotel. If you speak to the desk clerk, he may say something. They'll be looking for you."
The Holcroft Covenant Page 48