The Holcroft Covenant (38 page)

A man in agony had cried out to him
. “What kind of pain?”

“I have no idea; it was only a child’s impression. You would have to have seen his eyes to understand. No matter whom he looked at, young or old, important or not, he gave that person his full concentration. I do remember that; it was not a common trait in those days. In a way, I picture Clausen more clearly than I do my own father, and certainly more than Von Tiebolt. Why are you interested in him?”

“He was my father.”

Kessler’s mouth opened in astonishment “You?” he whispered. “Clausen’s
son?
”

Noel nodded. “My natural father, not the father I knew.”

“Then your mother was …” Kessler stopped.

“Althene Clausen. Did you ever hear anyone speak of her?”

“Never by name, and never in Clausen’s presence. Ever. She was spoken of in whispers. The woman who left the great man, the American enemy who fled the fatherland with their—You! You were the child she took from him!”

“Took
with
her,
kept
from him, is the way she puts it.”

“She’s still alive?”

“Very much so.”

“It’s all so incredible.” Kessler shook his head. “After all these years, a man I remember so vividly. He was extraordinary.”

“They were all extraordinary.”

“Who?”

“The three of them. Clausen, Von Tiebolt, and Kessler. Tell me, do you know how your father died?”

“He killed himself. It was not unusual then. When the Reich collapsed, a lot of people did. For most of them it was easier that way.”

“For some it was the only way.”

“Nürnberg?”

“No, Geneva. To protect Geneva.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You will.” Holcroft opened his attaché case, took out the pages he had clipped together, and gave them to Kessler. “There’s a bank in Geneva that has an account that can be released for specific purposes only by the consent of three people.…”

As he had done twice before, Noel told the story of the massive theft of over thirty years ago. But with Kessler, he told it all. He did not, as he had done with Gretchen, withhold specific facts; nor did he tell the story in stages, as he had with Helden. He left out nothing.

“…  monies were intercepted from the occupied countries, from the sales of art objects and the looting of museums. Wehrmacht payrolls were rerouted, millions stolen from the Ministry of Armaments and the—I can’t remember the name, it’s in the letter—but from the industrial complex. Everything was banked in Switzerland, in Geneva, with the help of a man named Manfredi.”

“Manfredi? I remember the name.”

“It’s not surprising,” said Holcroft. “Although I don’t imagine he was mentioned too frequently. Where did you hear it?”

“I don’t know. After the war, I think.”

“From your mother?”

“I don’t think so. She died in July of ’forty-five and was in the hospital for most of the time. From someone else… I don’t know.”

“Where did you live, with your father and mother dead?”

“My brother and I moved in with our uncle, my mother’s brother. It was lucky for us. He was an older man and never had much use for the Nazis. He found favor with the occupation forces. But please, go on.”

Noel did. He detailed the conditions of competence required by the directors of La Grande Banque de Genève, which led him into the dismissal of Gretchen Beaumont. He told Kessler of the Von Tiebolts’ clouded migration to Rio, the birth of Helden, the killing of their mother, and their eventual flight from Brazil.

“They took the name of Tennyson and have been
living in England for the past five years. Johann von Tiebolt is known as John Tennyson. He’s a reporter for the
Guardian
. Gretchen married a man named Beaumont and Helden moved several months ago to Paris. I haven’t met the brother, but I’ve … become friends with Helden. She’s a remarkable girl.”

“Is she the ‘someone else’ you were with last night?”

“Yes,” replied Holcroft. “I want to tell you about her, what she’s gone through, what she’s going through now. She and thousands like her are part of the story.”

“I think I may know,” said Kessler.
“Die Verwünschte Kinder.”

“The what?”

“The
Verwünschte Kinder. Verwünschung
is German for a curse. Or one damned.”

“The Children of the Damned,” said Noel. “She used the expression.”

“It’s a term they gave themselves. Thousands of young people—not so young now—who fled the country because they convinced themselves they couldn’t live with the guilt of Nazi Germany. They rejected everything German, sought new identities, new life-styles. They’re very much like those hordes of young Americans who left the United States for Canada and Sweden in protest against the Vietnam policies. These groups form subcultures, but none can really reject their roots. They
are
German; they
are
American. They migrate in packs and cling together, taking strength from the very pasts they’ve rejected. The proddings of guilt are a heavy burden. Can you understand?”

