The Holcroft Covenant (45 page)

Von Tiebolt smiled. Everything was going as it had been projected thirty years ago. Even the Nachrichtendienst could not stop them now. In a matter of days the Nachrichtendienst would be castrated.

It was time for the Tinamou.

Noel hurried through the lobby of the George V, eager to get to his room, to Helden. Geneva was closer now; it would be closer still when they met Anthony Beaumont in Saint-Tropez and forced the truth from him.

Too, he was anxious to learn whether Buonoventura had returned his call. His mother had said she would let Sam know her plans. All Miles knew in New York was that Althene had left Mexico City for Lisbon. Why Lisbon? And who had followed her?

The image of the man in the black leather jacket came back to Holcroft. The steady look in his eyes, the acceptance of death … 
kill me and another will take my place. Kill him, another his
.

The elevator was empty, the ascent swift. The door opened; Noel caught his breath at the sight of the man standing in the corridor facing him. It was the
Verwünschte Kind
from Sacré-Coeur, the fashion plate who had searched him in front of the candles.

“Good evening, monsieur.”

“What are you doing here? Is Helden all right?”

“She can answer your questions.”

“So can you.” Holcroft grabbed the man’s arm and turned him forcefully toward the door of the room.

“Take your hands off me!”

“When she tells me to let you go, I’ll let you go. Come on.” Noel propelled the man down the corridor to the door, and knocked.

In seconds the door opened. Helden stood there, startled at the sight of the two of them. In her hand was a folded newspaper; in her eyes was something beyond her astonishment: sadness.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“That’s what I wanted to know, but he wouldn’t tell me.” Holcroft pushed the man through the door.

“Noel,
please
. He’s one of us.”

“I want to know why he’s here.”

“I called him; he had to know where I was. He told me he had to see me. I’m afraid he’s brought us dreadful news.”

“What?”

“Read the papers,” said the man. “There are both French and English.”

Holcroft picked up a copy of the
Herald Tribune
from the coffee table.

“Page two,” said the man. “Top left.”

Noel turned the page, snapping it flat. He read the words, a sense of anger… and fear … sweeping over him.

“Oh,
God
,” whispered Holcroft. “Did your brother tell your?”

“About Gretchen?” Helden asked. “Yes. She suffered so much, gave so much. It’s why she wouldn’t see me or talk to me. She never wanted me to know what she did, why she married him. She was afraid I might sense the truth.”

“If what you
say
is true,” said the well-dressed man, “that Beaumont was O
DESSA
, we don’t believe that newspaper story for a minute.”

“He means your friend in Berlin,” interrupted Helden. “I told him that you had a friend in Berlin who said he would transmit your suspicions to London.”

Noel understood. She was telling him she had said nothing about Geneva. Noel turned to the man. “What do you think happened?”

“If the British discovered an O
DESSA
agent in the upper ranks of the navy, especially one commanding a coastal-patrol vessel—a euphemism for an espionage ship—it would mean they had been duped again. There’s just so much they can take; there’d be no inquiries. A swift execution is preferable.”

“That’s a pretty rough indictment,” said Holcroft.

“It’s an embarrassing situation.”

“They’d kill an innocent woman?”

“Without thinking twice—on the possibility that she might not be innocent. The message would be clear, at any rate. The O
DESSA
network would have its warning.”

Noel turned away in disgust and put his arms around Helden. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know how you must feel, and I wish there was something I could do. Outside of reaching your brother, I’m not sure there is.”

Helden turned and looked at him, her eyes searching. “You trust each other?”

“Very much. We’re working together now.”

“Then there’s no time for mourning, is there? I’m going to stay here tonight,” she told the well-dressed man. “Is it all right? Can I be covered?”

“Of course,” said the man. “I’ll arrange it.”

“Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

He smiled. “I don’t think Mr. Holcroft believes that. But then, he’s got a great deal to learn.” The man nodded and went to the door; he stopped, his hand on the knob, and turned to Noel. “I apologize if that appears cryptic to you, but be tolerant, monsieur. What’s between you and Helden also seems cryptic to me, but I don’t inquire. I trust. But, if that trust is found to be misplaced, we’ll kill you. I just thought you ought to know.”

The
Verwünschte Kind
left quickly. Noel took an angry step after him, but Helden touched his arm. “Please, darling. He, too, has a lot to learn, and we can’t tell him. He
is
a friend.”

“He’s an insufferable little bastard.” Holcroft paused.
“I’m sorry. You’ve got enough on your mind; you don’t need foolishness from me.”

“A man threatened your life.”

“Someone took your sister’s. Under the circumstances, I was foolish.”

“We’ve no time for such thoughts. Your friend Buonoventura returned your call. I wrote down the number where you can reach him. It’s by the telephone.”

Noel walked to the bedside table and picked up the paper. “Your brother and I were going to Saint-Tropez tomorrow. To make Beaumont tell us what he knew. The news’ll be shattering to him. On both counts.”

“You said you were going to call him. I think it’s best that I do. He and Gretchen were very close. When they were younger, they were inseparable. Where is he?”

“Actually, I don’t know; he didn’t say. He just told me he’d reach me later this evening. That’s what I meant.” Holcroft lifted the phone and gave Buonoventura’s number to the operator.

“I’ll speak to Johann when he calls,” said Helden, going to the window.

The transatlantic lines were light; the link to Curaçao was made in less than a minute.

“You’re a pistol, Noley! I’m glad I don’t have to pay your phone bills. You’re seeing the goddamn world; I’ll say that for you.”

“I’m seeing a lot more than that, Sam. Did my mother call you?”

“She did. She said to tell you she’ll see you in Geneva in about a week. You’re to stay at the Hôtel d’Accord, but you’re not to say anything to anyone.”

“Geneva? She’s going to Geneva? Why the hell did she even leave the country?”

“She said it was an emergency. You were to keep your mouth shut, and not do anything until you see her. She was one upset lady.”

“I’ve got to get hold of her. Did she give you a telephone number—an address—where I could reach her?”

“Not a thing, pal. She didn’t have much time to talk, and the connection was rotten. It was out of Mexico. Anybody mind telling me what’s going on?”

Holcroft shook his head as if Buonoventura were in
the room facing him. “Sorry, Sam. Perhaps someday. I owe you.”

“I think maybe you do. We’ll cut a deck for it. Take care of yourself. You got a real nice mother. Be good to her.”

Holcroft hung up. Buonoventura was a good friend to have. As good a friend as the well-dressed man was to Helden, he thought. He wondered what she meant when she asked the
Verwünschte Kind
if she were covered. Covered for what? By whom?

“My mother’s on her way to Geneva,” he said.

Helden turned. “I heard you. You sounded upset.”

“I am. A man followed her to Mexico. Miles had him picked up at the airport; he took a cyanide capsule before they could find out who he was or where he came from.”

“ ‘Kill me, another will take my place. Kill him, another his.’ Weren’t those the words?”

“Yes. I was thinking about them on the way up.”

“Does Johann know?”

“I told him everything.”

“What does he think?”

“He doesn’t know what to think. The key was Beaumont. I don’t know where we go now, except to Geneva, with the hope that no one stops us.”

Helden came toward him. “Tell me something. What can they—whoever they are—really do? Once the three of you present yourselves to the bank in Geneva, each of you in agreement, all reasonable men, it’s over. So what can they actually do?”

“You said it last night.”

“What?”

“They can kill us.”

The telephone rang. Holcroft reached for it “Yes?”

“It’s John Tennyson.” The voice was strained.

“Your sister wants to talk to you,” said Holcroft.

“In a moment,” replied Tennyson. “We must speak first. Does she know?”

“Yes. Obviously you do, too.”

“My paper called me with the news. The night editor knew how close Gretchen and I were. It’s horrible.”

