The Holcroft Covenant (29 page)

“Yes. There’s a great deal you’ve never been told. I didn’t know when or how it would happen, only that it would. I spoke to Gretchen earlier. This Holcroft saw her the other night. I’m afraid she wasn’t much help to him. We have a commitment as profound and as moving as anything in recent history. Amends must be made.…”

“That’s what Holcroft said,” broke in Helden.

“I’m sure he did.”

“He’s frightened. He tries not to show it, but he is.”

“He should be. It’s an enormous responsibility. I have to learn what he knows in order to help.”

“Then come to Paris now.”

“I can’t. It’s only a few days.”

“I’m worried. If Noel’s what he says he is, and I see no reason to doubt him—”

“ ‘Noel’?” asked the brother, with mild surprise.

“I like him, Johann.”

“Go on.”

“If he’s the one that’s to bring the three of you to the directors of La Grande Banque, then nothing can happen in Geneva without him.”

“So?”

“Others know that. I think they know about the account in Switzerland. Terrible things have happened. They’ve tried to stop him.”

“Who?”

“My guess would be the Rache. Or the O
DESSA.”

“That’s doubtful,” said John Tennyson. “Neither is capable of keeping such extraordinary news quiet. Take a newspaperman’s word for it.”

“The Rache kills; so does the O
DESSA.
Someone tried to kill Noel.”

Tennyson smiled to himself; errors had been made, but the primary strategy was working. Holcroft was being pounded on all sides. When everything came together in
Geneva, he’d be exhausted, completely malleable. “He must be very cautious, then. Teach him the things you know, Helden. As much as you can. The tricks we’ve all learned from one another.”

“He’s seen some of those tricks,” said the girl, a soft, compassionate laugh in her voice. “He hates using them.”

“Better than ending up dead.” The blond man paused. The transition had to be casual. “Gretchen mentioned a photograph, a picture of Beaumont. She thinks Holcroft took it.”

“He did. He’s convinced he saw Beaumont on the plane from New York to Rio. He thinks he was following him. It’s part of what he’ll tell you.”

So it
was
the plane, thought Tennyson. The American was more observant than Beaumont had wanted to believe. Beaumont’s disappearance would be explained in a matter of days, but it would be difficult to explain the photograph in Holcroft’s possession if he showed it to the wrong people in Switzerland. The fanatic commander had left too obvious a trail, from Rio to the Admiralty. They had to get the photograph back. “I don’t know what to say to that, Helden. I never liked Beaumont. I never trusted him. But he’s been in the Mediterranean for months. I don’t see how he could have left his ship and turned up on a plane out of New York. Holcroft’s wrong.” Tennyson paused again. “However, I think Noel should bring the photograph with him when we meet. He shouldn’t be carrying it around. Nor should he talk about Beaumont. Tell him that. It could lead people to Gretchen. To us. Yes, I think it would be a good idea if he brought the photograph with him.”

“He can’t do that. It was stolen from him.”

The blond man froze. It was
impossible
. None of
them
had taken the photograph! No
Sonnenkind
. He’d be the first to know. Someone
else?
He lowered his voice. “What do you mean, ‘stolen from him’?”

“Just that. A man chased him, beat him unconscious, and took the picture. Nothing else, just the photograph.”

“
What
man!”

“He didn’t know. It was night; he couldn’t see. He woke up in a field miles away from Portsmouth.”

“He was attacked in Portsmouth?”

“About a mile from Gretchen’s house, as I gather.”

Something
was
wrong. Terribly wrong. “Are you sure Holcroft wasn’t lying?”

“Why should he?”

“What
exactly
did he tell you?”

“That he was chased by a man in a black sweater. The man hit him with a blunt weapon and took the photograph out of his pocket when he was unconscious. Just the photograph. Not his money or anything else.”

“I see.” But he did
not
see! And it was the unseen that disturbed him. He could not convey his fears to Helden; as always, he had to appear in total control. Yet he had to search out this unseen, unknown disturbance. “Helden, I’d like you to do something … for all of us. Do you think you could arrange to take a day off from work?”

“I imagine so. Why?”

“I think we should try and find out who it is that has so much interest in Holcroft. Perhaps you might suggest a drive in the country, to Fontainebleau or Barbizon.”

