The Lie (7 page)

Paulie kissed the soft, silvery place between her breasts.

‘Not now.”

K
ATE
D
INNESON CAME HOME
from the Walterses’ place in Positano in the late afternoon.

Essentially nomadic, Kate currently lived in a small apartment in Naples with oversized windows, a wonderful view of the bay,
and lots of light. The rent was twice as much as it should have been, but she was happy to pay it because of the view and
the light. She had grown up in a series of dark, urban rooms that faced blank walls, and she could still get depressed at
the thought of having to lean out of a window and look straight up to see the sky.

After checking her mail and messages, she took a leisurely bath. Then she poured herself some wine and sat watching the sun
burn its way into the Bay of Naples.

She thought about the past few days. She thought about Paulie, about the best and the worst. Taken altogether, she felt a
kind of mystic joy along with old graves opening inside her.

Was this how she was going to respond to the fate of being human and in love? Plus her accompanying fear of the future? Evidently.

Well, she could live with it. Not to would be stupid. Looking ahead and worrying was as bad as looking back and regretting.
Both poisoned you and neither altered a thing. The main reason she had changed her name was to separate herself from her parents’
bloody history, to start fresh.

* * *

She had just finished a light meal when a knock on the door surprised her. She knew few people in Naples, and no one ever
came by without first calling.

Still, she opened the door without asking who was there, and found herself looking at a smiling Klaus Logefeld.

“Klaus!”

He had never been here before, so she was startled.

“May I come in, or do you have company?”

“Of course come in. I’m alone.”

Once inside, he handed her a delicate bouquet of violets. “My apologies for walking in on you like this.”

Kate laughed. “That’s so sweet. I can’t remember the last time anyone brought me flowers.”

Klaus stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. He looked too big and curiously out of place.

“Please sit down,” Kate told him as she put the flowers in a vase. “How long have you been in Naples?”

“About fifteen minutes. I came to see
you
,” he said. “You’re the only reason I’m in Naples.”

Kate slowly sat down. She felt a charge in the air.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’ve just come to ask a favor.” Klaus gazed out at some ships’ lights on the bay. “When you called me last week,
you said you appreciated what I’d done, and that if there was ever anything you could do in return…”

Klaus Logefeld’s mouth smiled but not his eyes. “Did you really mean that or were you just being polite?”

“You’ve known me too long to be asking such a dumb question.”

“True. But this favor involves someone besides yourself.”

“Who?”

“Nicko Vorelli.”

Kate just stared at him.

Klaus laughed. “Why are you looking at me as if your relationship with the great Vorelli was a secret shared only by God?”

“What’s the favor, Klaus?”

“I’d like to meet your famous Dr. Vorelli. I’d like the privilege of being able to actually sit in a room with him and talk.”

“Talk?” Kate was more puzzled than anything else. “About what?”

“Geopolitics. The post-Communist world. The problems of ethnic cleansing and supernationalism.” Klaus shrugged. “Whatever.
I’ve read everything Vorelli’s ever written. I think he’s the most brilliant political theorist living today. For me to be
able to just talk to him one-on-one, to ask him questions…”

Klaus grinned. “I know I’m being presumptuous as all hell, Katie. But this is very important. So will you try to arrange something?
Will you tell him about me?”

“I’m not sure I’d even know what to tell him, Klaus.”

“Well, you can start by just saying that Alfred Mainz has long been one of his most ardent fans, and he would be honored to
meet him.”

“Who is Alfred Mainz?”

“I am. At least for the past sixteen years. If that stuns you, I’m sorry. Not much of my life has ever been as open as I might
have liked.”

She considered him. “Is Nicko supposed to recognize the name?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Because Alfred Mainz lectures on political science at the University of Rome and has published a couple of fairly well known
texts on the subject.”

Kate shook her head. “All these years and you never said a word?”

“There was never a good reason. Now there is. How about it, Katie? Will you do me this favor and please try?”

Kate nodded slowly. “I’ll call Nicko right now.”

The tiny apartment’s only telephone was in the bedroom. Kate went in and closed the door behind her.

