Sustenance (51 page)

Pomeroy gave a snort of derisive laughter. “Bjornson has a book with the Grof’s publishing company. So do about half the Coven.”

“Does that present a problem?” Effering was being cautious now, aware he was on uncertain ground.

“He’s been most reliable,” said Bjornson. “I’ve liked doing business with him so far, and yes, that contributes to my generally good opinion of him.”

“Okay.” Effering drank about a third of the wine in his glass. “If you trust him, I suppose I must do so as well.”

“He’s been reliable in all other matters,” said Pomeroy. “I can think of no reason he would play us false on such a question as this.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” said Effering.

“Probably not,” Bjornson agreed. “But it will speed up your answer, Mister Effering, and I would encourage you to wait two days in patience. Otherwise, it will take us three or four weeks to find our if your claims are true and you are who you say you are, and that will be a long time to set your membership before the Coven.”

“Fine,” said Effering. “I’ll try to hold body and soul together as long as I can.”

“Does that mean you are short of funds?” Pomeroy asked, sounding a bit sympathetic for the first time. “If you are, we can extend a small loan to you, to tide you over. We’ve done it before.” He did not add that some of those loans came from Szent-Germain, not the Coven.

Effering looked astonished, but the expression faded quickly and he nodded. “If you’re willing, I’m in no position to refuse. Thank you very much for anything you can spare. As soon as I have work, I’ll pay you back, with interest.”

“That’s agreeable,” said Pomeroy with a supporting gesture from Bjornson.

Effering drank the last of his wine. “Thanks for this, too. I hope your meeting goes well on Friday.”

Pomeroy bit back a sharp remark. “We all know it’s not easy, once you’re on the outside like this; we all went through what you’re going through.”

“You can say that again,” Effering declared, a trifle too loudly.

“Are you completely on your own? No money from home in any way? No relatives still living in the Old Country to help you out?” Bjornson asked in sardonic amusement.

“No. Not really,” said Effering. “I have some war bonds back home in a safe deposit box, and they’ll be mature in 1961, as I recall. It seems strange to have to be careful with money—we came through the Depression without significant losses, and we have significant inheritances from our father and grandfather.”

“We?” Pomeroy inquired.

“My sisters and step-brothers. Three sisters, two step-brothers.”

“And one in an iron lung?” Bjornson asked.

A couple entered the restaurant and were escorted to a table by Gaspard, who served as head waiter and maitre d’; Pomeroy, Bjornson, and Effering went quiet, and when they began to speak again, did so in lowered voices.

“That sounds like a goodly sum to me, right about now,” said Pomeroy, sympathy returning to his manner. “It wouldn’t hold you out for much more than a year, if it’s all you have, but it’s enough to keep the wolf from the door, even here in Paris, if you don’t mind being frugal. If you were in a smaller city, it would go a little further.”

“I was able to get some money out of my ordinary savings before I left, but not as much as I wanted.” Effering shook his head, the vein in his neck showing that his pulse had increased. “I don’t dare to try to touch any other money from here, not the way the Committee has been poisoning the well for me.”

“For all of us,” said Bjornson, a suggestion of bitterness in his tone.

“You’re right about that,” said Pomeroy.

“I’ve exhausted almost all my contacts here in France, yet I can’t think of where else to go. I don’t speak German or Italian or Spanish or Portuguese, or Dutch and Danish, for that matter, at least not at a level that would get me hired. I don’t know that the English would be eager for someone like me with a cloud over his head.”

“And what do you make of your chances of getting work just now?” Bjornson asked as politely as he could.

“In finding work in my own field?—few to none.” He drank down the rest of his wine and put the glass on the bar. “That should hold me until I get back to my hotel. Thank you for giving me some.” He got down from the tall chair. “I’ll call you day after tomorrow, around noon, if that’s satisfactory,” he said to Pomeroy.

“Please do,” said Pomeroy. “I’ll tell you anything that might affect the Coven’s willingness to include you in the group.” He gave an automatic smile. “And I’ll let you know how much we can loan you. That’s assuming you can make it for three more days on what you have.”

