The Holcroft Covenant (34 page)

“What was the inconsistency?”

“Well, according to the naval records, his parents were quite ordinary. I got the impression they were rather
poor. Owners of a greengrocery or a florist shop in a town called Dunheath, south of Aberdeen, on the North Sea. Yet, when he was at university—Cambridge, by the way—he was a regular student.”

“Regular?… What should he have been?”

“On scholarship, I would think. There was need, and he was qualified, yet there were no applications for a scholarship. It seemed odd.”

“So you went back to the family in Scotland. What did you learn?”

“That’s the point. Next to nothing. It was as if they had disappeared. There was no address, no way to reach them. I sent off several inquiries to the town clerk and the postal service—obvious places people never think of. The Beaumonts were apparently an English family who simply arrived in Scotland one day shortly after the war, stayed for a few years, then left the country.”

“Could they have died?”

“Not according to the records. The navy always keeps them up to date in case of injury or loss of life. They were still listed as living in Dunheath, but they had left. The postal service had no information at all.”

It was Holcroft’s turn to frown. “That sounds crazy.”

“There’s something more.” Helden pushed herself up against the curve of the chaise. “At Gretchen’s wedding, there was an officer from Beaumont’s ship. His second-in-command, I think. The man was a year or two younger than Beaumont, and obviously his subordinate, but there was a give-and-take between them that went beyond friendship, beyond that of officer to officer.”

“What do you mean, ‘give-and-take’?”

“It was as if they were always thinking exactly alike. One would start a sentence, the other might finish it. One would turn in a particular direction, the other would comment on what the first was looking at. Do you know what I mean? Haven’t you seen people like that? Men like that?”

“Sure. Brothers who are close, or lovers. And often military men who’ve served a long time together. What did you do?”

“I checked on that man. I used the same sources, sent out the same inquiries, as I had with Beaumont. What came back was extraordinary. They
were
alike; only the names were different. Their academic and military records
were almost identical, superior in every way. They both came from obscure towns, their parents undistinguished and certainly not well off. Yet each had gone to a major university without financial aid. And each had become an officer without any prior indication that he was seeking a military career.”

“What about the family of Beaumont’s friend? Were you able to locate them?”

“No. They were listed as living in a mining town in Wales, but they weren’t. They hadn’t been there in years, and no one had any information about them.”

What Helden had learned was consistent with Noel’s theory that Anthony Beaumont was an O
DESSA
agent. What was important now was to take Beaumont—and any “associates”—out of the picture. They could not be allowed to interfere further with Geneva. Perhaps he and Helden were wrong: Perhaps they should reach Payton-Jones and let Beaumont become his problem. But there were side issues to consider, among which was the danger of British Intelligence’s reopening the Peter Baldwin file, going back to Code Wolfsschanze.

“What you’ve told me fits in with what I’ve been thinking,” Noel said. “Let’s go back to your brother. I have an idea what happened in Rio. Will you talk about it now?”

Helden’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your brother learned something in Rio, didn’t he? He found out about Graff and the Brazilian O
DESSA.
That was why he was hounded, why he had to get out. It wasn’t your mother, or your brother’s business dealings, or anything like that. It was Graff and the O
DESSA.”

Helden slowly let out her breath. “I never heard that, believe me.”

“Then what was it? Tell me, Helden.”

Her eyes pleaded with him. “Please, Noel. I owe you so much; don’t make me pay like this. What happened to Johann in Rio has nothing to do with you. Or with Geneva.”

“You don’t know that.
I
don’t know that. I just know that you have to tell me. I have to be prepared. There’s so much I don’t understand.” He gripped her hand. “Listen to me. This afternoon I broke into a blind man’s room. I smashed the door in; the sound was awful—sudden
and loud. He was an old man and, of course, he couldn’t see me. He couldn’t see the fear in my own eyes. His hands shook and he whispered a prayer in French.…

“For a moment I wanted to go to that man and hold his hands and tell him I knew how he felt. You see, he
didn’t
see the fear in my eyes. I’m frightened, Helden. I’m not the sort of person who crashes into people’s rooms, and shoots guns, and gets shot at. I can’t turn back, but I’m scared. So you’ve got to help me.”