She called an unlisted number and heard Nicko Vorelli’s voice.

“Listen, Nicko. Does the name Alfred Mainz mean anything to you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“In what context?”

“As a comparatively young political theorist with some bright ideas. Why?”

“He’s in my living room. He also happens to be our Klaus Logefeld.”

“Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes,” said Kate, and she went on to briefly explain.

“Fascinating,” said Nicko. “Now we know why God arranged for you to run into him two weeks ago in Rome.”

“You mean so I could get him to
you
?”

“What else?”

“I’m not sure. It just seems like an awful lot of trouble for Klaus to go through simply to talk to you.”

“Well, we don’t really know whether talking to me is all he wants. We won’t know that until he gets here.”

“You want me to bring him?”

“Damn right. And immediately. What I
don’t
want is that tricky bastard floating loose out there, knowing you shot the Walterses.”

Kate hung up, feeling in an almost trancelike state. Still, when she walked out of her bedroom moments later, her smile was
in place and she appeared at ease.

“I guess this is your lucky night,” she said.

Klaus had been gazing out at the bay. He turned. “You mean there’s a chance?”

“Nicko wants me to bring you right over.”

They made the half-hour drive along the coast road in the German’s car.

Only a few downstairs lights were on in the villa. The rest of the house was dark, with none of the servants in sight. Nicko
Vorelli opened the door. He kissed Kate on each cheek, greeted Klaus warmly, and took them into a walnut-paneled den.

Assuming the role of hostess, Kate poured some Remy Martin into three brandy snifters. Then she settled into the background
to watch quietly and listen.

Despite herself, she was fascinated. Nicko, of course, was no surprise. But Klaus Logefeld, in his persona as Alfred Mainz,
was new to her, and she was very quickly taken by his authority and perception. He spoke in a sharp, probing way about how
the end of the cold war had left statesmen in a new and dangerous kind of smog, in which the true nature of threats was obscured
by their very subtlety and numbers. He asked Nicko Vorelli insightful questions about national responsibilities and analyzed
his answers with total understanding. Perhaps most striking of all, he showed himself to be sensitive and compassionate in
regard to the human condition, yet unforgiving of its deliberate cruelties.

When almost a full hour had passed, Nicko Vorelli freshened their drinks and said quietly, “All right, Alfred. That was very
enjoyable and I’m truly impressed. Now please tell me why you’re here.”

Klaus just looked at him.

“You’re much too intelligent to be an awestruck hero-worshiper,” said Nicko. “So you must want something from me. Correct?”

Klaus did not so much as blink. “Yes.”

“Exactly what is it you want?”

“To be part of your staff at Wannsee on September 13.”

No one spoke.

Nicko said, “The meeting at Wannsee won’t officially be announced for another three days. How did you find out about it?”

“Educated gossip. I must have heard it from at least three different sources.”

“I haven’t heard a thing,” said Kate. “What on earth is happening at Wannsee on September 13?”

Nicko’s eyes were cold. “A high-level international conference.”

“On what?” asked Kate.

“Broadly, on human rights. More specifically, on the plague of killing and ethnic cleansing in four major civil wars in central
and western Africa, which
must
be stopped at once.”

“Why at
Wannsee
, of all places?”

“We’re hoping the ghosts of its six million murdered Jews might add weight and purpose to what we do there.”

Kate looked at Klaus Logefeld. “Why did you have to lie to me?”

“I’m sorry, Katie. But this meant too much to risk your turning me down.”

“What about
my
turning you down?” asked Nicko.

“I can only beg you not to, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe I’ve been preparing to be at this meeting since I was twelve years old.”

“What happened then?”

“I sat in a Berlin movie house and understood what genocide really means.”

“You think you’re the only one who ever saw those horror movies?”

“No,” said Klaus. “But I know of no one who can contribute more than I to keeping such things from ever happening again. It’s
been the focus of my entire adult life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be at Wannsee.”

“I believe you.”

Klaus Logefeld took a long, deep breath. “Then you’ll take me?”