Effering sighed. “Thank you. You’re being very kind.”

Bjornson barked out two abrupt laughs, then said, “Wait to see what the Coven decides before you thank anyone.”

Effering nodded as if his neck hurt. “Yes. You’re right.” He went toward the door, not quite steady on his feet. He paused to wave, then stepped out into the bustle and rain.

The bar was quiet for almost a minute; it was Pomeroy who broke it first. “Well, you sure put the fear of God into him,” he said.

“I wanted to make sure he understood we won’t be made fools of,” Bjornson declared as he emptied the second bottle into their two glasses.

“Why don’t we wait to see what Szent-Germain discovers for us?” Pomeroy asked. “We have no reason to suspect Effering, given what he has provided us.”

“Right you are,” said Bjornson. “But I want to have real confirmation on those various points before I recommend him to the group.” He rested one elbow on the bar and said with growing fatigue, “We already have one mole in the Coven, and we can’t afford a second mole. We have to be very careful about Effering, or don’t you agree?”

“But what if there isn’t a mole at all? Maybe it’s just paranoia for all we’ve been through in the last three years?” Pomeroy said, his face showing a sadness that unnerved Bjornson. “I don’t want to think we have to contend with any of that here, but we’re in the habit now, and we might be seeing ghosts because of—”

“Our experiences,” said Bjornson, ending their discussion. “Were you thinking of having dinner here, or going somewhere else?”

“I’m staying here,” said Pomeroy. “I’ve got to get something to soak up the wine, little as I feel it right now.”

“That’s as good an excuse as any,” said Bjornson, reaching for the open bottle and pouring more wine for himself. “It’s irrational, I know, but I would like it if he weren’t quite so ready with his answers. It’s his story, I understand that, but if only he would stumble over some minor fact of it, or would correct himself on a little error, I would feel far more confident about him. He’s too pat, and that bothers me.”

Pomeroy shook his head. “It’s the opposite for me: I like his forthcoming way. Some of it is probably the result of having money—all his life by the sound of it—and having received a very good education.”

“Well, we would value that, wouldn’t we?” Bjornson almost giggled. “Oh, damn. I should not have had that last glass.”

“We would,” Pomeroy agreed. “Why don’t we have Gaspard seat us? We could both do with some dinner, don’t you think?” He could feel the wine sneaking up on him, and thought that at home, his parents would have condemned him for drinking anything alcoholic, though they grew grapes for vintners when Prohibition was repealed. He forced his thoughts back to here and now. “My treat.”

“Can you afford it?” Bjornson asked.

“I hope so,” Pomeroy said, and got down from his tall chair. “Come on, Axel. We’ll both feel better for it.”

“But the Grof … aren’t we expected at his flat at seven?” He found his edginess returning twofold, and took a last swig of wine to quiet his nerves.

Pomeroy grinned. “I’ll call him and tell him we’ll be by a little later. In case you haven’t noticed, Szent-Germain is a night-owl. We could probably arrive at midnight and not intrude.”

Bjornson permitted Pomeroy to convince him. “All right. Let’s have dinner,” he said, then added, “I don’t think he’s the sort of man to excuse an intrusion.”

As Gaspard led them to a table, Pomeroy said, “I never thought about it before, but you’re probably right. Courteous as he is, he’s not very hail-fellow-well-met, is he?”

TEXT OF A LETTER FROM JULIUS K. GROSSETT OF MASSACHUSETTS TITLE AND TRUST COMPANY IN BOSTON TO RAGOCZY FERENZ, GROF SZENT-GERMAIN, IN PARIS; SENT BY PROFESSIONAL COURIER AND DELIVERED TWENTY-THREE HOURS AFTER IT WAS WRITTEN.