“But why?”

“I have a friend in Paris; he often does odd jobs for me. I’ll ask him to follow you, very discreetly, of course. Perhaps we’ll learn who else takes the trip.”

“One of our people could do it.”

“No, I don’t think so. Don’t involve your friends. Herr Oberst should not be a part of this.”

“All right. We’ll start out around ten in the morning. From his hotel. The Douzaine Heures, rue Chevalle. How will I know the man?”

“You won’t. He’ll pick you up. Say nothing to Holcroft; it would upset him needlessly.”

“Very well. You’ll call me when you get to Paris?”

“The minute I arrive,
meine Schwester.
”

“Danke, mein Bruder.”

Tennyson replaced the phone. There was a last call to make before he boarded the plane to Berlin. Not to Gretchen, now; he did not want to speak with her. If Beaumont’s actions proved to be as disastrous as they appeared, if in his recklessness he had impeded the cause of Wolfsschanze, then all the strings that led to him and through him to Geneva would have to be severed. It was not an easy decision to make. He loved Gretchen as few
men on earth loved their sisters; in a way that the world disapproved of because the world did not understand. She took care of his needs, satiated his hungers, so that there were never any outside complications. His mind was free to concentrate on his extraordinary mission in life. But that, too, might have to end. Gretchen, his sister, his lover, might have to die.

Holcroft listened to Althene’s last words, stunned at her equilibrium, astonished that it had been so easy. The funeral had been yesterday.

“You do what you must, Noel. A good man died needlessly, foolishly, and that’s the obscenity. But it’s over; there’s nothing either of us can do.”

“There’s something you can do for me.”

“What’s that?”

He told her of Manfredi’s death—as the Swiss believed it had happened. An old man wracked with pain, preferring a quick end to prolonged suffering and infirmity. “The last thing he did as a banker was to meet with me in Geneva.”

Althene was silent for a moment, reflecting on a friend who once meant a great deal to her. “It was like him to fulfill an agreement as important as the one he brought to you. He wouldn’t leave it to others.”

“There was something else; it concerned you. He said you’d understand.” Holcroft held the telephone firmly and spoke as convincingly as he could. He expressed Manfredi’s “concerns” about those who might remember a headstrong woman many believed responsible for the conversion of Heinrich Clausen, and for his decision to betray the Reich. He explained that it was entirely possible that there remained fanatics who might still seek revenge. Manfredi’s old friend Althene Clausen should not risk being a target; she should go away for a while, where no one could find her in the event Clausen’s name surfaced. “Can you understand, mother?”

“Yes,” answered Althene. “Because he said it to me once before, several hundred years ago. On a warm afternoon in Berlin. He said they would look for us then, too. He was right; he’s right now. The world is filled with lunatics.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’m not sure. Take a trip, perhaps. It’s a very good
time for it, isn’t it? People are so embarrassingly solicitous about death.”

“I’d rather you went someplace where you were out of sight. Just for a few weeks.”

“It’s easy to be out of sight. I have a certain expertise in that. For two years after we left Berlin, you and I kept moving. Until Pearl Haror, actually. The Bund’s activities were too varied for comfort in those days; it took its orders from the Wilhelmstrasse.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Holcroft, moved.

“There’s a great deal—No matter. Richard put an end to it all. He made us stop running, stop hiding. I’ll let you know where I am.”

“How?”

His mother paused. “Your friend in Curaçao, Mr. Buonoventura. He was positively reverential. I’ll let him know.”

Holcroft smiled. “All right. I’ll call Sam.”

“I never did tell you about those days, did I? Before Richard came into our lives. I really must; you might be interested.”

“I’d be very interested. Manfredi was right. You are incredible.”

“No, dear. Merely a survivor.”

As always, they said rapid goodbyes; they were friends. Noel walked out of the assistant manager’s office. He started across the George V lobby, toward the bar, where his friend was waiting with aperitifs, then decided to take a short detour. He crossed to the huge window to the left of the entrance and peered out between the folds of the red velvet drapes. The green Fiat was still down the street.

Noel continued across the lobby toward the bar. He would spend a quarter of an hour in pleasant conversation with the assistant manager, during which he would impart some very specific, if erroneous, information, and ask a favor or two.