“Not really,” said Holcroft. “But then, I’m not built that way. I’m not going to take on a guilt that isn’t mine.”

Kessler looked into Noel’s eyes. “I submit you may have. You say you won’t run from this covenant of yours, yet terrible things have happened to you.”

Holcroft considered the scholar’s words. “There may be some truth in that, but the circumstances are different. I didn’t
leave
anything. I guess I was selected.”

“Not part of the damned,” said Kessler, “but part of the chosen?”

“Privileged, anyway.”

The scholar nodded. “There’s a word for that, too. Perhaps you’ve heard of it
Sonnenkinder
.”

“Sonnenkinder?”
Noel frowned. “If I remember, it was in one of those courses I didn’t exactly shine in. Anthropology, maybe.”

“Or philosophy,” suggested Kessler. “It’s a philosophical concept developed by Thomas J. Perry, in England in the nineteen-twenties, and before him by Bachofen, in Switzerland, and by his disciples in München. The theory being that the
Sonnenkinder
—the Children of the Sun—have been with us throughout the ages. They’re the shapers of history, the most brilliant among us, rulers of epochs … the privileged.”

Holcroft nodded. “I remember now. They were ruined by that privilege of theirs. They became depraved, or something. Incestuous, I think.”

“It’s only a theory,” said Kessler. “We’re straying again; you’re an easy man to talk to. You were saying about this Von Tiebolt daughter that life is difficult for her.”

“For all of them. And more than difficult. It’s crazy. They’re running all the time. They have to live like fugitives.”

“They’re easy prey for fanatics,” agreed Erich.

“Like the O
DESSA
and the Rache?”

“Yes. Such organizations can’t function efficiently within Germany itself; they’re not tolerated. So they operate in other countries where disaffected expatriates such as the
Verwünschkinder
have gravitated. They want only to stay alive and vital, waiting for the chance to return to Germany.”

“Return?”

Kessler held up his hand. “Please God, they never will, but they can’t accept that. The Rache once wanted the Bonn government to be an arm of the Comintern, but even Moscow rejected them; they’ve become nothing more than terrorists. The O
DESSA
have always wanted to revive Nazism. They’re scorned in Germany.”

“Still, they go after the children,” said Noel. “Helden used the phrase ‘damned for what they were, damned for what they weren’t.’ ”

“An apt judgment.”

“They should be stopped. Some of that money in Geneva should be used to cripple the O
DESSA
and the Rache.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Holcroft. “Let’s get back to Geneva.”

“By all means.”

Noel had covered the objectives of the covenant and defined the conditions demanded of the inheritors. It was time to concentrate on what had happened to
him
.

He began with the murder on the plane, the terror in New York, the rearranged apartment, the letter from the men of Wolfsschanze, the telephone call from Peter Baldwin and the subsequent brutal killings it engendered. He spoke of the flight to Rio and a man with thick eyebrows: Anthony Beaumont, O
DESSA
agent. He told of the doctored records at Rio’s Department of Immigration and the strange meeting with Maurice Graff. He emphasized MI Five’s intrusion in London and the astonishing news that British Intelligence believed Johann von Tiebolt was the assassin they called the Tinamou.

“The
Tinamou?
” broke in Kessler, stunned, his face flushed. It was his first interruption of Holcroft’s narrative.

“Yes. You know something about him?”

“Only what I’ve read.”

“I gather some people think he’s been responsible for dozens of assassinations.”

“And the British think it’s Johann von Tiebolt?”

“They’re wrong,” said Noel. “I’m certain they know it now. Something happened yesterday afternoon that proves it. You’ll understand when I come to it.”

“Go on.”

He touched briefly on the evening with Gretchen, the photograph of Anthony Beaumont. He went on to Helden and Herr Oberst, then to the death of Richard Holcroft. He described the calls between himself and a detective in New York named Miles, as well as conversations with his mother.

