The Holcroft Covenant (66 page)

The Israeli came down, crouched next to the wall, and cupped his hands. “Step up,” he ordered Noel.

The ring of wire barbs on the top of the wall was impossible to avoid; there was no space on the ledge untouched by it.

Straining, Holcroft managed to get his left toe on the edge, then sprang up, vaulting the ominous coil and plummeting to the ground. His jacket had been caught, his ankles badly scraped, but he had made it. He stood up, only vaguely aware that he was breathing heavily, the pain in his throat and shins merely irritations. If the stranger had given Helden the right information on the phone, he was within a few hundred yards of Althene.

On top of the wall, the silhouette of the Israeli loomed like a large bird in the night sky; he vaulted over the coiled wire and spun down to the ground. He rolled once, as a tumbler might roll to break a fall, and sprang up next to Noel, raising his wrist in front of him to look at his watch.

“It’s nearly six. It’ll be light soon. Hurry.”

They sliced through the forest, sidestepping branches, leaping over the tangled foliage, until they found the dirt road that led toward the guest house. In the distance they could see a dim glow of lights that shone from small cathedral windows.

“Stop!” Ben-Gadíz said.

“What?” Yakov’s hand gripped Noel’s shoulder. The Israeli fell on him, dragging Holcroft to the ground. “What are you doing?”

“Be still! There’s activity in the house. People.”

Noel peered through the grass at the house no more than a hundred yards away. He could see no movement, no figures in the windows. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Look at the lights. They’re not steady. People are moving in front of lamps.”

Holcroft saw instantly what Ben-Gadíz had seen.
There
were
subtle changes of shading. The normal eye—especially the normal eye of an anxious runner—would not notice them, but they were there. “You’re right,” he whispered.

“Come,” said Yakov. “We’ll cut through the woods and approach from the side.”

They went back into the forest and emerged at the edge of a small croquet course, grass and wickets cold and rigid in the winter night. Beyond the flat ground were the windows of the house.

“I’ll run across and signal you to follow,” Yakov whispered. “Remember, no noise.”

The Israeli dashed across the lawn and crouched at the side of a window. Slowly he stood up and peered inside. Noel got to his knees, prepared to race out from the foliage.

The signal did not come. Ben-Gadíz stood motionless at the side of the window, but made no move to raise his hand. What was wrong? Why didn’t the signal come?

Holcroft could wait no longer. He sprang up and ran over the stretch of grass.

The Israeli turned, his eyes glaring. “Get away!” he whispered.

“What are you talking about? She’s in there!”

Ben-Gadíz grabbed Holcroft by the shoulders, pushing him backward. “I said go
back!
We must get out of here.…”

“The hell we will!” Noel swung both arms up violently, breaking the Israeli’s grip. He leaped to the window and looked inside.

The universe went up in fire. His mind burst open. He tried to scream, but no scream would come, only pure, raw horror, beyond sound, beyond sanity.

Inside the dimly lit room he saw the body of his mother arched diagonally in death across the back of a chair. The graceful, wondrous head was streaked with blood, scores of red rivers over wrinkled flesh.

Noel raised his hands, his arms, his whole being in the process of exploding. He could feel the air. His fists plunged toward the panes of glass.

The impact never came. Instead, an arm was around his neck, a hand clasped over his mouth; both were giant tentacles pulling his head back viciously, lifting him off his feet, his spine arching, his legs crumbling beneath him as
he was forced to the ground. His face was being pushed into dirt until there was no air. And then a sharp agonizing pain shot through his throat, and the fire returned.

He knew he was moving, but he did not know how or why. Branches kept slapping his face, hands hammered at his back, propelling him forward into the darkness. He could not know how long he was in the suspended state of chaos, but finally there was a stone wall. Harsh commands barked into his ear.

“Get up! Over the wire!”

Cognizance began to return. He felt the sharp metal points stabbing him, scraping his skin, ripping his clothes. Then he was being dragged across a hard surface and slammed against the door of an automobile.

The next thing he knew he was in the seat of a car, staring through the glass of a windshield. Dawn was coming up.

He sat in the chair, drained, numb, and read the letter from Althene.

Holcroft looked up at Yakov, who was standing by the apartment window looking out at the gray light of the early winter morning.

“What was it she wouldn’t let anyone else do?” he asked.

“Meet with my brother,” answered Helden from across the room.

Noel clenched his fist and closed his eyes. “Ben-Gadíz said he ordered you killed.”

“Yes. He’s had many people killed.”

Holcroft turned to the Israeli. “My mother wrote that you would explain the lie.”

“I defer to Helden. I know a great deal of the story, but she knows it all.”

“This is what you went to London for?” asked Noel.

“It’s why I left Paris,” she replied. “But it wasn’t to London; it was to a small village on Lake Neuchâtel.”

She told him the story of Werner Gerhardt, of Wolfsschanze, of the coin that had two sides. She tried to remember every detail given her by the last of the Nachrichtendienst.

When she had finished, Holcroft got out of the chair. “So all along I’ve been the figurehead for the lie. For the other side of Wolfsschanze.”

“You are the code numbers that open the
Sonnenkinder
vaults,” said Ben-Gadíz. “You were the one who made all the laws work for them. Such massive funds cannot spring from the earth without a structure. The chain of legalities must be met, or they are challenged. Wolfsschanze could not afford that. It was a brilliant deception.”