October 28
th
, 1950

Ragoczy Ferenz, Grof Szent-Germain

Eclipse Trading and Shipping Company

No. 14, Quai Serie d’Ouvert

Paris, France

My dear Grof,

Let me point out at the first that I am most displeased by the havey-cavey manner that you have insisted we observe for this interaction, but pursuant to your instructions, I have, as you see, not used our letterhead nor my title and position within the company itself. You have assured me that this precaution is not contrary to any laws, either of this country or state, or to those laws and regulations pertaining to this issue in France. Should any misfortune befall this company as a result of your requirements or any action be taken against us, we will sue you for whatever damage you do us, in this country and any country in which Eclipse Trading and Shipping is licensed to operate.

We assigned two of our investigators to your case, and they spent almost all of yesterday making telephone calls to verify the claims made by Saumel V. Effering, PhD in virology and internal medicine. The information, as far as we could determine within the time constraints you imposed, is correct and complete. His father was a gunnery captain who lost an eye in combat; he returned home to his wife and family, and a year later, lost her and two children to the Influenza epidemic. The father married a widow with two boys. Samuel V. Effering was born in Eugene, Oregon, attended Stanford University and its medical school, as claimed, and worked in Europe during the end of the last war and well into the decade. He married Eleanore Heckley in 1939; they were divorced in 1946, no children, and a settlement favorable to the wife’s interests. What he does not mention in his CV is that he was a capable pianist in his youth and showed great promise in that skill, observations we heard several times during our initial contacts. Neither his sister nor his step-brother knew why he had given it up, only that he went to science camp when he was fifteen or sixteen, and soon after stopped playing the piano. You asked for inconsistencies in his accounts of himself, and this was the only one we can verify, although there are very likely others. Had we more time, we could probably uncover more of them, but you were willing to pay not only for the time gathering what they did learn required, but for the courier service to deliver this document to you. There is a detailed invoice attached explaining all the work done to comply with your orders. If you have any question in regard to any of the charges, please address your inquiries to me.

If you have decided to pursue your investigation through our office, please advise us of that as soon as possible; we will estimate the length of time our efforts will take, and what the costs are likely to be for our work. You will receive all our supporting information in our transcripts so that you may be able to reach an informed decision about Dr. Effering. If you want to expand your probing, we will require the names and possible employment records, along with any military service or work that supported the US’s war efforts. We pledge to strive to achieve an unbiased assessment of the persons and activities you seek to know more about; you may rely on our continued confidentiality and discretion.

If there are any other services you require of us, do not hesitate to contact us. We look forward to being of service to you.

Sincerely,

JKG/MTTC

Nota Bene: Full transcripts of all interviews will be complete by this time next week, when a copy of all pertinent documents will be sent to you for your files.

2

S
LEET WAS
slowing traffic to an uncharacteristic crawl, and most of the sidewalks were empty of the strolling masses of Parisians, who often began the Christmas season by calling on friends for pastries and cognac, but were today for the most part keeping within doors. Drivers showed more caution as they made their way along slippery streets than they did on most days, and lorries delivering goods for the holiday markets went gingerly to their destinations.

Tolliver Bethune inspected the meeting room the parties involved had finally agreed upon for this unofficial inquiry into the activities of Ragoczy Ferenz, Grof Szent-Germain; the building was used for meetings, seminars, and lectures, a far more neutral setting than any embassy would be. Bethune looked about, taking stock of the room: it was large enough for twenty people, but set up for a dozen with a polished table at one end of the room, just in front of the plush, spruce-green velvet curtains drawn across the wide bay that faced southeast toward the river. The meeting room was paneled in burled oak and buffed to a subdued shine. The room was lit by a pair of chandeliers of polished brass that suggested lotuses floating on ponds of light; these Art Nouveau masterpieces looked a bit dated now, but they were so well cared-for that their age did not seem to be a fault. It was ten after three in the afternoon—fifteen hundred ten hours, he reminded himself—and the evening seemed to be already upon them; the meeting was to begin at half-three, or fifteen thirty hours—he hoped he had that right, and stifled the urge to look at his watch. He did his best to conceal the agitation that had taken hold of him soon after this meeting was proposed.

“We’ll want coffee, and perhaps something stronger, in such raw weather,” he said to the waiter who had come into the room behind him.

“Will cognac or sherry be preferred?” the waiter asked, his accent still tinged with the vowels of his native Cornwall.