The Holcroft Covenant (62 page)

“No.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Is the desk clerk still there?”

“Yes. You paid him two weeks’ wages. The least he could do is to stay through the night.” Kessler’s expression grew pensive. “You know, it’s quite possible she’s simply delayed. Missed connections, a fog-bound airport, difficulties with immigration somewhere.”

“Anything’s possible, but it still doesn’t make sense. I know her; she’d get word to me.”

“Perhaps she’s being detained.”

“I thought about that; it’s the best thing that could happen. She’s traveling under a false passport. Let’s hope she’s arrested and thrown into a cell for a couple of days. No call from Helden, either?”

“No calls at all,” replied the German, his eyes suddenly riveted on Noel.

Holcroft stretched, shaving kit in hand. “It’s the waiting without knowing that drives me crazy.” He gestured at the bathroom door. “I’m going to wash up.”

“Good idea. Then why don’t you rest for a while? You must be exhausted. We have less than five hours to go, and I do believe Johann’s a very capable man.”

“I’m banking on it,” said Noel.

He took off his shirt and ran the hot water at full force, generating steam. The vapor rose, clouding the mirror and fogging the area above the sink. He put his face into the moist heat, supporting himself on the edge of the basin, and stayed there until sweat poured down his forehead. The practice was one he had learned from Sam Buonoventura several years ago. It was no substitute for a steam bath, but it helped.

Sam? Sam! For Christ’s sake, why hadn’t he
thought
of him? If his mother had changed her plans, or something had happened, it was entirely possible she’d call Sam. Especially if there was no one at the d’Accord named Noel Holcroft.

He looked at his watch; it was three-thirty-five, Geneva time, ten-thirty-five, Caribbean. If Sam had something to tell him, he’d stay by the telephone.

Noel turned off the faucet. He could hear Kessler’s voice from the bedroom, but there was no one else there. Whom was he talking to, and why was he keeping his voice so low?

Holcroft turned to the door and opened it less than an inch. Kessler was across the room, his back to the bathroom door, speaking into the telephone. Noel heard the words and stepped out.

“I tell you, that’s our answer. She’s traveling with a false passport. Check immigration records for—”

“Erich!”

Yakov Ben-Gadíz closed the first-aid kit, stood up beside the bed, and surveyed his handiwork. Helden’s wound was inflamed, but there was no infection. He had replaced the soiled bandage with a clean one.

“There,” he said, “that will do for a while. The swelling will go down in an hour or so, but you must stay off your feet. Keep the leg elevated.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a doctor,” said Helden.

“One doesn’t have to be a doctor to treat bullet wounds. You just have to get used to them.” The Israeli crossed to the door. “Stay here. I want to talk to Mrs. Holcroft.”

“No!”

Ben-Gadíz stopped. “What did you say?”

“Don’t send her out alone. She’s beside herself with guilt and frightened for her son. She can’t think clearly; she won’t have a chance. Don’t do it.”

“And if I do, you’ll stop me?”

“There’s a better way. You want my brother. Use
me
.”

“I want the
Sonnenkinder
list first. We’ve got three days to kill Von Tiebolt.”

“Three days?”

“Banks are closed tomorrow and Sunday. Monday would be the earliest they could meet with the Grande Banque’s directors. The list comes first. I agree with Litvak;
it
is the priority.”

“If it’s so important, he’s surely got it
with
him.”

“I doubt it. Men like your brother don’t take chances like that. An accident, a robbery in the streets … someone like me. No, he wouldn’t carry that list around. Nor would he put it in a hotel vault. It’s in his room. In a better vault. I want to get in that room, get him out of there for a while.”

“Then all the more reason to use me!” said Helden. “He thinks I’m
dead
. He didn’t see me at the seaplane base; he was looking for her, not me. The shock will stun him; he’ll be confused. He’ll go anywhere I say to find me. All I have to do is say the word ‘Nachrichtendienst.’ I’m
sure
of it.”

“And I’m counting on it,” replied Yakov. “But for tomorrow. Not tonight. You’re not the one he wants tonight. Holcroft’s mother is.”

“I’ll tell him she’s
with
me! It’s perfect!”

“He’d never believe you. You, who went to Neuchâtel to meet Werner Gerhardt? Who escaped? You’re synonymous with a trap.”