“I wish there was something I could say.”

“I couldn’t help you when you told me about your
stepfather. We have to live with these things by ourselves. There’s nothing anyone can do or say when they happen. Helden understands.”

“Then you don’t believe the story that was given out? About the boat and the storm?”

“That they went out in a boat and never came back? Yes, I believe it. That he was responsible? Of course not. It’s not even plausible. Whatever else he was, Beaumont was a superb sailor. He could smell a storm twenty miles away. If he was in a small craft, he’d have it in shore before any weather struck.”

“Who then?”

“Come, my friend, we both know the answer. That someone else who hired him also killed him. They made him follow you to Rio. You spotted him; his usefulness had come to an end.” Tennyson paused. “It was as if they’d known we were to leave for Saint-Tropez. The unpardonable act was to kill Gretchen as well. For appearances.”

“I’m sorry.
God
, I feel responsible.”

“It was totally out of your control.”

“Could it have been the British?” asked Holcroft. “I told Kessler about Beaumont. He said he was going to work through channels. Bonn to London. Maybe an O
DESSA
agent commanding one of those reconnaissance ships was too much of an embarrassment.”

“The temptation might be there, but no one in authority would grant permission. The English would put him into isolation and break him on a rack if they had to get information, but they wouldn’t kill him. They
had
him. He and Gretchen were killed by someone who could be damaged by what he knew, not by anyone who could benefit.”

Tennyson’s reasoning was persuasive. “You’re right. The British wouldn’t gain anything. They’d keep him under wraps.”

“Exactly. And there’s another factor, a moral one. I think MI Six is riddled with self-seekers, but I don’t believe they kill to avoid embarrassment. It’s not in their nature. But they’ll go to extraordinary lengths to maintain a reputation. Or revive it. And I pray to God I’m right about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m flying to London tonight. In the morning I’ll
contact Payton-Jones at MI Five. I’ve an exchange to offer him, one I think he’ll find difficult to resist. I may be able to give him a ground-dwelling bird that moves rapidly from one place to another, its feathers blending in with the environment.”

Holcroft was as surprised as he was bewildered. “I thought you said you couldn’t work with them.”

“
Him
. Only Payton-Jones, no one else. He must give me his assurance of that, or we go no farther.”

“Do you think he will?”

“He really has no choice. That ground-dwelling bird has become an MI obsession.”

“Suppose you do? What do you get in return?”

“Access to classified material. The British have thousands of secret files. They concern the last years of the war and are embarrassing to a lot of people. But somewhere in those files is our answer. A man, a group of men, a band of fanatics—I don’t know who or what, but it’s there. Someone who had a connection with the Finanzministerium thirty years ago, or with our fathers; someone they trusted and to whom they gave responsibility. It could even be a Loch Torridon infiltration.”

“A what?”

“Loch Torridon. It was an espionage and sabotage operation mounted by the British from ’forty-one to ’forty-four. Hundreds of former nationals were sent back to Germany and Italy to work in factories and railroads and government offices everywhere. It’s common knowledge there were Loch Torridon personnel in the Finanzministerium.… The answer is in the archives.”

“From those thousands of files, you expect to find one identity? Even if it’s there, it could take months.”

“Not really. I know precisely what to look for: people who may have been associated with our fathers.”

Tennyson spoke so rapidly, with such assurance, that Noel found it difficult to keep up with him. “Why are you so convinced the information is there to begin with?”

“Because it has to be. You made that clear to me this afternoon. The man who called you in New York, the one who was killed—”

“Peter Baldwin?”

“Yes. MI Six. He knew about Geneva. We start with him; he’s our key now.”

“Then go to the file called ‘Wolfsschanze,’ ” said Holcroft “ ‘Code Wolfsschanze.’ That may be it!”

Tennyson did not reply at first. He was either thinking or startled; Noel could not tell which. “Where did you hear that?” he asked. “You never mentioned it. Neither did Helden.”