The Holcroft Covenant (52 page)

Falkenheim stared at Johann. “She never
knew?
…”

“Never! She was the ideal puppet. Even psychologically. The fact that Heinrich Clausen was revealed to be that holy man reaffirmed her confidence in her own judgments. She had married
that
man, not the Nazi.”

“Incredible,” whispered Herr Oberst.

“At least that,” agreed Von Tiebolt. “She followed his instructions to the letter. Every contingency was considered, including a death certificate for an infant male in a London hospital. All traces to Clausen were obliterated.” The blond man laughed again, the sound unnerving. “So you see, you’re no match for Wolfsschanze.”

“Your Wolfsschanze, not mine.” Falkenheim glanced away. “You are to be commended.”

Suddenly Von Tiebolt stopped laughing. Something was wrong. It was in the old man’s eyes—flashed briefly, clouded, deep within that emaciated skull. “Look at me!” he shouted. “
Look
at me!”

Falkenheim turned. “What is it?”

“I said something just now … something you knew about. You
knew
.”

“What are you talking about?”

Von Tiebolt grabbed the old man by the throat. “I spoke of contingencies, of a death certificate! In a London hospital! You’ve heard it before!”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Falkenheim’s trembling fingers were wrapped around the blond man’s wrists, his voice rasping under the pressure of Johann’s grip.

“I think you do. Everything I’ve just told you shocked you. Or did it? You pretended shock, but you’re
not
shocked. The hospital. The death certificate. You didn’t react at all! You’ve heard it before!”

“I’ve heard nothing,” gasped Falkenheim.

“Don’t lie to me!” Von Tiebolt whipped the Luger across Herr Oberst’s face, lacerating the cheek. “You’re not that good anymore. You’re too
old
. You have lapses! Your brain is atrophied. You pause at the wrong instant,
Herr General
.”

“You’re a maniac.…”

“You’re a
liar!
A poor liar at that.
Traitor
.” Again he struck Herr Oberst in the face with the barrel of the weapon. Blood poured from the open wounds. “You
lied
about her!… My God, you
knew!
”

“Nothing … 
nothing
.”

“Yes!
Everything!
That’s why she’s flying to Geneva. I asked myself why.” Von Tiebolt struck furiously again; the old man’s lip was torn half off his face. “You! In your last desperate attempt to stop us, you reached her! You threatened her … and in those threats you told her what she never
knew!
”

“You’re wrong.
Wrong
.”

“No,” said Von Tiebolt, suddenly lowering his voice. “There’s no other reason for her to fly to Geneva.… So that’s how you think you’ll stop us. The mother reaches the child and tells him to turn back. Her covenant is a
lie
.”

Falkenheim shook his bloodied head. “No.… Nothing you say is true.”

“It’s all true, and it answers a last question. If you so dearly wanted to destroy Geneva, all you had to do was let the word go out. Nazi treasure. Claims would be made against it from the Black Sea to the northern Elbe, from Moscow to Paris. But you don’t do that. Again,
why?
” Von Tiebolt bent over farther, inches from the battered face beneath him. “You think you can control Geneva, use the millions as
you
want them used. ‘Amends must be made.’ Holcroft learns the truth and becomes
your
soldier, his anger complete, his commitment tripled.”

“He
will
find out,” whispered Falkenheim. “He’s better
than you; we’ve both learned that, haven’t we? You should find satisfaction in that. After all, in his own way, he’s a
Sonnenkind
.”

“Sonnen—”
Von Tiebolt swung the barrel of his pistol again across Herr Oberst’s face. “You’re filled with lies. I said the name; you showed nothing.”

“Why should I lie now?
Operation Sonnenkinder
,” said Falkenheim. “By ship, and plane, and submarine. Everywhere the children. We never got the lists, but we don’t need them. They’ll be stopped when you’re stopped. When Geneva’s stopped.”

“For that to happen, Althene Clausen must reach her son. She won’t expose Geneva for what it is until she’s tried everything else. To do so would destroy her son, let the world know who he is. She’ll do anything before she lets that happen. She’ll try to reach him quietly. We’ll stop her.”

“
You’ll
be stopped!” said Falkenheim, choking on the blood that flowed over his lips. “There’ll be no vast sums dispensed to your
Sonnenkinder
. We, too, have an army, one you’ll never know about. Each man will gladly give his life to stop you, expose you.”

“Of course,
Herr General.
” The blond man nodded. “The Jews of Har Sha’alav.”

The words were spoken softly, but they had the effect of a lash on the old man’s wounds. “
No!
…”

“Yes,” said Von Tiebolt. “ ‘Kill me, another will take my place. Kill him, another his.’ The Jews of Har Sha’alav. Indoctrinated by the Nachrichtendienst so thoroughly they became the Nachrichtendienst. The living remains of Auschwitz.”

“You’re an
animal
.…” Falkenheim’s body trembled in a spasm of pain.

“I am Wolfsschanze, the true Wolfsschanze,” said the blond man, raising the Luger. “Until you knew the truth, the Jews tried to kill the American, and now the Jews will die. Within the week Har Sha’alav will be destroyed, and with it the Nachrichtendienst. Wolfsschanze will triumph.”

Von Tiebolt held the gun in front of the old man’s head. He fired.

Tears streaked down Helden’s cheeks. She cradled the body of Klaus Falkenheim, but could not bring herself to look at the head. Finally, she let go of the corpse and crawled away; filled with horror … and guilt. She lay curled on the floor, her sobbing uncontrollable. In pain, she pushed herself to the wall, her forehead pressed against the molding, and let the tears pour out. Gradually it became clear to her that her screams and sobs had not been heard. She had come upon the horrible scene alone, and had found signs of the hated O
DESSA
everywhere: swastikas scratched into wood, scrawled with soap on the window, painted with Falkenheim’s blood on the floor. Beyond the despicable symbols, the room had been torn apart. Books ripped, shelves broken, furniture slashed; the house had been searched by maniacs. There was nothing left but ruins.