“Then at least let me go with her,” pleaded Helden. “Set up a meeting and I’ll stay out of sight. Give her
some
protection. I have a gun.”

Ben-Gadíz thought a moment before answering. “I
know what you’re offering, and I admire you for it. But I can’t risk the two of you. You see, I need her tonight, and I’ll need you tomorrow. She’ll draw him away tonight; you’ll draw him out tomorrow. It has to be that way.”

“You can accomplish
both
tonight!” pressed Helden. “
Get
your
list
. I’ll
kill
him. I swear it!”

“I believe you, but you’re missing a point. I give your brother more credit than you do. No matter how we plan, he’ll control the meeting with Mrs. Holcroft tonight. He has the numbers, the methods. We don’t.”

Helden stared at the Israeli. “You’re not only using her; you’re sacrificing her.”

“I’ll use
each
of us, sacrifice each of us, to do what has to be done. If you interfere, I’ll kill you.” Yakov walked to the bedroom door and let himself out.

Althene was sitting at a desk at the far end of the room, its small lamp the only source of light. She wore a deep-red bathrobe that she’d found in a closet, and it fit her loosely. The drenched clothes she and Helden had worn were draped over radiators, drying out. She was writing on a sheet of stationery. At the sound of Yakov’s footsteps, she turned.

“I borrowed some paper from your desk,” she said.

“It’s not my paper, not my desk,” answered the Israeli. “Are you writing a letter?”

“Yes. To my son.”

“Why? With any luck we’ll reach him. You’ll talk.”

Althene leaned back in the chair, her gaze steady on Ben-Gadíz. “I think we both know that there’s little chance I’ll see him again.”

“Do we?”

“Of course. There’s no point in my deceiving myself … or in your trying to deceive me. Von Tiebolt has to meet with me. When he does, he won’t let me go. Not alive. Why would he?”

“We’ll take precautions as best we can.”

“I’ll take a gun, thank you. I’ve no intention of standing there, telling him to fire away.”

“It would be better if you were sitting.”

They smiled at each other. “We’re both practical, aren’t we? Survivors.”

Yakov shrugged. “It’s easier that way.”

“Tell me. This list you want so badly. The
Sonnenkinder
.
It must be enormous. Volumes. Names of people and families everywhere.”

“That’s not the list we’re after; that’s the master list. I doubt we’ll ever see it. The list we
can
find—we’ve
got
to find—is the practical one. The names of the leaders who’ll receive the funds, who’ll distribute them in strategic areas. That list has to be where Von Tiebolt can get it readily.”

“And with it, you’ll have the identity of Wolfsschanze’s leaders.”

“Everywhere.”

“Why are you so sure it’s at the d’Accord?”

“It’s the only place it could be. Von Tiebolt trusts no one. He lets others deal in fragments; he controls the whole. He wouldn’t leave the list in a vault; nor would he carry it on him. It will be in his hotel room, the room itself filled with traps. And he would leave it only under the direst of circumstances.”

“We agree I’m that circumstance.”

“Yes. He fears you as he fears no one else, for no one else could convince your son to walk away from Geneva. They need him; they always have. The laws must be observed for the funds to be released. There was never any other way.”

“There’s irony in that. The law is used to perpetrate the greatest illegality imaginable.”

“It is not a new device, Mrs. Holcroft.”

“What about my son? Will you kill him?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’d like something more concrete.”

“There’ll be no reason to, if he comes with us. If he can be convinced of the truth and not think he’s being tricked, there’s good reason to keep him alive. Wolfsschanze won’t end with the collapse of the funds. The
Sonnenkinder
are out there. They’ll be crippled, but not exposed. Or destroyed. We’ll need every voice that can be raised against them. Your son will have a vital story to tell. Together we’ll reach the right people.”

“How will you convince him … if I don’t come back from my meeting with Von Tiebolt?”

The Israeli saw the hint of a smile on Althene’s lips and understood her pause. His assumption had been clear: She would not come back.

“As the contact in Neuchâtel and I see it, we have
today and tomorrow; the moves at La Grande Banque will no doubt begin Monday. They’ll keep him isolated, out of reach. It’s my job to break that isolation, get him away.”

“And when you do, what will you say?”