Noel stared at the wall by the bedroom door. He stood facing it, facing the dimly lit wallpaper, the obscure figures in the pattern of a series of concentric circles engulfing
themselves. The muted light—or his own unbalanced sight—made them spin with dizzying speed, black dots disappearing, only to become large circles again.
Circles. Circles of deception
. There were no straight lines of truth in those circles, only deceit. Only lies!

He heard the scream come out of his throat and felt the impact of his hands upon the wall, pounding furiously, wanting only to destroy the terrible circles.

Other hands touched him. Gentle hands.

A man in agony had cried out to him. And that man was false!

Where was he? What had he done?

He felt tears in his eyes and knew they were there because the circles became blurs, meaningless designs. And Helden was holding him, pulling his face to hers, her gentle fingers brushing away the tears.

“My darling. My only darling.…”

“
I
 … 
will
 … 
kill!
” Again, he heard the sound of his own scream, the horrible conviction of his own words.

“You
will
,” a voice answered, echoing in the chambers of his mind. It was loud and resonant, and it belonged to Yakov Ben-Gadíz, who had pushed Helden aside and had spun him around, pinning his shoulders to the wall. “You
will!
”

Noel tried to focus his burning eyes, tried to control his trembling. “You tried to stop me from seeing her!”

“I knew I couldn’t,” said Yakov quietly. “I knew it when you lunged. I’ve been trained as few others on this earth, but you have something extraordinary inside you. I’m not sure I care to speculate, but I’m grateful you’re not my enemy.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I give you the option of Har Sha’alav. It will demand the most extraordinary discipline of which you are capable. I’ll be frank: I couldn’t do it, but perhaps you can.”

“What is it?”

“Go through with the meeting at the bank. With the killers of your mother, with the man who ordered Helden’s death, Richard Holcroft’s death. Face him; face them. Sign the papers.”

“You’re out of your mind! Out of your fucking
mind!
”

“I’m not! We’ve studied the laws. You’ll be required to sign a release. In it, in the event of your death, you
assign all rights and privileges to the coinheritors. When you do, you’ll sign a death warrant. Sign it! It won’t be your death warrant, but theirs!”

Noel looked into Yakov’s dark, imploring eyes. There it was again: the straight line of truth. Neither spoke for a while, and slowly Holcroft began to find the control he had lost. Ben-Gadíz released his shoulders; balance returned.

“They’ll be looking for me,” said Noel. “They think I went to Von Tiebolt’s rooms.”

“You did; the door wasn’t rethreaded. You saw that no one was there, so you left.”

“Where did I go? They’ll want to know.”

“Are you familiar with the city?”

“Not really.”

“Then you took taxis; you traveled along the waterfront, stopping at a dozen piers and marinas, looking for anyone who might have seen your mother. It’s plausible; they think you were in panic.”

“It’s almost seven-thirty,” Noel said. “An hour and a half left. I’ll go back to the hotel. We’ll meet after the conference at the bank.”

“Where?” asked Yakov.

“Take a room at the Excelsior in the name of a married couple. Get there after nine-thirty, but long before noon. I’m in four-eleven.”

He stood outside the hotel door; it was three minutes past eight. He could hear angry voices from inside. Von Tiebolt dominated whatever conversation was taking place, his tone incisive, on the edge of violence.

Violence
. Holcroft took a deep breath and forced himself to reject the instincts that seared through him. He would face the man who killed his mother and his father and look that man in the eyes and not betray his rage.

He knocked on the door, grateful that his hand did not tremble.

The door opened, and he stared into the eyes of the blond-haired killer of loved ones.

“Noel! Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere!”

“So have I,” said Holcroft, the weariness not difficult to feign, the control of outrage nearly impossible. “I’ve spent the night looking for her. I couldn’t find her. I don’t think she ever got here.”

“Well keep trying,” said Von Tiebolt. “Have some coffee. We’ll be off to the bank soon, and it will all be over.”

“Yes, it will, won’t it?” said Noel.

The three of them sat on one side of the long conference table, Holcroft in the center, Kessler on his left, Von Tiebolt on his right. Facing them were the two directors of La Grande Banque de Genève.

In front of each man was a neat pile of legal papers, all identical and arranged in sequence. Eyes followed the typed words, pages were turned, and more than an hour passed before the precious document had been read aloud in its entirety.

There were two remaining articles of record, their cover pages bordered in dark blue. The director on the left spoke.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, with an account of this magnitude and the objectives contained therein, La Grande Banque de Genève cannot legally assume responsibility for disbursements once the funds are released and are no longer under our control. The document is specific as to the burden of that responsibility. It is equally divided among the three participants. Therefore, the law requires that each of you assign all rights and privileges to your coinheritors-in-trust in the event you predecease them. These rights and privileges, however, do not affect the individual bequests; they are to be distributed to your estates in the event of your death.” The director put on his spectacles. “Please read the pages in front of you to see that they conform to what I’ve represented, and sign above your names in the presence of one another. Exchange papers so that all signatures appear on each.”

The reading was rapid; the signatures followed, and the pages were exchanged. As Noel handed his signed paper to Kessler, he spoke casually.

“You know, I forgot to ask you, Erich. Where’s your brother? I thought he was going to be here in Geneva.”

“With all the excitement, I forgot to tell you,” Kessler said, smiling. “Hans was delayed in München. I’m sure we’ll see him in Zurich.”

“Zurich?”

The scholar looked past Holcroft toward Von Tiebolt.
“Well, yes. Zurich. I thought we planned to be there Monday morning.”

Noel turned to the blond man. “You didn’t mention it.”