«Geneva.»
«What about Geneva? It’s a city in Switzerland.»
«We know everything, and it’s finished. You won’t stop the eagles. Not this time. We will stop you!»
«Eagles? What eagles! Who’s ‘we’?»
«Never. Pull the trigger. I won’t tell you. You won’t trace us.»
Noel was perspiring, though the winter night was cold. Nothing this enemy said made sense. It was possible that an enormous error had been made. The man in front of him was prepared to die, but he was not a fanatic; there was too much intelligence behind the eyes. «Not with the Rache, not with the ODESSA. For God’s sake, why do you want to stop Geneva? Wolfsschanze doesn’t want to stop it; you must know that!»
«Not your Wolfsschanze. But we can put that fortune to great use.»
«No! If you interfere, there won’t be anything. You’ll never get the money.»
«We both know that doesn’t have to be.»
«You’re wrong! It’ll go back into the ground for another thirty years.»
The unknown enemy drew himself up in the shadows. «That’s the flaw, isn’t it? You put it so welclass="underline" ‘back into the ground.’ But, if I may be permitted, there’ll be no scorched earth then.»
«No what?»
«No scorched earth.» The man stepped backward. «We’ve talked enough. You had your chance; you have it still. You can kill me, but it will do you no good. We have the photograph. We’re beginning to understand.»
«The photograph? In Portsmouth? You?»
«A most respected commander in the Royal Navy. It was interesting that you should take it.»
«For Christ’s sake! Who are you?»
«One who fights you, son of Heinrich Clausen.»
«I told you—»
«I know,» said the German. «I should not say that. In point of fact, I shall say nothing further. I will turn around and walk out of this alleyway. Shoot, if you must. I am prepared. We are all prepared.»
The man turned slowly and began walking. It was more than Noel could stand.
«Stop!» he yelled, pursuing the German. Then grabbing his shoulder with his left hand.
The man spun around. «We have nothing further to say.»
«Yes, we do! We’re going to stay here all night, if we have to! You’re going to tell me who you are and where you came from and what the hell you know about Geneva and Beaumont and—»
It was as far as he got. The man’s hand shot out, his fingers clasping Noel’s right wrist, twisting it inward and downward as his right knee hammered up into Holcroft’s groin. Noel doubled forward in agony, but he would not let go of the gun. He shoved his shoulder into the man’s midsection, trying to push him away, the pain in his testicles spreading up into his stomach and chest. The man brought his fist crashing down into the base of Holcroft’s skull, sending shock waves through his ribs and spine. But he would not relinquish the gun! The man could not have the gun! Noel gripped it as if it were the last steel clamp on a lifeboat. He lurched up, springing with what strength he had left in his legs, wrenching the automatic away from the man’s grip.
There was an explosion; it echoed through the alley. The man’s arm fell away, and he staggered backward, grabbing his shoulder. He had been wounded, but he did not collapse. Instead, he braced himself against the wall and spoke through gasps of breath.
«We’ll stop you. And we’ll do it our way. We’ll take Geneva!»
With those words he propelled himself down the alley, clawing at the wall for support. Holcroft turned; there were figures clustered about the alley’s entrance on the Schönbergstrasse. He could hear police whistles and see the coruscating beams of flashlights. The Berlin police were moving in.
He was caught.
But he could not be caught! There was Kessler; there was Geneva. He could not be detained now!
Helden’s words came back to him.
Lie indignantly … with confidence … invent your own variations.
Noel shoved the automatic in his pocket and started toward the Schönbergstrasse, toward the slowly approaching flashlights and the two uniformed men who held them.
«I’m an American!» he yelled in a frightened voice. «Does anyone speak English?»
A man from the crowd shouted, «I do! What happened?»
«I was walking through here and someone tried to rob me! He had a gun but I didn’t know it! I shoved him and it went off…»
The Berliner translated quickly for the police.
«Where did he go?» asked the man.
«I think he’s still there. In one of the doorways. I’ve got to sit down…»
The Berliner touched Holcroft’s shoulder. «Come.»
He began leading Noel out through the crowd toward the sidewalk.
The police yelled into the dark alleyway. There was no response; the unknown enemy had made his escape. The uniformed men cautiously continued forward.
«Thanks very much,» said Noel. «I’d just like to get some air, calm down, you know what I mean?»
«Ja. A terrible experience.»
«I think they’ve got him,» added Holcroft suddenly, looking back toward the police and the crowd.
The Berliner turned; Noel stepped off the curb, into the street. He started walking, slowly at first, then found a break in the traffic and crossed to the sidewalk on the other side. There he turned and ran as fast as he could through the crowds, toward the Kurfürstendamm.
He had done it, thought Holcroft, as he sat, coatless and hatless, shivering on a deserted bench within sight of the Kaiser Wilhelm Church. He had absorbed the lessons and put them to use; he had invented his own variations and eluded the trap he had set for another, but which had sprung back, ensnaring himself. Beyond this, he had immobilized the man in the black leather jacket. That man would be detained, if only to find a doctor.
Above all, he had learned that Helden was wrong. And the dead Manfredi—who would not say the names—had been wrong. It was not members of the ODESSA, nor of the Rache, who were Geneva’s most powerful enemies. It was another group, one infinitely more knowledgeable and deadlier. An enigma that counted among its adherents men who would die calmly, with intelligence in their eyes and reasonable speech on their tongues.
The race to Geneva was against three violent forces wanting to destroy the covenant, but one was far more ingenious than the other two. The man in the black leather jacket had spoken of the Rache and the ODESSA in terms so disparaging they could not have sprung from envy or fear. He had dismissed them as incompetent butchers and clowns of whom he wanted no part. For he was part of something else, something far superior.
Holcroft looked at his watch. He had been sitting in the cold for nearly an hour, the ache in his groin still there, the base of his skull stiff with pain. He had stuffed the mackinaw and the black-visored cap into a refuse bin several blocks away. They would have been too easy to spot if the Berlin police had an alarm out for him.
It was time to go now; there were no signs of the police, no signs of anyone interested in him. The cold air had done nothing for his pain, but it had helped clear his head, and until that had happened he dared not move. He could move now; he had to. It was almost nine o’clock. It was time to meet with Erich Kessler, the third key to Geneva.
25
The pub was now crowded, as he expected it would be, the layers of smoke thicker, the Bavarian music louder. The manager greeted him pleasantly, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts: Something had happened to this American within the last hour. Noel was embarrassed; he wondered if his face was scratched, or streaked with dirt.