“I’ll tell him the truth, explain everything we learned at Har Sha’alav. Helden can be extremely helpful—if she’s alive, frankly. And then there’s the list. If I find it, I’ll show it to him.”

“Show him this letter,” interrupted Althene, turning back to the paper on the desk.

“It, too, would be helpful,” said the Israeli.

“Erich!”

Kessler whipped around, his obese body rigid. He started to lower the phone, but Holcroft stopped him.

“Hold it! Who are you talking to?” Noel grabbed the telephone; he spoke into it. “Who is this?”

Silence.

“Who is this?”

“
Please
,” said Kessler, regaining his composure. “We’re trying to
protect
you. You can’t be seen on the streets; you know that. They’ll kill you. You’re the key to Geneva.”

“You weren’t talking about me!”

“We’re trying to find your mother! You said she was traveling on a false passport, out of Lisbon. We didn’t understand that. Johann knows people who provide such papers; we were discussing it now.”

Holcroft spoke again into the phone. “Von Tiebolt? Is that you?”

“Yes, Noel,” came the calm reply. “Erich’s right. I have friends here who are trying to help us. Your mother could be in danger. You can’t be a part of the search. You must stay out of sight.”

“ ‘Can’t’?” Holcroft said the word sharply. “ ‘Must’? Let’s get something straight—both of you.” Noel spoke into the phone, his eyes on Kessler. “I’ll decide what I do and what I don’t do. Is that clear?”

The scholar nodded. Von Tiebolt said nothing. Holcroft raised his voice. “I asked you if that was
clear!
”

“Yes, of course,” said Johann finally. “As Erich has told you, we only want to help. This information about your mother’s traveling on a passport that’s not her own
could be helpful. I know men who deal in such matters. I’ll make calls and keep you informed.”

“Please.”

“If I don’t see you before morning, we’ll meet at the bank. I assume Erich’s explained.”

“Yes, he has. And, Johann … I’m sorry I blew; I know you’re trying to help. The people we’re after are called the Nachrichtendienst, aren’t they? That’s what you found out in London.”

There was a pause on the line. Then, “How did you know?”

“They left a calling card. I want those bastards.”

“So do we.”

“Thanks. Call me the minute you hear anything.” Noel hung up. “Don’t ever do that again,” he told Kessler.

“I apologize. I thought I was doing the right thing. Just as I think you believed you were doing the right thing to have me followed from the d’Accord.”

“It’s a lousy world these days,” Noel said, reaching for the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a man in Curaçao I want to talk to. He may know something.”

“Oh, yes. The engineer who’s been relaying your messages.”

“I owe him.”

Noel reached the overseas operator and gave her the number in Curaçao. “Shall I stay on the line, or will you call me back?”

“The cables are not crowded at this hour, sir.”

“I’ll stay on.” He sat on the bed and waited. Before ninety seconds had passed, he heard the ring of Buonoventura’s phone.

A male voice answered. But it was not Sam’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“Sam Buonoventura, please.”

“Who wants him?”

“A personal friend. I’m calling from Europe.”

“He ain’t gonna come runnin’, mister. He ain’t takin’ no more phone calls.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sam bought it, mister. Some fuckin’ nigger native
put a wire through his throat. We’re beating the high grass and the beaches for that son of a bitch.”

Holcroft lowered his head, his eyes closed, his breath suspended. His moves had been traced to Sam, and Sam’s help could not be tolerated. Buonoventura was his information center; he had to be killed, no more messages relayed. The Nachrichtendienst was trying to isolate him. He had owed Sam a debt, and that debt had been paid with death. Everything he touched was touched with death; he was its carrier.

“Don’t bother with the high grass,” he said, barely aware he was talking. “I killed him.”

“Did your son ever mention the name ‘Tennyson’?” asked Ben-Gadíz.

“No.”

“Damn it! When was the last time you talked with him?”

“After my husband’s death. He was in Paris.”

Yakov unfolded his arms; he had heard something he wanted to hear. “Was it the first time you’d spoken since your husband’s death?”

“His murder,” corrected Althene. “Although I didn’t know it then.”

“Answer my question. Was it the first time you’d talked since your husband died?”

“Yes.”

“It was a sad conversation, then.”

“Obviously. I had to tell him.”