“I want to; you know that.”

“Then tell me what happened in Rio. What happened to your brother?”

“It’s simply not important,” she said.

“
Everything’s
important.” Noel stood up and crossed to the chair where he had thrown his jacket. He showed Helden the torn lining. “Look at this. Someone in that crowd this afternoon tried to put a knife in me. I don’t know about you, but that’s never happened to me before; it’s just not something I know anything about. It petrifies me … and it makes me goddamned angry. And five days ago in New York, the man I grew up with—the only man I ever called my father—walked out on a sidewalk and was killed by an ‘out-of-control car’ that
aimed
for him and crushed him against a building! His death was a warning. For
me!
So don’t talk to me about the Rache, or the O
DESSA
, or the men of Wolfsschanze. I’m beginning to learn all about those sick sons of bitches, and I want every last one of them put away! With the money in Zurich, we can do that. Without it, no one’ll listen to us. It’s an economic fact of life. You don’t dismiss people who have seven hundred and eighty million dollars. You
listen
to people like that.” Holcroft let the jacket fall to the floor. “The only way well get to Zurich is to satisfy the bank in Geneva, and the only way to reach Geneva is to use our heads. There’s no one really on our side; there’s just us. The Von Tiebolts, the Kessler’s … and one Clausen. Now, what happened in Rio?”

Helden looked down at the torn jacket, then back at Noel.

“Johann killed someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know—I really don’t. But it was someone important.”

Holcroft listened to her, watching for false notes. There were none. She was telling him what she knew, and it was not a great deal.

“About six weeks before we left Brazil,” Helden explained, “I drove home one night after a seminar at the university; we lived out in the countryside then. There was a dark-colored limousine in front, so I parked behind it. As I walked up to the porch, I heard yelling from inside. There was a terrible fight and I couldn’t imagine who it was; I didn’t recognize the one screaming. He kept yelling things like ‘killer,’ ‘murderer,’ ‘it was you’ … things like that. I ran inside and found Johann standing in the hallway in front of the man. He saw me, and told the man to be still. The man tried to strike Johann, but my brother is very powerful; he held the man’s arms and pushed him out the door. The last words the man screamed were to the effect that others also knew; that they would see Johann hanged as a murderer, and if that didn’t happen, they’d kill him themselves. He fell on the steps, still screaming, then he ran to the limousine, and Johann went after him. He said something to him through the window; the man spat in my brother’s face and drove off.”

“Did you ask your brother about it?”

“Naturally. But Johann wouldn’t discuss it other than to say the man was mad. He had lost a great deal of money in a business venture and had gone crazy.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“I wanted to, but then the meetings began. Johann would be out until all hours, away for days; he behaved quite abnormally. Then, only weeks later, we flew to Recife with a new name and a new country. Whoever was killed was very rich, very powerful. He had to be to have friends like that.”

“You have no idea who the man was inside your house that night?”

“No. I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t remember where, and Johann wouldn’t tell me. He ordered me never to bring up the matter again. There were things I should not be told.”

“You accepted that?”

“Yes. Try to understand. We were children of Nazis, and we knew what that meant. It was often best not to ask questions.”

“But you had to know what was going on.”

“Oh, we were taught; make no mistake about it,” said Helden. “We were trained to elude the Israelis; they could force information from us. We learned to spot a recruiter from the O
DESSA
, a maniac from the Rache; how to get away, how to use a hundred different tricks to throw them off.”

Noel shook his head in amazement. “Your everyday training for the high-school glee club. It’s crazy.”

“That’s a word you could use three weeks ago,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Not now. Not after today.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the car I said I felt sorry for you because you had no training.”

“And I said I thought I was getting it in a hurry.”

“But so little, and so late. Johann told me to teach you what I could. I want you to listen to me, Noel. Try to remember everything I tell you.”