Yet there was something … not in the house. Outside. In the forest. Helden pressed her hands on the floor and raised herself against the wall, trying desperately to remember the words spoken by Herr Oberst only five mornings ago:
If anything should happen to me, you must not panic.… Go alone into the woods where you took me for my brief walk the other day. Do you remember? I asked you to pick up a cluster of wildflowers, as I remained by a tree. I pointed out to you that there was a perfect V formed by the limbs. Go to that tree. Wedged into the branches is a small canister. Inside, there is a message to be read only by you
.…

Helden pried the small tubular receptacle from its recess and tore open the rubber top. Inside there was a rolled-up piece of paper; attached to it were several bills, each worth ten thousand francs. She removed the money and read the message.

Helden leaned against the tree and looked up at the sky. Wisps of thin clouds moved swiftly in an easterly course; the winds were strong. She wished she could be carried by them, and that she did not have to run from point to point, every move a risk, every person she looked at a potential enemy.

Noel had said it would be over soon and she would be able to stop running.

He was wrong.

*  *  *

Holcroft pleaded over the telephone, trying to convince her not to go—at least for another day—but Helden would not be dissuaded. Word had reached her through Gallimard that her sister’s personal effects were awaiting her inspection; decisions had to be considered, arrangements made.

“I’ll call you in Geneva, my darling. You’ll be staying at the d’Accord?”

“Yes.” What was wrong with her? She’d been so happy, so elated, barely two hours ago. She sounded tense now; her words were clear, but her voice was strained.

“I’ll phone you in a day or so. Under the name of Fresca.”

“Do you want me to go with you? I don’t have to be in Geneva until late tomorrow night. The Kesslers won’t get there till ten, your brother even later.”

“No, darling. It’s a sad trip. I’d rather make it alone. Johann’s in London now.… I’ll try to reach him.”

“You’ve got some clothes here.”

“A dress, a pair of slacks, shoes. It’s quicker for me to stop at … Herr Oberst’s … and pick up others more appropriate for Portsmouth.”

“Quicker?”

“On the way to the airport. I have to go there, at any rate. My passport, money.…”

“I have money,” interrupted Noel. “I thought you’d been to his place by now.”

“
Please
, darling. Don’t be difficult.” Helden’s voice cracked. “I told you, I stopped at the office.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t say that. You said you got word.” Holcroft was alarmed; she wasn’t making sense. Herr Oberst’s hidden cottage was
not
on the way to Orly. “Helden, what’s the matter?”

“I love you, Noel. I’ll call you tomorrow night. Hotel d’Accord, Geneva.” She hung up.

Holcroft replaced the phone, the sound of her voice echoing in his ears. It was possible she was going to London, but he doubted it. Where
was
she going? Why did she lie? God damn it! What was
wrong
with her? What had happened?

There was no point in staying in Paris. Since he had to reach Geneva on his own, he might as well get started.

He could not chance the airlines or the trains. Unseen men would be watching; he had to elude them. The
assistant manager of the George V could hire him a car under the name of Fresca. The route would be mapped for him. He would drive through the night to Geneva.

Althene Holcroft looked out the window of the TAP airliner at the lights of Lisbon below; they would be on the ground in minutes. She had a great deal to accomplish during the next twelve hours, and she hoped to God she was capable of doing it. A man had followed her in Mexico; she knew that. But then he had disappeared at the airport, which meant that another had taken his place.

She had failed in Mexico. She had not dropped out of sight. Once in Lisbon, she would have to vanish; she could not fail again.

Lisbon.

Oh,
God
, Lisbon!

It had been in Lisbon where it all began. The lie of a lifetime, conceived in diabolical brilliance. What an imbecile she had been; what a performance Heinrich had given.

She had at first refused to meet with Heinrich in Lisbon, so total was her loathing, but she had gone because the threat was clear: Her son would be branded by his father. Nod
Holcroft
would never be left in peace, for the name Noel
Clausen
—only son of the infamous Nazi—would trail him throughout his life.

How relieved she’d been! How grateful that the threat had been only a device to bring her to Lisbon. And how stunned and awestruck when Heinrich calmly outlined the extraordinary plan that would take years to bring to pass, but when it did, would make the world a far better place. She listened, was convinced, and did everything he asked her to do. For amends
would
be made.

She had loved him again—during those brief few days in Lisbon—and in a rush of emotion had offered herself to him.

With tears in his eyes, he had refused. He was not worthy, he said.

It was the consummate deception! The ultimate irony!

For now, at this moment, the very threat that brought her to Lisbon thirty years ago was the threat that brought her here again. Noel Holcroft would be destroyed; he
would become Noel Clausen, son of Heinrich, instrument of the new Reich.

A man had come to her in the middle of the night in Bedford Hills. A man who had gained entrance by invoking the name “Manfredi” behind the closed door; she had admitted him thinking perhaps her son had sent him. He had said he was a Jew from a place called Har Sha’alav, and that he was going to kill her. And then he would kill her son. There’d be no specter of Wolfsschanze—the
false
Wolfsschanze—spreading from Zurich out of Geneva.

Althene had been furious. Did the man know to whom he was speaking? What she had
done?
What she
stood for?

The man knew only about Geneva and Zurich … and Lisbon thirty years ago. It was all he had to know, to know what she stood for, and that stance was an abomination to him and all men like him throughout the world.