He told of the green Fiat that had followed them to Barbizon, and the man with the pockmarked face.

Then came the madness of the
fête d’hiver
. How he had tried to trap the man in the Fiat and had himself nearly been killed.

“I told you a few minutes ago the British were wrong about Tennyson,” Noel said.

“Tennyson? Oh, the name Von Tiebolt assumed.”

“That’s right. MI Five was convinced that everything
that happened in Montereau, including the man with the pockmarked face who was following us, was the work of the Tinamou. But that man was killed; he
worked
for Von Tiebolt; they
knew
that. Helden even confirmed it.”

“And,” interrupted Kessler, “the Tinamou would not kill his own man.”

“Exactly.”

“Then the agent will tell his superiors.…”

“He can’t,” broke in Noel. “He was shot saving Helden’s life. But identifications will be made; the British will piece it together.”

“Will the British find the agent who died?”

“Word will get back to them. It has to. The police were everywhere; they’ll find his body.”

“Can he be traced to you?”

“It’s possible. We fought in the square; people will remember. But as Helden put it: We were followed; we didn’t do the following. There’s no reason why we should
know
anything.”

“You sound unsure.”

“Before the agent died, I decided to mention Baldwin’s name to him, to see if I could learn anything. He reacted as if I’d fired a gun in front of his face. He pleaded with Helden and me to get in touch with a man named Payton-Jones. We were supposed to tell him everything that happened; tell him to find out who attacked us, who killed Von Tiebolt’s man, and most important, to tell MI Five he believed it was all related to Peter Baldwin.”

“To Baldwin? He’d been with MI Six, you said?”

“Yes. He’d gone to them some time ago with information about the survivors of Wolfsschanze.”

“Wolfsschanze?” Kessler repeated the name softly. “That was the letter Manfredi gave you in Geneva, the one written over thirty years ago.”

“That’s right. The agent said we were to tell Payton-Jones to go back to Baldwin’s file. To ‘code Wolfsschanze.’ That was the phrase he used.”

“In his phone call to you in New York, did Baldwin mention Wolfsschanze?” asked Kessler.

“No. He said only that I should stay away from Geneva; that he knew things no one else knew. Then he went to answer the door and he never came back.”

Kessler’s eyes were colder now. “So Baldwin had learned about Geneva and this Wolfsschanze’s commitment to it.”

“How much he learned we don’t know. It could be very little, just rumors.”

“But these rumors are enough to stop you from going to MI Five. Even the advantage of warning them that Beaumont is O
DESSA
could be too great a price. The British would question you and the girl at length; there are a thousand ways, and they’re experts. Baldwin’s name might surface and they would go back to his file. You can’t take that chance.”

“I came to the same conclusion,” said Holcroft, impressed.

“Perhaps there’s another way to get Beaumont away from you.”

“How?”

“The O
DESSA
is loathed here in Germany. Word to the proper people could result in his removal. You’d never have to reach the British yourself, never have to risk Baldwin’s name coming to light.”

“Could that be arranged?”

“Unquestionably. If Beaumont’s really an O
DESSA
agent, a brief message from the Bonn government to the Foreign Office would be enough. I know any number of men who could send it.”

Relief swept over Holcroft. One more obstacle was being removed. “I’m glad we met … that you’re you and not somebody else.”

“Don’t be too quick to make that judgment. You want my answer. Will I join you? Frankly, I—”

“I don’t want your answer yet,” interrupted Noel. “You were fair with me, and I have to be fair with you, I’m not finished. There was tonight.”

“Tonight?” Kessler was disturbed, impatient.

“Yes. The last couple of hours, in fact.”

“What happened … tonight?”

Noel leaned forward. “We know about the Rache and the O
DESSA.
We’re not sure how much
they
know about Geneva, but we’re damned sure what they’d do if they knew enough. We know about the men of Wolfs-schanze. Whoever they are, they’re crazy—no better than the others—but in their own strange way they’re on our side; they want Geneva to succeed. But there’s someone
else. Someone—
something
—much more powerful than the others. I found that out tonight.”