«I know. He drove me to the airport.»
«Do you want to tell me about it?» asked the detective.
Noel stared at the wall. It would be so easy to unburden himself, to seek official protection. The faceless Lieutenant Miles was a symbol of authority. But he was the wrong symbol in the wrong place at the wrong time. «No. There’s nothing you can do. It’s been resolved.»
«Has it?»
«Yes.»
Neither spoke for several seconds. «All right, Mr. Holcroft. I hope you change your mind, because I think I can help you. I think you need help.» Miles paused. «I now make a formal request for your return to the City of New York. You are considered a prime witness in a homicide and intrinsic to our jurisdictional interrogations.»
«Sorry. Not now.»
«I didn’t think you would. So let me try informally. It concerns your father.»
The terrible news was coming, and he could not help himself. He said the words quietly. «He was killed, wasn’t he?»
«I didn’t hear that. You see, if I did, I’d have to go to my superior and report it. Say you said it without provocation. You drew a conclusion that couldn’t possibly be based on anything I said to you. I’d have to request extradition.»
«Get off it, Miles! Your telephone message wasn’t subtle! ‘The recent death,’ et cetera; ‘professionally speaking, I recommend,’ et cetera! What the hell am I supposed to think?»
Again, there was a pause from the New York end. «Okay. It’s checkmate. You’ve got a case.»
«He was murdered, wasn’t he?»
«We think so.»
«What have you said to my mother?»
«Nothing. It’s not my jurisdiction. She doesn’t even know my name. And that answers my next question. You haven’t talked to her yet.»
«Obviously. Tell me what happened.»
«Your father was in what can best be described as a very unusual accident. He died an hour later, at the hospital, as a result of the injuries.»
«What was the accident?»
«An old man from the Bronx lost control of his car near the Plaza Hotel. The car went wild, jumped the curb, and plunged into a crowd of people on the sidewalk. Three were killed instantly. Your father was thrown against the wall; actually, he was pinned, almost crushed.»
«You’re saying the car aimed for him!»
«Hard to tell. There was mass confusion, of course.»
«Then what are you saying?»
Miles hesitated. «That the car aimed for him.»
«Who was the driver?»
«A seventy-two-year-old retired accountant with an inflamed heart, a pacemaker, no family at all, and a license that expired several years ago. The ‘pacer’ was shorted in the accident; the man died on the way to the hospital.»
«What was his connection to my father?»
«So far, no definite answers. But I’ve got a theory. Do you want to hear it?»
«Of course!»
«Will you come back to New York?»
«Don’t press me. What’s your theory?»
«I think the old guy was recruited. I think there was someone else in that car, probably in the back seat, holding a gun to his head. During the confusion, he smashed the pacer and got away. I think it was an execution made to look like a freak accident in which more than the target got killed.»
Noel held his breath. There had been another «freak accident.» A subway in London had gone out of control, killing five people. And among those killed was the only man who could shed light on John Tennyson’s employment at the Guardian.
It was bloody well murder…
The thought of a connection was appalling. «Aren’t you reaching, Miles?» Holcroft asked.
«I said it was a theory, but not without some support. When I saw the name Holcroft on the accident report, I did a little digging. The old man from the Bronx has an interesting history. He came to this country in ’forty-seven, supposedly a penniless Jewish immigrant, a victim of Dachau. Only he wasn’t penniless, as half a dozen bankbooks show, and his apartment is a fortress. Besides which, he made thirteen trips to Germany and back since he got here.»
Beads of perspiration broke out on Noel’s forehead. «What are you trying to say?»
«I don’t think that old guy was ever near Dachau. Or if he was, he was part of the management. Almost no one knew him in his apartment building; no one ever saw him in a synagogue. I think he was a Nazi.»
Holcroft swallowed. «How does that connect him to my father?»
«Through you. I’m not sure how yet, but through you.»
«Through me?» Noel felt the acceleration of his heartbeat.
«Yes. In Rio, you told Anderson that someone named Graff was a Nazi and tried to kill you. Anderson said you were crazy on both points, but I don’t. I believe you.»
«I was mad as hell. I didn’t mean to tie one into the other. It was a misunderstanding…» Noel sought desperately to find the words. «Graff’s paranoid, a hot-tempered German, so I called him a Nazi, that’s all. He thought I was making sketches, taking pictures of his grounds…»
«I said I believed you, Holcroft,» broke in the detective. «And I’ve got my reasons.»
«What are they?» Noel knew he could barely be heard; he was suddenly afraid. His father’s death was a warning. The Rache. The ODESSA. Whichever, it was another warning. His mother had to be protected!
Miles was talking, but Holcroft could not hear the detective; his mind raced in panic. Miles had to be stopped! He could not be allowed near Geneva!
«Those men on the plane who tried to kill you were German,» Miles explained. «They used passports taken off two Americans killed in Munich five years ago, but they were German; the dental work gave them away. They were shot at Kennedy Airport; their bodies were found in a fuel truck. The bullets that killed them came from a German Heckler and Koch nine-millimeter pistol. The silencer was made in Munich. Guess where that little old man traveled when he went to Germany—at least on the six trips we were able to trace.»
«Munich,» whispered Noel.
«That’s right. Munich. Where it all began and where it’s still going on. A bunch of Nazis are fighting among each other thirty years after that goddamn war is over, and you’re right in the middle of it. I want to know why.»
Noel felt drained, swept by exhaustion and fear. «Leave it alone. There’s nothing you can do.»
«There’s something I might be able to prevent, goddammit! Another murder.»
«Can’t you understand?» said Holcroft, in pain. «I can say it because he was my father. Nothing can be resolved in New York. It can only be resolved over here. Give me time; for the love of God, give me time. I’ll get back to you.»
«How long?»
«A month.»
«Too much. Cut it in half. You’ve got two weeks.»
«Miles, please…»
There was a click on the line; the connection in New York was severed.
Two weeks. Oh, God, it wasn’t possible!
But it had to be possible. In two weeks he had to be in a position to stop Miles from going further. He could do that with the resources in Geneva. A philanthropic agency with assets of seven hundred and eighty million dollars would be listened to—quietly, in confidence. Once the account was freed, arrangements could be made, understandings reached, cooperation given and received. The ODESSA would be exposed, the Rache destroyed.