«What did you say?» he asked.
«It’s true, Johann,» said Helden in Paris. «British Intelligence thinks you may be the Tinamou.»
«How extraordinary.» The astonished blond man drew out the word. «And outrageous!»
«That’s what I said to Holcroft. I told him you were being hounded for the things you write … and because of who you are. Who we are.»
«Yes, I imagine so.» Von Tiebolt could not concentrate on his sister’s reasoning; he gripped the receiver in anger. An error had been made somewhere; steps had to be taken immediately to correct it. What had led MI Five to him?
Every track had been covered! But then, he could produce the Tinamou at will; it was his final strategy. No one was more trusted than the suspect who produced the hunted killer. This was the ultimate tactic of his creation. He might have to employ it sooner than he thought.
«Johann, are you there?»
«Yes, sorry.»
«You must meet Holcroft as soon as possible.»
«Of course. I’ll be in Paris in four or five days…»
«Not until then?» interrupted Helden. «He’s very anxious.»
«It’s quite impossible.»
«There’s so much more to tell you…» She told him of the account in Geneva; of the agency in Zurich that would dispense hundreds of millions; of the American son of Heinrich Clausen; of Erich Kessler in Berlin; of the Von Tiebolts in Rio. Finally, haltingly, she repeated the words uttered by their sister: A man will come one day and talk of a strange arrangement.
«Did you say that?» she asked her brother.
«Yes. There’s a great deal you’ve never been told. I didn’t know when or how it would happen, only that it would. I spoke to Gretchen earlier. This Holcroft saw her the other night. I’m afraid she wasn’t much help to him. We have a commitment as profound and as moving as anything in recent history. Amends must be made…»
«That’s what Holcroft said,» broke in Helden.
«I’m sure he did.»
«He’s frightened. He tries not to show it, but he is.»
«He should be. It’s an enormous responsibility. I have to learn what he knows in order to help.»
«Then come to Paris now.»
«I can’t. It’s only a few days.»
«I’m worried. If Noel’s what he says he is, and I see no reason to doubt him—»
«‘Noel’?» asked the brother, with mild surprise.
«I like him, Johann.»
«Go on.»
«If he’s the one that’s to bring the three of you to the directors of La Grande Banque, then nothing can happen in Geneva without him.»
«So?»
«Others know that. I think they know about the account in Switzerland. Terrible things have happened. They’ve tried to stop him.»
«Who?»
«My guess would be the Rache. Or the ODESSA.»
«That’s doubtful,» said John Tennyson. «Neither is capable of keeping such extraordinary news quiet. Take a newspaperman’s word for it.»
«The Rache kills; so does the ODESSA. Someone tried to kill Noel.»
Tennyson smiled to himself; errors had been made, but the primary strategy was working. Holcroft was being pounded on all sides. When everything came together in Geneva, he’d be exhausted, completely malleable. «He must be very cautious, then. Teach him the things you know, Helden. As much as you can. The tricks we’ve all learned from one another.»
«He’s seen some of those tricks,» said the girl, a soft, compassionate laugh in her voice. «He hates using them.»
«Better than ending up dead.» The blond man paused. The transition had to be casual. «Gretchen mentioned a photograph, a picture of Beaumont. She thinks Holcroft took it.»
«He did. He’s convinced he saw Beaumont on the plane from New York to Rio. He thinks he was following him. It’s part of what he’ll tell you.»
So it was the plane, thought Tennyson. The American was more observant than Beaumont had wanted to believe. Beaumont’s disappearance would be explained in a matter of days, but it would be difficult to explain the photograph in Holcroft’s possession if he showed it to the wrong people in Switzerland. The fanatic commander had left too obvious a trail, from Rio to the Admiralty. They had to get the photograph back. «I don’t know what to say to that, Helden. I never liked Beaumont. I never trusted him. But he’s been in the Mediterranean for months. I don’t see how he could have left his ship and turned up on a plane out of New York. Holcroft’s wrong.» Tennyson paused again. «However, I think Noel should bring the photograph with him when we meet. He shouldn’t be carrying it around. Nor should he talk about Beaumont. Tell him that. It could lead people to Gretchen. To us. Yes, I think it would be a good idea if he brought the photograph with him.»
«He can’t do that. It was stolen from him.»
The blond man froze. It was impossible. None of them had taken the photograph! No Sonnenkind. He’d be the first to know. Someone else?
He lowered his voice. «What do you mean, ‘stolen from him’?»
«Just that. A man chased him, beat him unconscious, and took the picture. Nothing else, just the photograph.»
«What man!»
«He didn’t know. It was night; he couldn’t see. He woke up in a field miles away from Portsmouth.»
«He was attacked in Portsmouth?»
«About a mile from Gretchen’s house, as I gather.»
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. «Are you sure Holcroft wasn’t lying?»
«Why should he?»
«What exactly did he tell you?»
«That he was chased by a man in a black sweater. The man hit him with a blunt weapon and took the photograph out of his pocket when he was unconscious. Just the photograph. Not his money or anything else.»
«I see.» But he did not see! And it was the unseen that disturbed him. He could not convey his fears to Helden; as always, he had to appear in total control. Yet he had to search out this unseen, unknown disturbance. «Helden, I’d like you to do something … for all of us. Do you think you could arrange to take a day off from work?»
«I imagine so. Why?»
«I think we should try and find out who it is that has so much interest in Holcroft. Perhaps you might suggest a drive in the country, to Fontainebleau or Barbizon.»
«But why?»
«I have a friend in Paris; he often does odd jobs for me. I’ll ask him to follow you, very discreetly, of course. Perhaps we’ll learn who else takes the trip.»
«One of our people could do it.»
«No, I don’t think so. Don’t involve your friends. Herr Oberst should not be a part of this.»
«All right. We’ll start out around ten in the morning. From his hotel. The Douzaine Heures, rue Chevalle. How will I know the man?»
«You won’t. He’ll pick you up. Say nothing to Holcroft; it would upset him needlessly.»
«Very well. You’ll call me when you get to Paris?»
«The minute I arrive, meine Schwester.»
«Danke, mein Bruder.»
Tennyson replaced the phone. There was a last call to make before he boarded the plane to Berlin. Not to Gretchen, now; he did not want to speak with her. If Beaumont’s actions proved to be as disastrous as they appeared, if in his recklessness he had impeded the cause of Wolfsschanze, then all the strings that led to him and through him to Geneva would have to be severed. It was not an easy decision to make. He loved Gretchen as few men on earth loved their sisters; in a way that the world disapproved of because the world did not understand. She took care of his needs, satiated his hungers, so that there were never any outside complications. His mind was free to concentrate on his extraordinary mission in life. But that, too, might have to end. Gretchen, his sister, his lover, might have to die.