And then there was Helden. If she did not call him by five o’clock, he would telephone her at Gallimard. He had to see her; he wanted a gun.

“Four or five
days?
” exploded Holcroft into the phone. “I don’t want to wait four or five days. I’ll meet him anywhere! I can’t waste time.”

“He said he wouldn’t be in Paris until then and suggested you go on to Berlin in the meantime. It would only take you a day or so.”

“He knew about Kessler?”

“Perhaps not by name, but he knew about Berlin.”

“Where was he?”

“At the airport in Athens.”

Noel remembered.
He disappeared four days ago in Bahrain. Our operatives are watching for him from Singapore to Athens:
British Intelligence would have its confrontation with John Tennyson imminently, if it had not taken place already. “What did he say about the British?”

“He was furious, as I knew he would be. It’s not unlike Johann to write an article that would embarrass the Foreign Office. He was outraged.”

“I trust he won’t. The last thing any of us want is a newspaper story. Can you call him back? Can
I
call him? He could fly in tonight. I could pick him up at Orly.”

“I’m afraid not. He was catching a plane. There’s only a number in Brussels; it’s where he picks up his messages. It took him nearly two days to get mine.”

“Goddammit!”

“You’re overwrought.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Noel …” Helden began haltingly. “I don’t have to work tomorrow. Could we meet? Perhaps go for a drive? I’d like to talk.”

Holcroft was startled. He wanted to see
her
. “Why wait until tomorrow? Let’s have dinner.”

“I can’t. I have a meeting tonight. I’ll be at your hotel at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. In the afternoon you can fly to Berlin.”

“Are you meeting your friends?”

“Yes.”

“Helden, do something for me. I never thought I’d ask this of anyone, but … I want a gun. I don’t know how to go about getting one, what the laws are.”

“I understand. I’ll bring it. Until morning.”

“See you tomorrow.” Holcroft hung up and looked at his open attaché case on the hotel chair. He could see the cover of the Geneva document. It reminded him of the threat from the men of Wolfsschanze.
Nothing is as it was for you
.… He knew now how completely true that was.
He had borrowed a gun in Costa Rica. He had killed a man who was about to kill him, and he never wanted to see a gun in his hand again, for as long as he lived. That, too, was changed. Everything was changed, because a man he never knew had cried out to him from the grave.

“Do you like mountain trout?” asked Helden, as she handed him the automatic in the front seat of his rented car.

“Trout’s fine,” he said, laughing.

“What’s funny?”

“I don’t know. You hand me a gun, which isn’t the most normal thing for a person to do, and at the same time you ask me what I’d like for lunch.”

“One has nothing to do with the other. I think it might be a good idea if you took your mind off your problems for a few hours.”

“I thought you wanted to talk about them.”

“I do. I also wanted to know you better. When we met the other night, you asked all the Questions.”

“Before I asked those questions, you did all the yelling.”

Helden laughed. “I’m sorry about that. It was hectic, wasn’t it?”

“It was crazy. You have a nice laugh. I didn’t know you laughed.”

“I do quite frequently. At least twice a month, regularly as clockwork.”

Holcroft glanced at her. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t imagine you find much to laugh at.”

She returned his look; a smile was on her lips. “More than you think, perhaps. And I wasn’t offended. I’m sure you think me rather solemn.”

“Our talk the other night wasn’t designed for a barrel of laughs.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Helden turned, both hands on her knees beneath the pleated white skirt on the seat. There was a gamine quality about her Noel had not noticed before. It was reinforced by her words. “Do you ever think about them?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Those fathers you and I never knew. What they did was so incredible, such an act of daring.”

“Not just one act. Hundreds … thousands of them. Each different, each complicated, going on for months. Three years of manipulations.”

“They must have lived in terror.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“What drove them?”

“Just what …” Noel stopped, not knowing why he did so. “Just what Heinrich Clausen wrote in his letter to me. They were shocked beyond anything we can imagine when they learned about the ‘rehabilitation camps.’ Auschwitz, Belsen—it blew their minds. It seems incredible to us now, but remember, that was ’forty-three. There were conspiracies of silence.”