“No. I’m sorry. Inasmuch as my gut feeling is that your passion and zealousness alone could probably do us all a lot of good,
I’m afraid my answer still has to be no.”

‘
Why
, for God’s sake?”

“Because quite frankly you scare the hell out of me.”

Klaus’s eyes were blank.

“You see,” said Nicko, “I know how you manipulated Kate to get here tonight. I know that you not only tricked her into shooting
two people she never should have shot, but that you’re the one person alive who can implicate her in their deaths.”

Klaus and Nicko stared at each other.

Kate heard a faint whisper of movement and saw Nicko’s hand come up from behind a cushion with a silencer-lengthened automatic
pointed at Klaus’s chest.

“Don’t, Nicko!”

Kate’s cry was pure reflex.

Klaus smiled. “Thanks, Katie. You needn’t worry. Your Nicko isn’t about to soil his priceless oriental with my rich German
blood. Once he’s seen and heard my feature presentation, I’m sure he won’t be doing any shooting at all.”

“What feature presentation?” asked Vorelli.

“Pictures and tapes of everything that happened in the Walterses’ bedroom. If you’re interested, they’re in my outside jacket
pockets.”

Kate looked at Nicko. He nodded slightly and she got the material out of Klaus’s pockets.

She played the tapes while they both glanced through the photographs, which were synchronized with the dialogue.

Kate felt as though she were living through every second of it again.

“Forgive me, Katie,” said Klaus when it was over. “If there was any way I could have done this without involving you, I swear
I would have.”

He considered Nicko, who was still pointing the automatic at his chest.

“Just so we understand each other, Dr. Vorelli. There are three other sets of these pictures and audiotapes in the hands of
people I trust. If I should be hurt, disappear, or die, one set will automatically be sent to the chief prosecuting attorney
of Naples. Another set will go to the Interior minister in Rome. And the third set will be hand delivered to the editor in
chief of the International News Service in Milan.”

Klaus Logefeld, aka Alfred Mainz, suddenly seemed tired.

“The same will apply,” he said, “if I somehow fail to appear at Wannsee on September 13 as part of your staff.”

P
AULIE
W
ALTERS TOOK OFF
from Naples on a 7:00
A.M.
flight, changed planes in Rome, and arrived at Zurich International Airport at shortly before 9:00. He rented a Ford Fiesta
from Hertz, plotted his route on a detailed Zurich street map, and half ar. hour later was parked almost directly across the
street from 15 Ausdorf.

It was a small, undistinguished apartment house on a tree-lined block. Paulie entered the vestibule with only the mildest
of hopes. Tommy Cortlandt had said the name and address were ten years old, and Paulie had been unable to find any telephone
listing for a William Meister. Still, not many retired spooks ever really felt secure enough to trust publicly listed numbers,
not even with the brand-new names they almost invariably adopted.

The vestibule wall contained ten mailboxes. Apartment 4-B was marked with a faded
W. MEISTER
. Paulie tried the vestibule door, found it locked, and quickly picked it open.

He rode upward in a smooth-running, polished brass cage. Getting out on the fourth floor, he passed a door behind which a
little girl was screaming as though she were being beaten to death. Apartment 4-B was the last on the corridor. No sounds
came from inside before Paulie rang the bell.

He heard a halting, clumping step.

“Who’s there?” said a man’s voice in Swiss-accented German.

“My name is Paul Walters,” Paulie answered in English. “Peter Walters was my father. Are you William Meister?”

This time the man used English. “Who gave you that name?”

“Tommy Cortlandt.”

Slowly two locks clicked, the chained door opened a crack, and a gray-bearded face peered out.

They stared at each other. Then the chain was disengaged, the door swung open, and Paulie went inside.

“You’re handsome like your father,” said Meister. “But you’ve got much more serious eyes.”

Paulie saw a tall man, shortened nearly half a foot by leaning on a walker. He moved back into the living room with a painful
lurch and shuffle. Arriving at a deep armchair he sat down, surrounded by stacks of books piled on the floor like barricades.
The room didn’t appear to have been cleaned in years. Age and neglect had turned once white curtains gray.