“What?” Holcroft felt the strength of her grip and saw the concern in her eyes.

“You’re going to Berlin. I want you back.”

With those words she began. There were moments when Noel thought he might smile—or, worse, laugh—but her intensity kept him in check; she was deadly serious. That afternoon three men had been killed. He and Helden might easily have been the fourth and the fifth victims. So he listened and tried to remember. Everything.

“There’s no time to get false papers; they take days. You have money; buy an extra seat on the plane. Stay alert, and don’t let anyone sit next to you; don’t get hemmed in. And don’t eat or drink anything you didn’t bring with you.”

His mind briefly raced back to a British 747 and a vial of strychnine. “That’s a suggestion I won’t forget.”

“You might. It’s so easy to ask for coffee or even a glass of water. Don’t.”

“I won’t. What happens when I get to Berlin?”

“To any city,” she corrected. “Find a small hotel in a crowded district where the main business is pornography, where there’s prostitution, narcotics. Front desks never ask for identification in those areas. I know someone who’ll give us the name of a hotel in Berlin.…”

Her words poured forth, describing tactics, defining methods, telling him how to invent his own variations.…

False names were to be used, rooms switched daily, hotels changed twice a week. Phone calls were to be placed from public booths, never from hotel rooms, never from residences. A minimum of three changes of outer clothing, including hats and caps and dissimilar glasses, were to be carried; shoes were to have rubber soles. These were best for running with a minimum of sound, for stopping and starting quickly, and walking silently. If questioned, he was to lie indignantly but not arrogantly, and never in a loud tone of voice. That kind of anger triggered hostility, and hostility meant delay and further questions. While flying from airport to airport, a gun was to be dismantled, its barrel separated from the handle, the firing pin removed. These procedures generally satisfied the European customs clerks: Inoperable weapons did not concern them; contraband did. But if they objected, he was to let them confiscate the gun; another could be purchased. If they let the weapon through, he was to reassemble it immediately, in the toilet stall of a men’s room.

The street.… He knew something about the streets and crowds, he told Helden. One never knew enough, she replied, telling him to walk as close to the curb as possible, to be ready to dash out among the traffic at any sign of hostility or surveillance.

“Remember,” she said, “you’re the amateur, they’re the professionals. Use that position; turn your liability into an asset. The amateur does the unexpected, not because he’s clever or experienced but because he doesn’t know any better. Do the unexpected rapidly, obviously, as if confused. Then stop and wait. A confrontation is often the last thing surveillance wants. But if he does want it, you might as well know it. Shoot. You should have a silencer; we’ll get you one in the morning. I know where.”

He turned, stunned, unable to speak. She saw the astonishment in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, leaning forward, smiling sadly and kissing him.

They talked through most of the night, the teacher and the pupil, lover and lover. Helden was obsessed; she would invent situations and then demand that he tell her what he would do in the hypothetical circumstances.

“You’re on a train, walking through a narrow corridor; you’re carrying important papers. A man comes toward you from the opposite direction; you know him; he’s the enemy. There are people behind you; you can’t go back. What do you do?”

“Does the man—the enemy—want to hurt me?”

“You don’t know. What do you do? Quickly!”

“Keep going, I guess. Alert, expecting the worst.”

“No, my darling! The
papers
. You’ve got to protect them! You trip; you fall to the floor!”

“Why?”

“You’ll draw attention to yourself; people will help you up. The enemy won’t make his move in that situation. You create your own diversion.”

“With myself,”
said Nod, seeing the point.

“Exactly.”

It went on, and on, and on, until the teacher and the pupil were exhausted. They made quiet love and held each other in the comfort of their warmth, the world outside a faraway thing. Finally, Helden fell asleep, her head on his chest, her hair covering her face.

He lay awake for a while, his arm across her shoulders, and wondered how a girl who’d been entranced by
The Wizard of Oz
had grown up to become so skilled a practitioner in arts of deception and escape. She was from another world, and he had entered that world with alarming speed.