The right side of the car. Your right. Unless—He tried desperately to be accurate. Amazed, he saw the windshield shatter and crack; he heard bullets enter the door; he heard the screams of a human being … and then he saw that human being fall out of the door and onto the cobblestones beside the car. It was the driver; his arms were extended in front of him; blood poured out of his head and he did not move.
Across the street he could see the MI-Five man come out of a doorway, crouching, his pistol out in front of him. Then he heard the command:
«Release her! You can’t get out!»
«Nie und nimmer!»
«Then she can go with you! I don’t give a piss!… Spin to your right, miss! Now!»
Two explosions, one right after the other; a woman’s scream echoed throughout the street. Noel’s mind went wildly out of focus. He raced across the pavement, afraid to think, afraid to see what he might see, to find what he dared not find, for his own sanity.
Helden was on her knees, trembling, her breathing a series of uncontrollable sobs. She stared at the dead man, splayed on the pavement to her left. But she was alive; that was all he cared about. Noel ran to her and fell down beside her, pulling her shivering head into his chest.
«Him… Him,» Helden whispered, pushing Noel away. «Quickly.»
«What?» Noel followed her look.
The MI-Five agent was trying to crawl; his mouth opened and closed; he was trying to speak and no sound emerged. And over the front of his shirt was a spreading stain of red.
A small crowd had gathered at the entrance to the square. Three or four men stepped forward tentatively.
«Get him,» said Helden. «Get him quickly.»
She was capable of thinking and he was not; she was able to make a decision and he was immobile. «What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?» was all he could say, not even sure the words were his.
«These streets, the alleys. They connect. We have to get him away.»
«Why?»
Helden’s eyes bored into his. «He saved my life. He saved yours. Quickly!»
He could only do as he was ordered; he could not think for himself. He got to his feet and ran to the agent, bending over him, their faces inches apart. He saw the angry blue eyes that floated in their sockets, the mouth that struggled to say something but could not.
The man was dying.
Noel lifted the agent to his feet; the Englishman could not stand, so he picked him up, astonished at his own strength. He turned and saw Helden lurching toward the automobile at the curb; the motor was still running. Noel carried the agent over to the shot-up car.
«I’ll drive,» Helden said. «Put him in the back seat.»
«The windshield! You can’t see!»
«You can’t carry him very far.»
The next minutes were as unreal to Holcroft at the sight of the gun still in his hand. Helden made a swift U-turn, careening over the sidewalk, swerving out to the middle of the street. Sitting beside her, Noel realized something in spite of the panic. He realized it calmly, almost dispassionately: He was beginning to adjust to this terrible new world. His resistance was wearing down, confirmed by the fact that he had acted; he had not run away. People had tried to kill him. They had tried to kill the girl beside him. Perhaps that was enough.
«Can you find the church?» he asked, now amazed at his own control.
She looked at him briefly. «I think so. Why?»
«We couldn’t drive this car even if you could see. We have to find ours.» He gestured through the cracked glass of the windshield; steam was billowing from the hood. «The radiator was punctured. Find the church.»
She did, mostly by instinct, driving up the narrow streets and alleys that connected the irregular spokes that spread out from the village square. The last few blocks were frightening. People were running beside the car, shouting excitedly. For several moments Noel thought it was the shattered windshield, riddled with bullet holes, that drew the villagers’ attention; it was not. Figures rushed by toward the hub of the square, the word had spread.
Des gens assassinées! La tuerie!
Helden swung into the street that passed the church rectory and fronted the entrance to the parking lot. She turned in and drove up beside the rented car. Holcroft looked in the rear seat. The MI-Five man was angled back in the corner, still breathing, his eyes on Noel. He moved his hand, as if to draw Noel closer.
«We’re switching cars,» said Holcroft. «We’ll get you to a doctor.»
«Listen … to me first, you ass,» whispered the Englishman. His eyes strayed to Helden. «Tell him.»
«Listen to him, Noel,» she said.
«What is it?»
«Payton-Jones—you have the number?»
Holcroft remembered. The name on the card given him by the middle-aged, gray-haired intelligence agent in London was Harold Payton-Jones. He nodded. «Yes.»
«Call him…» The MI-Five man coughed. «Tell him what happened … everything.»
«You can tell him yourself,» said Noel.
«You’re a piss ant. Tell Payton-Jones there’s a complication we don’t know about. The man we thought was sent by the Tinamou, Von Tiebolt’s man …»
«My brother’s not the Tinamou,» cried Helden.
The agent looked at her through half-closed lids. «Maybe you’re right, miss. I didn’t think so before, but you may be. I only know that the man who followed you in the Fiat works for Von Tiebolt.»
«He followed us to protect us! To find out who was after Noel.»
Holcroft spun in the seat and stared at Helden. «You know about him?»
«Yes,» she replied. «Our lunch today was Johann’s idea.»
«Thanks a lot.»
«Please. You don’t understand these things. My brother does. I do.»
«Helden, I tried to trap that man! He was killed!»
«What? Oh, my God…»
«That’s the complication,» whispered the agent, speaking to Noel. «If Von Tiebolt’s not the Tinamou, what is he? Why was his man shot? Those two men, why did they try to take her? Kill you? Who were they? This car … trace it.» The Englishman gasped; Noel reached over the seat but the agent waved him away. «Just listen. Find out who they were, who owns this car. They’re the complication.»
The MI-Five man was barely able to keep his eyes open now; his whisper could hardly be heard. It was obvious that he would die in moments. Noel leaned over the seat.
«Would the complication have anything to do with a man named Peter Baldwin?»
It was as though an electric shock had jolted the dying man. His eyelids sprang open; the pupils beneath came briefly back from death. «Baldwin?…» The whisper echoed and was eerily plaintive.
«He called me in New York,» said Holcroft. «He told me not to do what I was doing, not to get involved. He said he knew things that no one else knew. He was killed an hour later.»
«He was telling the truth! Baldwin was telling the truth!» The agent’s lips began to tremble; a trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth. «We never believed him; he was trading off nothing! We were sure he was lying…»
«Lying about what?»
The MI-Five man stared at Noel; then, with effort, shifted his gaze to Helden. «There isn’t time…» He struggled pathetically to look again at Holcroft. «You’re clean. You must be … you wouldn’t have said what you just said. I’m going to trust you, both of you. Reach Payton-Jones … as fast as you can. Tell him to go back to the Baldwin file. Code Wolfsschanze… It’s Wolfsschanze.»